I, the undead, save the world with the dolls

Today, Fanglin Town welcomed several groups that looked like they were not to be trifled with.

The guards at the gate of Fanglin Town could hear footsteps and gunfire from afar. The downside of building a stronghold in the city was that the enemy density on the road was probably too high.

The guard yawned and checked the .45 caliber submachine gun in his hand - some of the ghouls who survived from before the war called this weapon a Chicago typewriter or a Thompson submachine gun.

But for the guards, it doesn't matter what it is called. As long as this weapon can splash water to kill the enemy at close range, it doesn't matter what it is called.

The battle in the distance seemed to be intensifying, and the roars of several super mutants could be heard. It seemed that this group of guests had the misfortune of encountering a super mutant patrol, and those guys were not easy to deal with.

The guard wouldn't go over to see if he could help; his job was to guard the gates of Funlin Town and respond to anything that came into his sight. The battle wasn't happening right in front of him, so why would he risk his life to join in?

The guard's job only pays less than a hundred bottle caps a month, it's not worth joining in the fun and losing your life in vain.

Soon, the gunfire died down, followed by a rhythmic, heavy sound of footsteps. It sounded like the sound of power armor moving.

A reliable power armor is a scarce commodity on the East Coast. In fact, few people can afford to wear power armor. Those who can afford it are basically elite warriors of some powerful forces.

No matter who it was, as long as they put on this armor and went out, it was equivalent to declaring to everyone how awesome they were. After all, anyone who could afford such powerful equipment must have a lot of money to maintain it.

The guard cheered up and prepared to welcome the next guest... He couldn't be here to cause trouble, right?

After waiting for a short while, a strange team of four people emerged from the nearby street.

A man wearing power armor with the logo of the Volunteer Army sprayed on it, next to him is a big man who is nearly two meters tall and wrapped in very handsome clothes; a Volunteer Army soldier who ran out from nowhere, and a woman with a style completely different from the wastelander.

The difference in their appearances was so great that the guard was momentarily unsure how to evaluate them. However, he continued to fulfill his duty as a guard, quietly waiting for them to approach so he could speak directly.

However, as these people approached, the guards also heard them discussing something heatedly.

"The super mutants here seem to be smarter than those on the West Coast?" Ariana compared their combat power.

"No, no, no, that's not it. You probably haven't met Marcus. That's the man with a clear mind and perfect logic. You know what? He was able to remain calm even when faced with mercenaries ready to kill him. He even said there was no need for bloodshed and that all they had to do was pay them to get out."

"Why would you do that? Those mercenaries might blackmail you repeatedly." Aliana frowned.

"Because if he took action and killed those mercenaries, even if they were just injured, NCR would send in soldiers to slaughter all the mutants there... Those NCR idiots just don't understand. They're used to bullying those who can talk and reason. He didn't even consider that Marcus could arm a mutant force comparable to the Bishop's Army and sweep across the West Coast." The postman explained quickly. She was particularly talkative today.

"So what happened? Is Marcus still alive?" asked Priston, very interested in the story.

"Alive and well. I personally asked the NCR leaders to spare Marcus and his men's lives and forbid them from sending anyone to harass them. I believe that Ulysses will give those idiots a good beating. NCR used to be able to use mutants as guards and enter the Ranger system, but it's gone from bad to worse."

The postman continued to tell the story and boasted about his awesome past.

"So, what is the Bishop's Army?" Everyone looked confused.

"That's a horror story from the West Coast... Legend has it that in the past, there was a man who came out of the Vault. His name was... Shit. He was a very smart super mutant called Bishop. He brought a group of mutants with heavy weapons and planned to turn everyone in the world into mutants. The ones you see on the West Coast are all smart and followed the lead, but they were all killed. Only a few escaped, or the ones with lesser brains survived."

The postman had obviously forgotten the details of the story and could only make up something on his own. Anyway, no one here could tell whether he was talking nonsense or not.

"So the average intelligence of mutants on the East Coast is now higher?" Ariana was really serious.

"You can't think of being smart just because you can speak a few words. Mutants, man-eating creatures, the fact that they can talk doesn't stop them from eating people, and they can smash your head with all kinds of weapons. These ghost things that eat raw human flesh are definitely not intelligent. I only agree that mutants like Marcus who can communicate normally are intelligent." The postman also started to get serious.

"Ladies, ladies. Don't rush to quarrel, we have already arrived at the town of Nice Neighbors." Seeing that the two looked like they were about to fight, Preston quickly diverted their attention.

