In the bombed and brittle remains of an old western ghost town, cracked wooden storefronts line the street, their faded signs swaying in the toxic wind. Silence presses thick against the broken buildings, broken only by the occasional hiss of wind through shattered windows and the crunch of boots on the soot-covered ground.
We see a letterboxed shot of those boots, coming into focus.
They move slowly, dragging across the hollowed-out wasteland, steps slow and uncertain, as if the wearer is relearning each movement, testing the feel of earth beneath their feet…relearning her place in the world.
Dolly Waters’ boots stumble forward, her gaze hollow, her body marked by the long journey. Her clothes are worn thin, her face bruised, and she moves like a ghost herself through a world once familiar but now almost unrecognizable- a world she’d left behind for what she thought was something greater. She had run from her trusted vault that was the XWF, from safety, only to be captured by something far worse, something darker, trapped in the wastelands of her own body and mind, a prisoner of Misty Waters’ will.
In the middle of the empty street, Dolly pauses, a glimmer of familiarity prickling her unease. Shadows shift in empty doorways, wisps of memory and regret tugging at her. Dolly swallows, knowing they aren’t real, but she feels Misty’s presence here, lingering in the dust like a stain on her skin.
Her grip tightens on the knife at her waist.
Still lurking, huh? she mutters, voice low and defiant.
Like some damn ghost that doesn’t know when to leave. The words sound more like a challenge to herself than a declaration to the empty street. Yet the feeling that Misty’s influence clings to her, like a phantom she can’t shake, is unmistakable.
A low whisper drifts through the air, barely louder than the wind, but cutting all the same, and sounding eerily like Misty, a mocking echo of her final words:
Yer’ nothing without me, Dolly…
Dolly’s breath catches as she closes her eyes, forcing the words away. She should be free—she fought, clawed her way back, reclaimed her mind and her body. But here, in this desolate place that mirrors her own emotional wasteland, freedom seems distant, a ghost of its own. Her body is hers again, but her mind remains shackled, haunted by the shadows of her choices.
Her gaze hardens as she remembers her old home, Vault 98- the vault she abandoned, overseen by a machine that promised safety but lulled its inhabitants into a slow decay. The vault’s fall mirrors her own, a past she thought she’d left behind but can’t quite escape. But maybe, if she returned, if she could set things right in Vault 98, she could put some distance between herself and Misty’s haunting grip.
Maybe it’s time to go back she mutters.
Dolly turns, her steps slower but more certain as she leaves the ghost town behind, heading down the road toward Vault 98, seeking some form of redemption in the wastelands of her past.
The road stretches long and desolate before her, scattered with fragments of rusted metal and broken glass. Dolly keeps moving, her footsteps a steady beat against the barren landscape. Shadows are stretching as night begins to fall, swallowing the wreckage of the wastelands around her. All that’s left is the glow of a low campfire she’s built in near the ruins of an old train station just outside of the ghost town.
She sits by the fire, watching the flames flicker and dance, lost in thought. Her fingers graze the worn handle of her knife, tracing each chip and scar along its surface. What had she left of herself? What did she have left to fight for?
There’s a movement in the darkness, a faint rustle that pulls her from her thoughts. Instinctively, Dolly slips into the shadows, her knife raised. Her breath slows as she steadies herself, eyes narrowing as a figure steps into the firelight.
A tall, metallic silhouette with a smooth monitor where a face should be. Dolly’s grip tightens, her fingers curling around the revolver at her side. She raises it, the barrel glinting in the firelight.
The figure turns, catching the glint of her weapon. The screen on its face flickers, displaying two wide, round eyes and a pixelated smile.
Howdy, camper! the voice chirps, cheerful and oddly innocent.
Dolly lowers her revolver, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.
GG?
The robot’s ASCII art face shifts to a winking emoji.
Long time, no see! Her tone is light, almost amused, as if she’s greeting an old friend instead of facing a deadly weapon.
Though I could have done without the pistol in my face, thank you very much.
Dolly relaxes, a faint, weary smile tugging at the corner of her lips. There’s a warmth and familiarity here with Game Girl, like the lone shining beacon of what was once the XWF, Dolly’s vault, her home, her friends, her old life. Dolly holsters the revolver, her gaze wary but softened.
Guess you’re harder to get rid of than I thought.
