Disclaimer: I do not have any rights to either Gate or Fallout

Post Gate Opening, approx. 5 days

Downtown Boston, Commonwealth of Massachusetts

"Huh," Valentine mused aloud, alone in the dark alleys that made up old Boston. He had recently taken a case from the Mayor of Diamond City, and was tracking his meager handful of clues to a known raider stronghold when he came across something strange. "I've heard of Caesar and his Legion," he continued speaking to himself, "but I didn't think he would be operating in the Commonwealth."

Yet that was the only explanation Valentine could think of as he stared at the dead man. It seemed so... awkward, the body was swathed in a crimson tunic, with sandals laced up its calf and probably had worn a heavy chest plate judging by the straps on his back. As far as Valentine knew, no one in the Wasteland would care enough to replicate a ancient roman soldier, yet that's what was lying face down in a pool of muck and rainwater, in the middle of downtown Boston.

However, guessing at the fist sized holes that were liberally ripped out of that same back; the armor wasn't heavy enough.

"My, my," the detective mused to himself, squatting down next to the body, "these are most interesting times indeed." Idly he reached a synthetic hand out and undid the straps holding what was left of the legionaries cuirass to his body. With a small splash, the leather came undone and slid from the dead man, allowing Valentine to roll him over and start searching for pockets. The Commonwealth was not a place for the squeamish, and it might give Valentine some insight as to why Caesar was sending the Legion so far north.

"Aha," he muttered to himself as he fished a scrap of paper from the dead man's tunic. Silently, Nick hoped that this was some prank gone horribly wrong, because if the Legion had its eyes on the Commonwealth and if even half of what he heard about their macabre games was true, life would get even more interesting. And he wasn't sure just how interesting life could get here until something broke and society burned. Again.

He sighed softly, feeling the his respirator clacking away just beneath his faux ribs; he would have to check with a mechanic about that soon, a cough would really put a crimp into his stealth missions. Standing up, he unfolded the crumpled piece of paper, looking over the words that were delicately inked into the surface. Although, now that he looked at it, he couldn't really tell if they were words - he didn't recognize any of the strange symbols. Is Caesar crazy enough to start making up his own language? For anyone else, Valentine would shrug that off as a joke, but this was Caesar, and he was hardly normal by any account.

I guess that I'll have to do this the hard way, he thought to himself, as his mechanical eyes scanning the Legionaries body for any more clues. Settling his eyes on the grey ground beyond the body, Nick could make out faint footprints in the old dust and piles of refuse, as well as darker patches of blood. Heavier boot prints, probably from Raiders, were oriented around the ambushed legionary. Poor guy, Nick thought, at least his end was quick. Which was, by and large, the most anyone could ask for in this wasteland.

Sighing again, he began to back track the Legates trek through the city.

~T-45d~

Markus continued to shiver uncontrollably in the shed, trying desperately to suppress his blood laden coughs. Curse this world! Curse the Emperor, and curse that fool Cardreg! If that idiot had only recognized that this world was a poisoned hell when they had stepped through Alnus Gate, everyone might still be alive, not dragged off by giant green men.

He couldn't hold his breath well enough; another round of wracking coughs shook his body and he painted the side of the tin shed with more crimson blood. What few men he had left with him were not doing much better. Of his forty soldiers, ten had survived the ambush by the giants, where the Imperial Army had been caught in a plaza and butchered from all sides by massive rotating wands that spat flame. Their fiendish laughter and taunts still assailed his ears, though his men had broken the cordon and escaped days ago.

And in those days, five more of his men succumbed to the invisible poison that tainted the land, permeating the foods, the water, and the very bodies of its inhabitants. They were not good deaths. Christofe died drowning in his own blood as they slept. Jaks died of infection the same night; their first night here. Gordon was struck by lightning as a freakish green storm rolled over the city, and Fend not long after; he had been near the strike and shortly, his hair and nails had fallen out, his eyes began to rot and he tried to beg through the bile that clogged his throat to be given a merciful death before the poison took him. Their most recent casualty had been Shenji; crablike creatures had burst from the water's edge and tore him apart on their claws while the rest of the group fled.

Now, without the water that the crabs had been guarding, what few men remained with Marcus had only a day or two left to live, if the rotting poison didn't take them all first. They were starving in the cold darkness of the shed; the air was chill yet Markus felt as though his skin was burning, like a particularly hot day in the summer.

He ran a hand over his scalp, fighting back the growing nausea, and his hand came away plastered with his dark blond hair. Soon enough, his hair would start falling out without the meagre pressure his hand provided, and then he would go the same way as Fend.

