Multiverse One Shot Collection - Reader Insert

Fallout - Christine

The auto-doc's glass chamber gleamed under the harsh, sterile light, its hum drowning out the muffled sounds of desperation. Inside, Christine Royce slammed her fists against the unyielding glass, her silent screams echoing in her mind.

Her skin was raw and scarred, patches of it burned and mottled from the Sierra Madre's traps. Her head was shaved bare, the remnants of her dark hair long gone, exposing pale skin marred with faint cuts and surgical marks.

Her eyes were wild, filled with terror and fury, as she pounded on the glass until her knuckles bled. The Auto-Doc's mechanical arms moved with cold precision, oblivious to her pain. Tubes snaked from her arms and legs, pinning her in place, while the machine emitted a low, chilling beep.

Christine's mouth opened in another scream that no one would hear, her voice stolen long ago. Her body trembled as the Auto-Doc continued its grim work, her muscles straining against restraints she couldn't break. Every second stretched into eternity, a nightmare she couldn't escape.

But before the Sierra Madre, before her silence, there had been the Brotherhood.

—

The Mojave heat was relentless, even under the shade of the canyon ridge where the two of you had set up camp. Christine sat cross-legged on a worn blanket, hunched over her terminal as its screen flickered faintly in the fading daylight. Her focus was unwavering, her fingers dancing across the keys with practiced precision.

You stood a few feet away, watching her. The silence was comfortable, broken only by the occasional chirp of insects and the faint hum of the terminal. This mission was supposed to be light recon—a chance to gather data on a derelict power relay station in the area. No heavy combat, no massive squads. Just the two of you, handpicked for the task.

Christine's hood was pushed back, revealing her dark hair pulled into a practical braid. Her brow furrowed in concentration, and she muttered under her breath, barely audible.

"Elijah's pet projects..." she said, the words more to herself than to you. "Always chasing ghosts."

You approached quietly, your boots crunching softly on the dusty ground. She didn't react, completely absorbed in whatever string of code or data she was analyzing. Gently, you placed your hands on her shoulders, the worn fabric of her scribe robes warm under your touch.

"You've been at this for hours," you said softly. "Take a break, Christine. The relay station isn't going anywhere."

She stiffened briefly at the contact, then relaxed, letting out a slow breath. "I'm almost done," she replied, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness. "Elijah's going to want a full report, and you know how he gets when he's kept waiting."

"He's not here," you pointed out, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze before stepping back and sitting beside her on the blanket. "And you're not a machine. You've got to pace yourself."

Christine sighed, leaning back slightly and stretching her arms. "It's not just Elijah," she admitted. "I don't like leaving things half-finished. If there's something here that can help the Brotherhood—or keep us from walking into another trap—I need to find it."

Her eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, the intensity softened. "But I guess you're right. Five minutes won't kill me."

You grinned, handing her a canteen. "That's the spirit."

She took the canteen with a small smile, unscrewing the cap and taking a long drink. The two of you sat in companionable silence, watching as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the canyon in hues of gold and orange.