Six months passed in a flash, consumed by the administration of the Empire, oversight of the city's construction, and the careful monitoring of my new creations, which had proven to be highly fruitful.
The Empire was strong, with thousands of legionaries marching out of the Field of Mars each week, and the provinces paying their taxes without difficulty. The city of New Rome continued to grow, attracting more and more people seeking a place under the order offered by the Legion. Above all, they sought the security that came from sound public administration. It was no arcane science: if one maintains efficient governance free from corruption, resources flow from all social classes to where they are needed most, generating the stability and order necessary for a healthy economy to thrive.
Economically, the introduction of paper currency was well received, particularly by the merchants. No longer was it necessary to transport large quantities of gold to finalize important transactions. Gold continued to offer security, guaranteeing that money would not lose value due to inflation, provided that no massive, unforeseen discovery of new reserves occurred—an unlikely event under our tight control. And because every bill issued corresponded strictly to real demand without speculative printing, the system was solid.
Now, with the gold standard firmly backing our currency, it was sufficient to carry banknotes, knowing that in the vaults beneath Vegas, under the watch of Vault-Tec security systems, rested enough bullion to guarantee every transaction. The Empire's wealth was not a promise. It was a tangible reality, locked away and protected as one of our most prized treasures.
Caesar was pleased.
Seeing his dream of a new capital flourishing in the desert beyond even his grandest imaginings brought back that youthful glint to his eyes, even at his advanced age. It became a common sight in the Lucky 38 ever since his return from the Utah campaign. Each new building that rose in New Rome seemed to him like the first stone of the Empire reborn, and each time he smiled, Lucius, ever steadfast at his side, seemed to find his own quiet reward in that simple gesture.
I too shared that satisfaction as I observed the results of my latest endeavors.
My experiments with the FEV were a resounding success. I had managed to properly dose and apply the virus to promising legionaries, pushing them to their maximum potential within the limits of human genetics. Without altering their essence, I had rendered them taller, stronger, and more resilient, employing nothing but the fundamental science of life.
Yet the problem ran deeper than I had wished.
Most of Vault-Tec's available genetic complement was useless—mediocre, the product of generations of pre-war decay. Only a handful of specific genetic lines possessed the traits I required: resilience, strength, and speed. And because of their rarity, they created an unavoidable bottleneck.
Of the five hundred legionaries subjected to the program, the vast majority shared almost identical genetic material. In essence, they were the same person replicated countless times. The rest differed only slightly, brothers or close cousins sprung from the same root.
Were I to allow them to reproduce freely, the result would inevitably be a genetic disaster in a few generations: deformities, illnesses, and accelerated degeneration.
Thus, I resolved to restrict this enhancement to a select group of soldiers, ensuring strict control over their reproduction, so that their descendants would serve the Legion as a genetically superior warrior caste.
But my greatest pride was not in them.
It was in the new supermutants.
Based on Frank Horrigan's DNA, genetically they were the same beast the Enclave had created decades ago—only now far deadlier, armored in suits adapted precisely to their colossal forms. I possessed but fourteen of these creatures, preferring to utilize the highly stable progeny of the Master as a genetic base, given the extremely high fatality risk involved in attempting to correct the genetics of the so-called "dumb" supermutants.
The Master's Children were essential to maintain control over the supermutant masses flying the Legion's banner, and producing Horrigan-type supermutants en masse would have created more problems than solutions in their residential centers.
Nevertheless, I had fourteen of these perfect killing machines and a cohort composed of the finest genetically optimized legionaries one could ask for. I had already decided to use them for my next personal campaign: the recovery of the research center where Elijah and Ulysses had once wandered before vanishing into legend.
Such a task could not be entrusted to regular forces. It demanded the best the Legion had to offer. The technology stored within that facility likely represented the most advanced discoveries we would find in all the Empire, rivaled only by the secrets of Vault-Tec's Bunker 0.
With all preparations complete, a great fleet of Vertibirds was mobilized. We departed from New Rome in tight formation, heading toward the crater many locals feared, believing it to be the site of some ancient nuclear explosion. But if Elijah and Ulysses had survived there, if they had delved into its depths and returned, it could not have been a nuclear crater. Something different—and likely far more valuable—awaited below.
The new pilots handled their crafts with flawless discipline, and we quickly reached the crater, hidden among the northern mountains. Through binoculars, I observed that within the crater were structures. It was not merely a scar on the earth: an installation was operating there.
We descended outside the crater.
My cohort, equipped with power armor, made landfall first. Five of my Horrigan beasts stood at my side as I surveyed the vast installations sprawled beneath us.
"The complex is enormous, Legate Gaius," reported one of the centurions, binoculars still in hand.
"There's movement… I think there are people down there… and animals too, Legate," added one of my decanus.
I lowered the binoculars.
"Very well. We descend. The crater is irregular; there are areas where we can proceed without much difficulty."
We began our descent on the western side, moving under the heavy weight of our armor, never rushing, remaining attentive to any sign of danger. The surface was treacherous—loose soil, crumbling concrete, debris from structures that once covered the facility.