There has to be a way out, I am Markus, nephew of Moltose, and a mere hell is not worthy of my death. He tried to stand straight, letting his armor support as much of his back as it could, and reached for his glades. I will go back to the Gate, A new round of coughs slammed through his chest, ripping something in his nose as his eyes bled from the pressure.

I will make it through the Gate, he spat blood to the floor and wiped his face on his tattered sleeve. Gripping his sword firmly, he began to gently kick his troops awake.

We will warn the Empire of these foul creatures. Groaning, three of his men rose looking at his panting visage for a brief second before grabbing their own gear.

We will warn the Empire of this insidious poison, Versheh lay unmoving, his eyes glassed over and bile covering his nose and mouth. He had passed, drowning in his own sickness.

We will make it home, Markus silently promised himself, wanting with the desperation of the drowning to keep this, his last, promise. Their fifth man, Jendro, had disappeared in the night, and Markus wished him luck, hoping that anyone would survive this hell.

His men blearily blinked their eyes, wiping futily at the mucus, blood and loose hair covering their faces. Yet each gripped their weapon, each wore their heavy armor and each stood despite empty stomachs, dry mouths and feeble bodies. They were the Empire's finest in this moment, no matter their birth nor rank.

Nodding to himself, Markus steeled his nerves and opened their sheds thin door, allowing the cloying air and dust back into the hovel.

Gravel crunched.

Markus hastily leapt out, his second wind returning as adrenaline coursed through his veins, ready to fight, to flee, to do anything. His men, seeing the alacrity of their leader, instantly went on alert, following Markus quickly out the door, naked swords gleaming.

What they saw terrified them anew. This hell contained twisted men, from the green giants and their unrelenting brutality to starved undead, consumed by madness, and this. A mockery of man stood in front of them, and yellow clockwork eyes gazing at them, analyzing their state. Half of its face was torn off, exposing gleaming metal and the skin sloughed down its face in places, leaving it with a light scowl as it surveyed them.

The construct beckoned to them, mimicking body language perfectly. It spoke, but neither Markus nor his men understood the foul language emanating from the machine's lips.

~T-45d~

"Well hello there," Valentine drawled, "nice day to be taking over the Commonwealth isn't it?" The leader's face tightened imperceptibly, but his men looked at one another in confusion. "You understand what I'm saying here, right?" the detective pressed, but was only met with some muttering in a language that didn't sound very familiar.

"Hello?" Nick called, "do you understand English?" He guessed not, and switched to what he remembered from his school days, two hundred years past. "Habla Español?" No reaction. "Err, parlez vous Francais?" Still nothing, what the hell was Caesar teaching these morons?

Maybe they weren't from the Legion though, all of them looked to be suffering from acute radiation exposure, their faces covered in dried blood and skin that was peeling away in small patches, exposing glistening muscle beneath. Caesars men would certainly be able to avoid over-irradiating themselves, if only because they had spent their entire lives in the ruins of America. That lent credence to his hope that this was all some prank gone wrong.

"All right, well, obviously we need to do something about that radiation sickness first of all, or you lot don't look like you will make it through the night." At this point, Valentine might as well have been talking to himself, but intent on helping, he took a step forward.

The legionaries all took a step back. Well, except the leader, he looked to have some steel in his eyes. An angry gaze fixated on the detective, but the Leader made no motion with his sword. Valentine locked eyes with him, challenging his gaze while making calming motions with one hand, as he slowly reached into his duster and withdrew the pack of rad away he always kept. You never knew when some poor settler would need treatment while you were investigating; can't have the witness die before they give testimony after all.

An idea formed in Nicks mind, and he also slowly pulled out his magnum, carefully laying the weapon on the ground before taking another step forward towards the Legionary. The leader relaxed a little, and instead of taking another step back, the soldiers quietly talked amongst themselves.

Nick carefully eased his weight forward once more, making sure to make no sudden movements. He wouldn't want to get beat to death by some lost tourists. What a way to finally kick the bucket. "Private Eye, professional investigator brutally murdered by scared tourists playing dress up". He could already see the way Piper would title it, and he chuckled quietly to himself. He always had appreciated her candor.

Another step forward and he uncapped the needle on the rad away, and made motions as if he were stabbing himself in the arm, hoping that the leader understood. With a slow nod, the leader focused on the gleaming needle and spoke in that foreign language to his men. When none of them met his eye, the Leader shook his head ruefully and took a step to meet Valentine.

