Fallout 4: AR

5. Lessons in Lockpicking

Fahrenheit sat on the couch opposite me. I couldn't help staring at her. She was just so... dangerous. Hancock had called her his bodyguard, and she looked the part. Half her head was shaved, her reddish hair brushed carelessly back on the other side. Her face was set in a determined expression, showing little emotion. She was clad in close-fitting leather armor, small plates of metal riveted to strategic points. The flamethrower she had been working on earlier was propped up against the couch next to her in easy reach. Looking back up at her face, she met my eyes with her own. I tried to give her a tentative, friendly smile. She merely gazed at me with no expression for a few moments, then spoke.

"Hancock has a real soft spot for the underdog. You're lucky he's taken a liking to you." She looked away, across the room. "If you're going to survive out there, you need certain skills." Standing up, she stalked over to a counter on the back wall, returning a moment later with a metal lockbox. She placed it on the table in front of me. Then, a small flat-bladed screwdriver landed on the box. A handful of bobby pins cascaded from her hand to skitter carelessly across the scarred wood. "Lots of pre-war safes and cabinets out there, just waiting for someone to come along and empty them." She pointed to the lock on the front of the box. "Go ahead and try to open it."

I'd never lockpicked anything in my life. I mean, I was vaguely aware of the idea of lockpicking, manipulating the tumblers to allow the lock cylinder to turn, but that was about it. Fahrenheit stood just behind my shoulder, leaning on the back of the couch, watching and waiting. With a sigh, I picked up the screwdriver and a bobby pin.

The moment I placed the implements to the lock, I felt my Pip-Boy react. A slight tingle whispered through my body as a strange electricity seemed to sensitize my fingers. I couldn't explain it, but suddenly I felt like I knew how to move the bobby pin just so to disengage the tumblers. I twisted the screwdriver and bit back a quiet curse as I felt one of the tumblers slide out of position. Releasing the cylinder, I manipulated the bobby pin a second time. This time, the lock popped open with a small click. The whispering current guiding my fingers ceased the moment the cylinder clicked. I looked up at Fahrenheit, who gave me a slight nod of approval. "Good. It's a start."

Inside the box was a small pile of bottle caps. "What are these for?" I asked, pushing them around inside the metal container. "Collectors items?"

"Huh," came the huffed reply. "Those are caps. It's the currency here in the Wasteland, so keep your eyes out for them. Forget that old pre-war paper money." She reached out to close the box, returning it to its hiding spot in the back of the room. "Keep that screwdriver and those bobby pins, by the way. Think of it as an apology for wanting to shoot you yesterday."

"Thank you." I gathered the small pile of bobby pins to rest next to the screwdriver, pushing my wallet to one side. Fahrenheit resumed her seat on the opposite couch, taking a pull at a bottle of soda she brought with her. Another can of water had mysteriously deposited itself next to my elbow, and I took it gratefully. Sipping in almost comfortable silence, I looked at my Pip-Boy again. MacCready had left it on the "INV" setting when he gave it back to me. My eyes widened as I noticed there was now a line of text glowing on the screen. Only one word... "Locksmith." Ignoring the silent Fahrenheit, I stared at the screen, thinking hard.

INV obviously doesn't mean "Inventory" like we thought. But what does it mean? Something happened when I went to pick that lock, I felt it. There's no way I could pick a lock, any lock, in two tries without serious help. Almost like... like it enhanced something? No... wrong letters, and I don't have an ability to be enhanced. Hmmm... I N V. What could that stand for? I wracked my brain, trying to think of every word I knew that started with "Inv."

"Invoke!" I said aloud, earning an irked glance from Fahrenheit. "Sorry," I apologized. "I think I figured out what this screen is." A raised eyebrow and a shrug was her only response. That must be it, the Pip-Boy invokes a talent needed in the game... but this isn't a game, it's too real. I don't know! It doesn't make any sense... I just want to go home.