"It's true that it holds bad views about humans, but to judge it as unintelligent based on this is arrogant and contemptuous. Judging it based solely on whether it eats humans or not is wrong. Many predators also eat humans. As far as I know, many people with money in their pockets will also eat human flesh out of curiosity." Ariana continued the verbal battle.

"Bullshit. Can you call something that can't control what it wants to eat intelligent? How come Marcus and his friends are fine? They even learned to farm and eat food. Some of those mutants are just low in intelligence. It's useless to teach them. They act purely on instinct." The postman also used his not-so-high intelligence to try to convince the other party.

"General, please say something too!" Preston looked at the tall power armor.

"Uh... instead of discussing whether they have intelligence, why not try communicating with those who can and kill those who can't? Having brains only matters in combat, right? Whether they can communicate or not will reveal itself," Old Popsicle elaborated on his point. "Isn't there anyone in this team who empathizes with all the mutants?"

"I do!" The Postman raised his hands suddenly. "But that was before I knew there was nothing between their crotches. Now I don't have any idea."

"Oh my god." Even though she was in human form, Ariana was still blinded by the Postman's incredible actions. After being interrupted, she didn't want him to discuss the idiotic topic of whether mutants had intelligence.

It's clear that the average intelligence of mutants on the East Coast is higher, and super mutants are intelligent. Failure to recognize that your opponent has intelligence and can use tactics will lead to future setbacks.

Although Ariana couldn't explain how the Postman could survive on the West Coast for so long, looking down on mutants for so long, and still be so alive and well. Damn, theory can't trump reality. It must be because the Postman is so incredibly strong that the strength of mutants is of no concern to her; she can just chop them up if she sees one.

"Everyone has this idea when they are young. Not to mention mutants, the guys I meet on the road range from mud crabs to feral ghouls. By the way, rational ghouls are considered normal in NCR and Mojave." The postman continued to explain.

"I really don't want to listen to you talk about this nonsense." Ariana couldn't understand why these humans were so obsessed with Sese.

Can this really be explained by reward mechanisms and satisfaction? What's the point of all this extravagant gaming? Is it to exploit biological reproductive instincts and exploit bugs to get a kick out of it?

...I suddenly remembered those AR Team guys. They were also a bunch of humanoids with some incomprehensible mindset. It felt like they were designed to be too human-like, and they've become just as baffling as humans.

How can a machine, a humanoid, trigger a reward mechanism? You guys clearly don't even have a single biological component, do you?! Isn't your Professor Pascal's abilities a bit too advanced?

Ariana grumbled inwardly for a long time. Of course, she couldn't say these words out loud. It would be the social ruin of the AR team, so she decided to just think about it herself.

"..." The guard of Fanglin Town silently watched these guys arguing at the door for a long time, and finally yawned silently to show respect.

305 Fanglin Town

"Good afternoon." The guard straightened his expression as he saw the people in front of him finally finish arguing. He glanced at Preston and the Volunteer Army icon on the chest of Old Popsicle's power armor, and showed a look of understanding.

"Are you volunteers? Quincy volunteers?" the guard asked tentatively.

"What is the basis for your certainty?" Old Popsicle still had some brains and did not admit it directly.

"Because he knows me, General," Preston said awkwardly from the side. "I remember you used to be a hunter on a farm in the north?"

"Yes, yes, it's me. I didn't expect Mr. Garvey to recognize me," the guard said, taking a closer look at Preston's face. "Preston Garvey? The black man who took out five bandits with a laser gun? Your outfit is very distinctive; I recognized you right away."

"I never thought that I would become a celebrity one day. This makes me a little distressed that people recognize me when I go out." Although Preston was very humble, he couldn't help but smile.

"You've already become a celebrity among us. Please come in! Welcome to Fanglin Town, fellow volunteers. However, you should know the rules of this town. You're not allowed to pick a fight just because you're unhappy with someone. If you want to fight, go to a special arena or go out and fight. Do you understand? This is not a lawless place. Here, we and the mayor are the law."

Although the guard was very polite, he still explained the precautions seriously.

"Don't worry, we will all know our limits." Old Popsicle said in the power armor.

"I think anyone who sees this iron armor will become very sensible." The guard nodded at Old Popsicle's power armor, his eyes full of envy.

Anyone involved in combat would generally want a set of power armor, even if it's just a welded rust plate or just a power frame.

However, this type of armor has either been discovered in the past two hundred years or has been damaged beyond repair. There aren't many left in the wasteland.