"All right now," the detective continued, in what he hoped was a soothing tone, "you are going to feel a slight prick, and your arm might become a little uncomfortable." He reached forward and secured the Leaders arm, holding it still as he gently pressed the needle into the veins inside the elbow. A slight hiss escaped the Leaders lips, and his friends looked murderous at the noise, but Valentine ignored them, continuing to speak. Squeezing the liquid from the IV bag with one hand, Valentine drawled calmly, "There, you're doing good. Truth be told I'm not used to actually administering drugs, that's more Hancock's specialty, but I'm more than good enough to get you back to Diamond City for a real doctor."

Giving the bag one last squeeze, Nick withdrew the needle and recapped the now mostly empty IV bag. He could probably sell it back in town; the scrap would probably fetch a couple extra caps.

The Leader swung his arm around a few times, slowly flexing it. Valentine could remember, from back when he was a lawyer, how uncomfortable the sensation was. Yet the mans fogged up eyes grew a little clearer as the radiation poisoning was countered. Some energy seemed to return to his face and with a huge smile, he embraced the synth.

Valentine felt acutely awkward, but he would never mention it as he comforted the crying man.

He grinned at the three shocked men beyond, who all had symptoms as bad or worse than their leader's, "Now I just have to get all you back to Diamond City alive, so we figure out what the hell is going on."

Approximately one month later

Alnus Hill, Allied Armies

The ruins of the field stank of acrid smoke and dead bodies. That was the first thing that Duran realized when he came too, and he knew the memory would stay with him forever. He was a veteran of many wars, but no battle, no skirmish had ever been so brutal as this one. The very land was scarred and flayed, and its desiccated remains stank of filth and death.

His head hurt abominably, and he let out a groan, reaching up to free his helmet from his head. With a crisp snap, the leather unclasped and the metal helm fell away. Duran took a shuddering breath, glad that he could still breath, only to end up coughing on foul smoke. He was ecstatic despite the pain, he was alive when so many weren't, the King of Alguna, the King of Mudwan, Duke Ligu, thousands, no, tens of thousands of soldiers, horses and mercenaries.

Their loss, especially that of his close friend the Duke of Ligu, tore at his soul, but for the moment, waking up to be alive another day was a joy that so many were now denied. Wobbling a little, the King of Elbe made to stand, to be useful; finding survivors and linking up with the remains of the army was the top priority now. But he couldn't push himself up, his body felt so weak.

Blearily, his eyes gauged the position of the sun, and he decided it was sometime around noon, but he couldn't be sure; all he knew was that the migraine was terrible, and that the daylight too bright for his eyes. He peered as much as he could around his body, hoping to find some reason for his current weakness. Looking down told him enough however, to be glad that he couldn't feel anything through migraine; bone and flesh were jutting from the ruins of hi leg, and while the blood seemed to have long clotted, it would be a fools mission to walk.

Unable to move, the King gazed around him, hoping to see another breathing body. The battle was a terrible affair and he silently decided that he would never fight for the Emperor again. Not after this.

When the Army of the Allied Kingdoms had first taken to the field, they had expected an easy victory. What could some thousands of men do against the hundred thousand that the Allied Kingdoms had brought, or the two hundred thousand more from the Empire? But the Empire's soldiers had never shown their cowardly faces and Molts treachery would never go answered because with this battle, the Kingdoms were never going to be a threat to his reign.

Gritting his teeth, Duran recalled the images of that dawn attack, of how eager the Kings of Alguna and Mudwan were to lead the charge into glorious battle. And how wrong they were. What could one man do, what could a battalion of men do, as monstrous hounds nearly the size of horses tore out their innards? What could the armies do when they were annihilated by taunting enemies further than the bow could shoot?

Their first attempt at an offensive left the Duke of Ligu dead, his helm and half eaten body was all they had ever found of him. The Kings of Alguna and Mudwan also never turned up during the cursory searching of the battlefield.

When Duran, the Lion of the Elbe Clan, sortied out the remaining armies under his own banner, the battle had only gone worse. The midday attack combined with incredible, eye searing explosions and the maddening rattle of those metal wands gave the green men every advantage, and that was when the bloodbath began. Massive men, monsters of green, and larger than even those titanic hounds, appeared from seemingly nowhere. They were leaping off the nearby cliffs, emerging from the tall grass and somehow maneuvering behind the armies, and with a feral roar, their smaller army slammed into Durans with lethal intent, leading to a desperate melee.

