Bunker Bound and Drone Deployment

H8teWagon rides smooth, growling like a hungry beast, tearing across the cracked dirt and jagged rocks like she owns the place; which, let’s be real, she kind of does. The three wheels chew through the terrain with brutal efficiency; suspension groaning over every bump, the frame vibrating through my seat like she's eager for blood.

The auto-drive hums along, the big rig practically purring as we smash through a couple of dumb skags that wander into our path… and a few that were just standing there minding their own business, swallowed loot zipping into my inventory with satisfying chimes. Skag bodies burst under the wheels; flesh squelching, bones crunching like dry twigs, blood spraying in dark arcs painting the undercarriage crimson. A few grenades clatter into my bandolier, still warm from the impact, smelling faintly of charred meat.

The turret on the hood swivels with a mechanical whine, barking rounds into the air; sharp cracks echoing off distant cliffs. A few unlucky raks explode mid-flight, ragged corpses slamming into the dirt like plucked chickens; feathers scattering in bloody clumps, guts uncoiling in steaming ropes across the sand. Another faint cha-ching in my account; loot never disappoints, even if it comes from roasted poultry and bile.

Before long, the bunker appears on the horizon; exactly where Zed’s mission marker lit it up on my HUD; red pulse throbbing like a wound in the dark.

Brakes hiss, steam venting from the hydraulics as we skid to a stop in a spray of gravel. I hop out, boots crunching the loose gravel, the cool night air nipping at my skin.

H8teWagon’s headlights illuminate the rock wall ahead, her twin beams cutting harsh shadows across the uneven stone, highlighting cracks and old blast marks.

The welcome sign? Classic Pandora craftsmanship.

A jagged, uneven slab of particle board, barely standing on rusted rebar stakes, scrawled with misspelled threats and crude doodles; dicks, skulls, and what looks like a poorly drawn middle finger.

“Nuthins here to see. Tern arownd.”

I chuckle, grabbing the edge of the board and yanking it down; wood splintering with a crack, nails popping free.

Behind it?

A far more effective deterrent… well, at least anywhere but Pandora.

Three severed heads on pikes, each in varying stages of rot; flesh sloughing off bone in green flaps, skin peeling like old fruit rind, maggots wriggling in empty eye sockets. One looks half-eaten, cheek meat gnawed to the jawbone. Another’s missing the lower jaw entirely, tongue lolling dried and blackened.

On Pandora?

Lawn ornaments.

I reach for my double-barreled pistol to blow the lock off the makeshift door, but my HUD pings as a compatible item is detected, amber outline snapping around one of the heads.

It's wearing an old Atlas soldier’s helmet, cracked but mostly intact; visor fogged with decay, straps chewed through.

My ScrapJack Protocol practically purrs in anticipation.

Zed said numbers were unknown. I could use a companion.

I pulse my Action Skill, the helmet shudders, lifts up, dropping the decaying skull with a sickening plop, not unlike canned dog food hitting the floor in a wet glob.

The head flops to the dirt, forgotten, rolling to a stop.

The helmet hovers, shifting, reshaping itself into a high-tech drone; sleek, angular, silent as a shadow, red and black casing humming faintly, thrusters whispering faint exhaust.

Sentient Companion: GhostScoutDrone [Atlas Helmet] – Flight Class

Attack: Silenced pistol

Special Abilities: Tags enemies, Assesses threat & danger probabilities, stealth invisibility cloak

Perks: Can momentarily project invisibility cloak on allies for stealth attacks

• “Dead inside… literally.”

Permanent Companion - DNA coded to Joe

I grin, admiring the floating form as it hovers beside me, completely silent, optic lens cycling with a soft glow.

“Sweet.”

I draw my pistol, blow the lock off with a single shot, metal shattering in a spray of sparks and shards; and step inside the bunker.

The real fun starts now.