After chatting with the guard for a while, the team walked through the gate into Fanglin Town.

A town teeming with criminals, gangs, and drug addicts nestled in Boston's treacherous financial district, nestled around the Old State House and surrounding neighborhoods. Despite its chaotic nature, residents believe it's a truly free place. Of course, some choose to live here simply because they've found it difficult to make it elsewhere.

Unlike most communities, including Diamond City, residents of Goodneighbor are not classified as "residents" but rather as "travelers."

Goodneighborhood was built on the site of Scollay Square, with some streets walled off to create a closed-off residential space. The main buildings in the town, besides the old State House, included the Refuge Hotel and a brothel (now converted into a "memory vault").

Hancock's insistence on not standing idly by during the persecution made the atmosphere in Goodneighborhood much happier and more relaxed, while also causing people to pay closer attention to Boston's public enemy, the academy. Today, Goodneighborhood is the second largest community in Boston. Although small in population, it is very united.

There are also some scattered brothels, casinos, hotels, drug shops, weapons shops, smuggling markets, etc. Any business that has something to do with crime is involved here.

For example, there was an arms vendor called "You Die or I Die," run by a Raider robot. Ariana almost shot the robot when she detected its signal, but luckily she used her strong willpower to force herself not to do it.

Next door to this shop is a "Daisy Outlet," which seems to be a place dedicated to selling some less shameful things. The owner welcomes people from all over to buy or sell her good-quality equipment or supplies.

However, based on Ariana's experience in the East Coast, this store did not offer discounts. On the contrary, she sold products at a higher price than the average.

A little further in, you'll find the memory vault known as the brothel. This place is quite large, and judging by the clientele, it seems to be doing quite well. Just this moment, five or six people have been coming in and out.

"The Memory Vault, I know this place. It's run by Emma and Dr. Amari. They use 'memory recliners' to help customers recall past events. But they're very cautious and only accept customers with no serious problems... After all, the equipment is very expensive, and it's hard to repair if it gets smashed."

Priston explained.

The two remaining important places in the town are the Ritz-Carlton, Millenia Hotel and the Third Rail Bar.

Before the nuclear war, this hotel was a place for guests to relax and unwind. They still offer these services now, but they also sell a variety of medicines and alcoholic beverages. Since there are many people who need some medicine, sales are surprisingly good.

No one has any special opinion on this.

Ariana completely lacks knowledge in this area. She only knows that there are a lot of people taking drugs and getting into fights on the West Coast, but taking drugs is bad, that's all.

Preston actually hated this kind of medicine, but he didn't want to swear on someone else's territory.

As for their attitudes towards medicine, there was no surprising disagreement between Old Popsicle and the postman.

After all, many of the various medicines that appeared in the wasteland had been passed down from before the war. Those medicines with strong efficacy but also strong side effects were sold through formal channels before the war.

As a pre-war Bostonian, Old Popsicle was quite calm about the appearance of these random drugs. Not to mention the postman, if she didn't have a power suit, she would have taken a large amount of drugs in a critical moment to temporarily increase her physical performance and fight the enemy to the death.

Staying alive is more important than any potential health issues after taking the drug. Remember to rest and recover afterward, and take the drug to relieve the craving. Most addictions are treatable... If you're not, take another drug or seek further treatment from a doctor.

Trust the potency of the medicine, trust the skill of the doctor. If there's really no way to cure it, then you're on your own.

Those who have been addicted for more than a few years often cannot rely on the cravings to get rid of it, as the addiction has eroded their nerves for too long. However, the success rate for those who have been addicted for a short time is still quite high.

It is precisely because of this technology that can easily eliminate addiction, and because of the high degree of internal conflicts before the nuclear war, that the number of people taking drugs is still quite large.

Lao Binggun also only used similar military drugs in combat environments, but he quit smoking through treatment after retiring and returning home - until now, he has no intention of smoking or injecting anything.

Just as Old Popsicle was taking his eyes off the drinks and medicines on the table, the postman came over.

"Hey, old Popsicle, if you're gonna suck it... you better know how Jett does it."

"I don't know, this thing should not be from before the war. Is there anything special about it?" Old Popsicle asked curiously.

"Ms. Postman..." Preston felt he had to say something. Are you taking the general to get high?

"This thing is made of cow dung from a two-headed cow. To be more precise, it's made of the gas that floats out of the cow dung. After being compressed and loaded, it becomes Jet." The postman said while holding back his laughter.