The weapons of the green men may have been crude, but they made up for it in terrifying determination. None could be easily killed; even stabbing their hearts wouldn't stop them. As the battle progressed, the King had been knocked from his horse, the charger run completely through by a rusty old pipe of all things. A grinning giant leered over the downed King as he struggled to free his sword and defend himself. His banner leapt to the Kings defense, steel flashing, and the beast merely roared as its eye was gouged with almost six inches of metal. It reached out two massive hands and grasped the banner man briefly before ripping the poor man in half, and then threw those halves, still connected by a string of glistening intestine, to bowl over a nearby soldier, who was promptly stomped to death by another giant.

The green monster turned back to the King, a mad grin covering its ruined, laughing face. "Scream - Scream for your worthless life!" the being cackled, though Duran knew not the meaning. But he did scream, loud and filled with desperation as he rammed his sword through where the things heart was supposed to be, and it only grinned wider as blood pooled from its mouth. Gargling now as it madly closed its arms around the King, Duran could not free his sword: it was stuck inside the monster.

Grabbing ahold of the banner man's dirk, he threw all of his weight and armor behind a final stab, tilting both of them over to the ground. With a roar to match any others on the field, he drove the dirk the final two inches through the demons skull, and it finally gave in to death.

It was in that moment of elation, even as the furnace roared around him, that he noticed crazed cackling from nearby. His eyes widened a fraction of an inch as he saw another green man slam a metallic sphere into the ground behind a ring of his soldiers; and the blinding light of a newborn star was the last thing he could remember.

"Milord," a nearby whisper startled him from his recollection, "Milord, thank the gods you are alive." Turning his head, Duran could make out the forms of some soldiers, but the glare of sun was still too strong for his eyes.

He nodded his head, unable to speak through his dry throat. "Shush milord, we need to bring you to the medics quickly." Suddenly Duran felt iron clad hands grasping his shoulders as another soldier maneuvered around him to carry his waist. He tried to nod his thanks but the speaker restrained him, "don't move to much my lord, we need to get you off the field quickly, those green men are searching for something."

Another whisper cut in harshly, "I doubt they're searching for anything, you saw them feeding our comrades to those monster hounds."

"You're wrong Josef," a third voice countered, still in that breathless whisper, "the brutes are looking for prisoners. You saw them dragging away the wounded, and keeping their mongrels from attacking them." The arms carrying Duran's waist trembled a little, "I wouldn't want to be a prisoner of those things."

"Shut up you two," the leader whispered, "you understand why we have to leave quickly my lord?" Not even waiting for an answer, the three soldiers hefted the armored man up. Duran had to bite back a scream as his shattered leg shifted. "I'm sorry milord, but it's better that you return soon, with so many dead now."

Grimly, the King nodded, he understood the importance of making sure as many troops knew he lived as possible, while it wouldn't completely heal the shattered moral of his troops, having an authority survive would certainly help it heal.

No doubt that much of the demoralized remains of the Allied Kingdoms armies had already left, hoping to find pillage and loot in some other place. No more than scum, marauders and bandits now, that was what they would choose. But Duran wouldn't damn them, no matter what they did. There was only so much the soul could take before it shattered and watching his men, his friends get eaten alive in that battle would test the mettle of any.

North West of Alnus Hill

Lelei La Lelena quietly walked the perimeter of her teacher's house. The night was old, and whispers of dawn had just begun to break the horizon. No one in the village was up yet, yet Lelei was awake, and her Master too. Dreams had been plaguing them both recently, and neither could get a full night of sleep. The old pervert had even begun to sober up, actually passing on some of his older experiments on to her.

Fire raining from the sky, her mind's eye had shown her, the oppression of an unstoppable doom pressing down, flattening everything in its path. Rage and terror and cruelty and blood. What could have been causing such evil dreams?

Her Master, Kato, was sitting quietly in his rocking chair, facing the hearth as he nursed a cup of that sweet tea he was so fond of. She could sense the fire and the warmth of the water through her magical connection, but she didn't need that to know he was brooding. The dreams had been especially clear to him, as in his age, he could recall similar ones from his youth.

"An ancient evil is awakened before its time Lelei," he had said to her seriously, the normal tone of humor missing from his sleep starved voice, "I remember when something similar happened almost sixty summers ago. I was having dreams similar to these ones that plague us now, of blood and ice, and the cold, unrelenting brutality of the blizzard."

He had sat back then, silently chewing on the end of his pipe, a nervous habit. Lelei had left shortly afterwards, as her master seemed to be reviewing those memories. Attempting to comfort or get more information would only hinder his thoughts right now.

And so, Lelei La Lelena found herself quietly checking the wooden posts for rot. Silently meditating at the ponds edge, passing the time until dawn and perhaps an answer arrived. Sixty summers ago, a den of frost wyverns had awoken, the god Hardy had been angered by the Empires refusal to cease its expansion.