We reached what appeared to be a half-buried railway. An old cargo tunnel, part of the underground supply system that likely connected throughout the mountain. Some ancient explosion had torn the ceiling apart, exposing the interior.
Clearing the perimeter required little effort. We encountered only a few Protectrons patrolling the entrance, obsolete pre-war scrap armed with standard laser rifles. Against our plasma rifles, anti-materiel rifles, grenade launchers, and .50 caliber miniguns, they posed no real threat. Four legionaries were sufficient to sweep the tunnels clean.
We advanced southward toward a closer installation. The rusted signage identified it as X-13.
Along the way, we encountered a variety of threats: nightstalkers prowling through the artificial underbrush, robobrains firing clumsily from poorly covered positions, automated laser turrets still operational, and a particular absurdity that irritated me more each time it appeared—robotic scorpions.
I have never understood who, in their misguided brilliance, thought it wise to design a combat robot shaped like a scorpion.
We did not linger more than necessary. We swept through the resistance, secured the access points, and finally penetrated the interior of X-13. Though partially ruined, the facility retained a considerable amount of intact terminals and records.
It did not take long to confirm our suspicions.
This was a center dedicated to reverse engineering. They studied Chinese stealth armor captured during the early years of the Sino-American War, attempting to replicate and improve upon enemy technology: perfecting optical camouflage, material adaptability, energy efficiency.
We found the prototype armor they had been developing. At a glance, it differed from any pre-war equipment we had previously recovered. It included an integrated artificial intelligence tasked with monitoring the wearer's vital signs—similar to the systems embedded in the power armor utilized by my supermutants. However, in this case, the AI appeared capable of managing not merely physical condition but also real-time combat responses, adapting instantly to battlefield conditions.
It could, perhaps, act more efficiently than relying on human thought alone.
Another advantage to place upon the research table.
What truly captured my attention, however, was that the system was not solely concerned with life support. The AI had been designed with autonomous learning software. Entire sections of X-13 were dedicated to training it—stealth chambers, evasion drills, progressive learning modules. They sought not merely a responsive armor, but one capable of anticipation. An armor that learned to become truly undetectable in combat.
The cursed thing was far more talkative than one would expect of stealth equipment. Each action, each shift in operational conditions, triggered commentary or warnings from a mechanical voice barely restrained. That communication module would undoubtedly require refinement—or removal.
Terminal records confirmed it.
They intended for the armor to form an emotional attachment to its wearer, ensuring it would protect their life at any cost. A psychological bond between machine and user.
Once the facility was fully secured, I would most likely assign it to a frumentarius for final AI conditioning, after which I would oversee the necessary improvements to mass-produce such armors for covert operations.
Before withdrawing, one of my legionaries discovered a medical implant among the remains of a secondary experimentation chamber. Upon reviewing it against the local databases, we learned it was an implant capable of generating enzymes that improved digestion, completely breaking down carbon chains in food to extract every last available nutrient.
I retract my earlier skepticism. This place not only equaled Vault-Tec's Bunker 0. It surpassed it by far.
The installations marked Z-38 and Z-43 brought unpleasant memories. Z-43 had been a chemical synthesis center, where the toxic cloud that later flooded Sierra Madre was created—the lethal mist that cost us so much blood and effort during that cursed expedition. Z-38, meanwhile, had been devoted to the development of automatic defense holograms—the same incorporeal horrors responsible for countless casualties during our forced stay in that sealed city.
As we advanced, a sense of unease intensified.
Full environmental protection suits lay scattered through various sectors—combat exoskeletons designed to withstand extreme environments. What was truly disturbing, however, was that some of these suits still stood.
They reacted to our presence. They attacked, though their occupants had long ceased breathing. Within, there remained only desiccated skeletons, dust, and brittle bone.
The true treasure here was not in the experimental weapons or infiltration systems.
It lay closer than I had anticipated.
The experimental foundry.
A research center dedicated to the development of advanced military-grade materials. And it appeared they had found something of real value: Saturnite.
A light, highly resistant alloy with extraordinary ability to endure extreme temperatures without losing structural integrity.
When I read about it in the facility's records, clear ideas began forming in my mind.
It could be utilized in the fabrication of a new type of weapon, capable of withstanding the intense heat of prolonged plasma or laser fire without warping.
Or better still: as an external layer in armor systems, greatly increasing resistance to energy weapons, which were becoming increasingly common among the scattered remnants of the NCR and other factions. A clear upgrade over ballistic ceramic plates, which were costly to maintain and fragile under repeated impacts.
However, not all was advantageous.
Reviewing internal field reports, I noted a significant issue: Saturnite could withstand heat… but it also retained it.
An excessive buildup of thermal energy within a suit equipped with flamethrowers could prove catastrophic if the fuel overheated.
Its application would need to be carefully studied.
Nevertheless, this facility was overflowing with cutting-edge technology.
Every room, every laboratory, every abandoned terminal promised secrets. My mind raced with the possibilities: genetic enhancements, new armor composites, more efficient energy weapons