>>6306456>>6306533>>6306593>>6306594>>6306620>6306642>>LydiaHarper blinks, but smiles as you accept his handshake. "Lydia, huh? Not the name I would've chosen, but that's what makes it special. You chose it. Nobody else."
His palm is calloused, his grip steady. Warm. He is the first living human you've ever touched.
It is a strange sensation.
Unfamiliar.
But not unwelcome.
"Welcome to Earth, Lydia," he continues. "Sorry you couldn't have seen what it was like before everything went to hell. But here's hoping it can only get better from here."
<span class="mu-i">Lydia.</span>
Your name.
He lets go of your hand after a final squeeze, rocking back on his heels with a quiet breath of satisfaction. Then he clears his throat, almost sheepish. "Hate to spoil the moment, but did you manage to dig up anything useful there? The folks back in Hampton were hoping I'd come back from Norfolk with more than just scavenged supplies."
You had. At your command, the terminal scrolls through what intact data your modem was able to stitch back together. Commonweatlh communication protocols - partially intact, partially fragmented, but enough that the National Guard could maybe piggyback off of them.
A handful of ciphers and codes. Override signals and master bypass subroutines. Maybe they'll be useful for cracking open doomsday bunkers or supply caches scattered across the region.
And beyond that - another file hidden in the debris of distorted bytes and fragmented data.
<span class="mu-s">[PROJECT BUTTERFLY - FACILITY DESIGNATE: SCYLLA]
[Geospatial correlation: offshore grid, Mid-Atlantic Trench.]
[Status: Unknown]</span>
<span class="mu-s">PROJECT BUTTERFLY - FACILITY DESIGNATE: YAKWAWIAK]
[Geospatial correlation: Appalachian Mountains - Virginia/West Virginia Divide]
[Status: Unknown.]</span>
Harper leans in, squinting as the redacted words scroll past the screen. His brows draw together, then lift, then tighten again in a spectrum of disbelief.
"...Scylla...Yakwawiak?" He mutters the names with a suspicious frown. "Gotta hand it to you, Lydia. I thought I was bringing back a handful of comms codes or cyphers. You just coughed up buried treasure."
He glances towards the open doorway, then the flickering lights overhead. The server hums, but the silence between each stuttered cycle feels longer than it should.
"Thing is," he says, lowering his voice, "This place ain't safe. Not for long. Power failures bring other scavs who aren't nearly as friendly as I am. Malfunctioning androids prowl through the tower, and I'm nearly out of bullets. And if we stick it around till nightfall, the cyberpsychos come out - folks driven mad by their implants overloading when the Cataclysm hit. Norfolk's not safe."
He shoulders his rifle, the humor gone from his eyes. "Hampton ain't paradise. But it's got people. You've got data worth a small fortune, and I'd like to see you paid for it. So if you'll trust me..."
He jerks his head towards the exit. "We move. Now."
>>Roll 1d100 Encounter.>Best out of five. 