For days, a blizzard served as the harbinger for the poisons to come. Crops withered and starved, frozen inside and out as the people were barricaded into their homes by the weight of snow that reached as far south as the Capitol. At least, that was what her history tomes spoke of. But then, when they described how the Emperor single handedly vanquished Hardy's tools, Lelei found herself wondering, not for the first time, just how biased some of the tomes were. She could get the true answer from her teacher, but she would have to wait.

A ward twinged at the edge of her senses. Someone had joined her and Kato, someone fleeing from something. Lelei could feel the raw panic emanating off of the figure in waves, it was scaring the little creatures, inciting them to panic as well. Lelei looked up from her cursory inspection, and lightly gripped her staff; she would probably need to put this person to sleep. They were scared, they were confused and so they would probably react irrationally, something that Lelei may have detested, but could deal with. She freely acknowledged her emotions, but never would she let them control her.

Yet, something didn't feel right about this, the air felt heavier, as if someone with the Talent were giving into their emotions. The lesser creatures were more jumpy, more angry, more panicked than if the fleeing person didn't have a connection to nature. The tree's themselves seemed to twist menacingly towards Lelei, but she simply banished that illusion. No rogue magic was going to influence her thoughts.

There. The intruder emerged from the woods, her clothes tattered and frayed from a long run through the forest. Leleis blue eyes scanned the rapidly approaching elf, and it was an elf. No one else could move with that fluid grace, not when they were panicking.

Lelei quickly aligned her spell, and sent the elf a powerful sleep suggestion. The elf, now merely a small distance away, searched franticly for the source of the magic, her wide eyes betraying an emptiness inside her spirit. She was beyond exhausted, and that helped Lelei's magic overcome her natural resistances. Slowly those wide, mad eyes aligned on Lelei, and sluggishly, the elf reached out two delicate arms.

With a final closing of her eyes, the elf went truly to sleep and fell forward. Extending one hand, Lelei caught the falling elf in a magical grip and pondered briefly about the significance of her appearance. Perhaps the focus of Lelei's premonitions was closer that she thought.

Snapping her fingers, Lelei roused herself from her thoughts. First, the elf, making sure that she knew she was safe when she woke, and then figuring out why she had fled. Lelei nodded to herself, this was a plan and she could work with that. Trailing the mage by a meter, the elf drifted towards the house of Master Kato, helm firm in the grip of magic, and rooted to a restoring sleep.

A/N:

Morning, welcome to my little fanfic about Gate and Fallout 4. Its going to continue for a few more chapters at least, and I'll make sure to tack on an actual conclusion if I decide to finish, but no promises about its quality.

Now you may notice that this is my first story published on fanficnet, and there is a reason for that. Until recently I had labored under the false conclusion that fanfiction was all crap. Well, when I ran out of stories to read and got a little drunk, I decided, "fuck it, lets find something to satisfy this boredom." And now here I am, many stories richer and greatly entertained by this wonderful hub of writers.

Now that we have got all that touchy-feely crap out of the way, I want to pose a question to those of you still reading: Should the Sole Survivor be OC or should I make them Itami? There are good reasons to go either way; I can make a super baddass with OC, but with Itami, I already have a minor baddass and very comedic template. With an OC I could avoid screwing up with how he/she thinks because no one would know how they would think previous to me making them, and with Itami, I would have to try and mimic his character as close as possible. There is already support in the Fallout 4 setup for an Itami-like character to succeed anyways, plus I could just make him a Grognak fan instead of doujinshi, or something like that. My point is, it can go either way and I want to hear what you guys might like.

My vote: Itami +1

The break point for this is fairly obvious to those of you who have read or watched Gate, except I decided to be a little more devious. Instead of the Gate opening just anywhere and everyone instantly knowing about it, I decided that it would open deep in Super Mutant Territory and the main factions (railroad, BoS, Minutemen and Institute: yes the Sole Survivor hasn't picked anyone yet (Itami being lazy...?)) take some time to learn where all these new breeds of super mutant are coming from. Some stealth missions make it across the Gate, assaults make it and fail just short, but the big thing is, the Factions refuse to work together, at least initially, which means that mutant population is growing quickly as they convert the land beyond the Gate and the Gates populations are becoming desperate to stop these demons.

Now, I will use those pressures to stick as closely to the original storyline as I can, but I will have to make excuses to fill in some plot holes, for example, Touka running from her village instead of being pushed into a well. I hope to keep the changes minor and controlled, but this is fanfiction! Anything could happen.

Have a good day and feel free to post your thoughts, any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.