Game Girl’s eyes narrow in playful suspicion.
Says the girl who ran off from the Vault like she was escaping a prison break. You missed out, you know. Holotape Tuesdays aren’t the same without you.
Dolly snorts, the sound more bitter than amused.
I think I needed a bit more than Holotape Tuesdays. Her gaze drifts to the fire, her expression darkening as memories surface. “
It was supposed to be an escape. Instead, I ran right into something worse.”
The ASCII face frowns, her eyes forming a concerned expression.
Yeah, the wastelands… they don’t treat people kindly. Game Girl’s voice softens, totally unaware of Dolly’s darker journey of being possessed by her grandmother.
But you’re here now, and we need help, Dolly. The vault’s… not what it was. Our reactor’s gone, kaput, and without it, Vault 98’s just as doomed as anything else out here.
Dolly looks back at Game Girl, the weight of the words sinking in. Vault 98… her old home. The place she’d left behind, thinking she’d outgrown it, thinking there was nothing there for her anymore.
Let me guess, she says, a spark of her old defiance creeping into her tone.
It was the Tunnel Snakes.
Game Girl nods, her screen flickering to a fierce, angry emoji before settling back into a calm smile.
Slithery bastards, Dolly mutters.
They hit us hard. Outsiders- with no respect for what they ruin as long as it gets them ahead. They sabotaged the reactor, our life force. The very heart of our vault, and now it's losing power…dying. Everyone left inside, everyone who stayed- they’re counting on me to protect them. Her tone softens, a note of determination turning to something almost hopeful.
Maybe you came back because you’re meant to help. To save Vault 98 from falling like every other vault those snakes have poisoned.
Dolly takes a long, steady breath, feeling a familiar sense of purpose beginning to rise in her chest.
You really think we can put it back together?
Game Girl tilts her head, her screen shifting to a look of fierce resolve. “
Well, I’m an overseer first. Rallying the troops is what I was made for. And in Wargames like these, we’re not just campers in our vault—we’re soldiers ready to defend it.”
Dolly’s gaze sharpens, her own resolve igniting like a spark on dry tinder.
Alright, GG. Let’s save Vault 98.
As Dolly and Game Girl turn from the campfire, the barren wasteland stretching out before them, there’s a heaviness that lingers, a faint whisper that rustles in the back of Dolly’s mind like a chilling wind:
You’ll fail. Just like you always do. Yer’ nothing without me, Dolly…
The familiar taunt seeps into her consciousness, Misty’s mocking tone cutting through the darkness like an unwelcome shadow. For a moment, Dolly pauses, her fingers brushing the knife at her waist, a reflex as the voice tightens its hold, pulling her back toward her past failures, her mistakes- the long, empty years wasted in the wastelands of her own mind.
But this time, she doesn’t look back.
With a steady breath, Dolly straightens, her gaze fixed forward, her purpose as sharp as the edge of a blade. Misty’s voice fades, a ghost left to wander without purpose, banished by Dolly’s renewed focus on what lies ahead: saving Vault 98.
For too long, she’d run from her past, but now, with the stakes laid bare and allies at her side, she finds a new strength in her steps, a determination that silences the hauntings of her mistakes and the lingering poison of Misty’s influence.
Beside her, Game Girl hums softly, her digital eyes fixed on the horizon as they march forward together toward saving the vault, a place that once felt like a cage but now holds the hope of something worth fighting for.
Dolly feels the weight lifting, Misty’s shadow dissipating like dust in the breeze, blown back by each step Dolly takes forward, bringing her closer to Vault 98… a home, a battle, and a cause that’s hers to protect.
For the first time in what feels like ages, Dolly Waters is free. And this time, she knows exactly where she’s going.
You know, GG, back in the old days… erhm… in the Vault… we weren’t immune to the stench of the wasteland either. Dolly’s voice is low, thoughtful.
Game Girl’s screen flickers to a skeptical expression.
Really? Lucky for me, I don’t have lungs.
Lucky, indeed.Dolly smirks
Every couple of years, that stale stench of Twitter warriors, the self-fellating types, would seep through the walls. The kind begging to be noticed, hoping we’d take a whiff of the same-old stink of self-importance.
Game Girl makes a gagging emoji, her screen vibrating slightly as if in disgust.