"What... I really wish I didn't know this knowledge. Are you lying to me again?" Old Popsicle was a little unconvinced.

"No, really not. I used to do farm work. When I heard the rumor, I don't know what was going on, but I leaned over and took a few deep puffs - my god, the smell was so fucking stimulating, and I felt refreshed all over. But compared to feeling refreshed, I don't want to be covered in cow dung. That's too disgusting." The postman explained to Old Popsicle.

"...Now I understand why those former drug addicts in the camp are scrambling to take charge of feeding the two-headed cow." Preston couldn't help but sigh after knowing the truth.

"Okay, now you know, let's go." The postman, who had done his bad deed, ignored the anger in the eyes of the hotel workers behind him and hurriedly pushed the old popsicle to leave.

"Wait, don't be in a hurry. Do you have Gunisen beer here? I don't want the kind that has been left over from before the war. I want fresh and ready-made ones. Do you have any?" Old Popsicle asked hurriedly.

"Yes, how much do you want?" The hotel owner swallowed his curse words and asked the tin can in front of him.

"Give me two bottles, I'll drink them myself." Old Popsicle was greedy.

"Don't worry, give me two bottles too." said the postman.

"I want two bottles too." Ariana followed suit. Maybe this drink would taste good?

"Sir?" The boss looked at Preston.

"No, I forget it. There has to be at least one person with a clear mind in this team." Preston refused directly.

After paying a dozen more bottle caps, six glasses of room-temperature beer were delivered. Old Popsicle and the postman took off their helmets, grabbed their glasses, and drank them down in one gulp.

Ton tun tun tun...The pale yellow liquid and milky white wine residue entered their stomachs within seconds.

"Burp~~~~Ha——!" The two of them burped heartily.

"Yeah! That's right! This is the taste! It hasn't changed in two hundred years! Boss, you're amazing!" Old Popsicle grabbed another wine glass without delay, clinked his glasses with the postman, and drank it all in one gulp again.

Aliana, who was next to them, shook the Ninefold in her hand. She took several sips and felt... not very good.

"You guys drink it. I'm not very good at drinking." Aliana regretted following the trend and pushed the two large cups to the postman and Old Popsicle.

"Look at you, you just don't know how to enjoy life." The postman complained to her, then clinked glasses with Old Popsicle again, and finished drinking all at once. After these three glasses, the two of them had drunk a liter of beer each.

"Hey guys, are you okay?" Preston felt something was wrong.

"Very good, full of energy!" The postman relied on his super strong physique, and these few cups of wine were no different from drinking water.

"Um... cough cough, I'm fine, let's go." Old Popsicle burped, but his expression was still quite clear.

It was over. A general who looked drunk, and a postman who was still full of energy. The girl didn't seem to care about anything either. Preston felt miserable, but he couldn't express it.

The final shop worth noting is the Third Track. Formerly a subway station beneath the old State House, it's now a bar run by Whitechapel Charlie and Magnolia. I'm not sure why it was named that way, but I guess it just sounded nice.

Here, drinks and food of all prices are sold, catering to those who come to discuss business. Whitechapel Charlie is in charge of business transactions at the front desk, while Magnolia sings on the stage, enhancing the atmosphere.

The two of them ran the place very successfully, and with the help of the burly bodyguards they hired, this place could finally be considered a place where they could have a good discussion.

In reality, this Orbital Bar was the place where the most people gathered. All sorts of people came here to trade information, and some to sign contracts.

Some people were looking for workers, while others were looking for their employers. If Sun Yang were here, he would probably sigh, "Isn't this an adventurer's tavern?"

Old Popsicle was planning to announce a high-profile mission here, asking all capable people to find clues about Sean, or Kroger.

"I'm surprised there isn't a slave market here." Old Popsicle took a last look at the shops and couldn't help but sarcastically say something.

"That's impossible. According to Hancock's requirements, no persecution is allowed in this place. Slave trade is one of them. He allows at most one or two brothels to exist. Those people claim to be serving and working voluntarily, so Hancock reluctantly turns a blind eye." Preston explained in detail.

"Okay, let's go inside and take a look." Old Popsicle walked down the stairs of this familiar yet unfamiliar subway station. He had taken this subway line before, but now the place had been changed beyond recognition.

The underground corridor was filled with messy things, and the deeper part had been converted into a large bar. Now that it was evening, the bar was still quite crowded.

The guard at the door of the bar looked at the power armor in front of him and the submachine gun in his hand with some guilt.