We know their type. They come in droves, desperate for validation, for acceptance. It’s the same story every time. They run amok until they’re smacked back down and sent off to poison some other company that might tolerate their narcissistic brand of garbage.
Dolly’s words hang heavy, and she doesn’t pause as she glances back at Game Girl, the campfire casting flickering shadows.
Take a look at every ‘empire’ that’s ever tried to claim the XWF. Her voice drips with disdain.
Start with the list of former Universal Champions. Lacklan fancied herself Queen of the Kool Kids- until one day little old Dolly Waters got ahold of her, and she hasn’t been back since. Raion Kido was a champion purely by circumstance. History barely remembers him once his little jig was up.
The list goes on and on, and Sebastian Everett-Bryce?
Dolly leans in slightly, her tone lowering, her drawl pushing through.
He’ll be just another page in the tradition of dogs having their day.
Game Girl’s screen flashes a confident emoji, her animated smile reflecting Dolly’s rising resolve.
Is Sebastian talented? Dolly asks, shrugging.
Undoubtedly. She smirks.
Is he the current standard-bearer of the XWF? One would be hard-pressed to claim otherwise.
Her expression hardens.
But is he anything other than the same recycled alpha male who eventually trips over his own insufferable ego? She shakes her head.
No amount of talent can save him from that fate.
Dolly’s voice grows colder, her gaze distant.
Sebastian loves to complain about the ‘same tired attacks’ from everyone in the XWF, acting like it’s beneath him. But what does he do before facing Misty Waters? He spews out the same tired monologue as every other king of this federation, crying about his lack of respect in the XWF, oblivious to his own irony.
She paces, her boots grinding into the earth with each step, the dust rising around her.
How many times have people lamented the Dolly and Thad saga prior to SEB acting like he’d struck gold? How many have balked at the differences between me and Misty? How many… She pauses, eyes narrowing, as if seeing through the wasteland in front of her and into the eyes of her opponents.
…have claimed Dolly Waters would fail because ‘Dolly always fails’?
…Only to end up stunned and folded when my knee cracks their skull. Especially here. Especially in WarGames.
SO!
Back to that list of Universal Champions.
Back to that list of empires that SEB measures himself against ad nauseum.
Caedus? Pinned him. In WarGames.
Bourbon? Pinned him. In WarGames.
Dawk? Pinned him. In WarGames.
What makes you think you’re safe from the same, SEB?
What makes you believe you’re untouchable in that steel mesh that I’ve thrived in, year after year, while you’ve recycled the same tired song about being the best?
Afterall, you couldn’t do it alone against me, and you know it. Winnin’ by the skin of yer’ teeth. There's no haunted towns or spooky tricks to save you this time. Just that cold steel cage, and I’m the one who’s been breaking champions in it long before yer’ cliche stench seeped into the XWF.
And this time? In this war?
It means something more than your ‘woe-is-me’, self-pitying vignettes, your constant flip-flop between the best and the besieged. This? This is a fight for everything the XWF stands for, SEB. That’s why the other XWFer you barely survived against drafted me so high.
Because it’s about grit, survival, and respect- the kind of respect you don’t get just because you’re holding some shiny belt or clinging to Aurora’s least interesting half. It’s the kind of respect you earn by proving you’re more than the flavor of the year.
This is WarGames, SEB, and if you think I’m walking into that cage with anything less than everything I’ve fought to get back, you’re as naive as you are arrogant.
An arrogance is earned, dear emperor.
But in WarGames, there’s no pedestal high enough to keep you safe. I’m bringing every ounce of fight Vault Tec has, and this match? This war? It’s for everyone who’s kept this place alive, for every drop of blood and sweat that built the XWF into more than a playground for the self-important.
So come at me with everything you’ve got, SEB. Bring Lucy, bring that bum who lost to Matthias Syn, bring that roided-out “Enigma” who tweets more than a teenage girl- bring every cheap trick you’ve got. Because we’re coming for you, SEB. This fight? It’s for Vault 98. It’s for the soul of the XWF. And you’re about to find out exactly how much that means.
| It's just ahead of you... |
It's her!
Game Girl’s voice crackles as Dolly spots it- a dilapidated ranch house on the horizon, its broken windows glinting in the dying sunlight. She squints, recognizing a figure leaning against the doorway, her silhouette unmistakable.
"OPA!"
Atara Raven, waiting like she’s been expecting them all along.
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