Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“All I know is they went West, I cannot say for sure exactly where.”

Frankly, it didn’t look much like anything. Some strange crater in the ground with a smell of gas and, perhaps, just the faintest glow of green around it. And the super mutants. The super mutants were everywhere, spilling out of the crater and stumbling mindlessly across the tarmac outside the crater, penned in by the barbed wire fence.

“There’s something wrong with them,” Marcus whispered as well as he could, “They’re not like the me, they’re more like when the Master dipped wastelanders, rather than vault dwellers.”

“So they don’t have two braincells to rub together then?” Theo asked back.

“No, but that just makes them more dangerous. I can be reasoned with, they can’t.”

But it was for now the only lead they had on the strange faction that had stolen away Arroyo, that had killed Goris’ pack. They were interested in this place, and although Theo had yet to officially meet these power-armoured freaks (outside of calling one up from the powerplant, and that death squad he’d sent after them, but those didn’t really count), he knew it couldn’t be good. Not to mention all the missing miners from Redding that had supposedly come out this way, lured by promises of money, or simply taken in the night and never been seen again.

“Do they look like miners to you?” Theo asked, scrunching up his eyes.

“They look like super mutants, that’s all I can say,” Goris replied. There was only way to find out what was going on here, and the front gate was heavily guarded. Theo eyed up the fence with a heavy sense of trepidation. This was not going to end well.

“Marcus, give me a foot up,” Theo asked, hooking his fingers through the lower, unbarbed part of the fence.

“You can’t be serious,” Marcus whispered back, but at Theo’s prompting held his hands out for Theo to get a better start. The fence itself was maybe ten foot tall, and even with Marcus’ help, Theo still had another three feet before he reached the barb, and another ten feet after to climb down. The thin wire dug into Theo’s skin but didn’t cut it, each rattle of the fence as he slowly made his way up a warning to the super mutants, although they didn’t seem to heed it. But he made it to the top, with only the thick rolls of barbed wire winding around a length of straight barbed wire still to cross.

“Now what are you going to do?” Marcus hissed up at him. Theo reached up to the circular part with his left hand, looking for a stretch without any spikes on it, and pulled it down towards the flat part, giving his hand a relatively safe stretch of wire to hold onto. He searched for another with his right, this time needing more strength to pull the taughter wires together, but he managed, allowing him to pull himself up to the top of the fence. That was half the battle, now he only needed to get over it…

With his left foot planted firmly as high up in the fence as he could, he lifted his right foot over the barbed wire, keeping it as close to his hands as possible, where the fence was lowest, before bringing it back down and placing it on the other side of the fence. Next came his left foot, which followed suit, over the barbs, down to the-

His armour had snagged.

Theo tried to pull his leg off the barbs, but the fence started rattling again, sure to bring the attention of the nearby super mutants. He needed to free himself and fast, so he pulled again with his leg. Something ripped.

And he lost his balance, the sudden lurch overpowering his hands as he let go of the fence and plummeted down to the floor below, the bang louder than any rattle, the sudden loss of air from his lungs the only sensation for a second, before all his skin screamed out the pain of being hit all out once, his shoulder aching louder for having hit the ground first. His leg felt cold too where the armour had ripped. And someone was yelling for him, as footsteps seemed to come closer, too fast for him to push himself up to face.

Chapter Text

The cheers were deafening, dozens of raiders, maybe more, all screaming for blood at once, cheering on their favourite slave, taunting the one they’d bet against. Weapons were banged against the floor, adding to the noise, the shadows in the corner of the room moving unnaturally with the fake light.

Zion was ready. He had to be.

This was his one shot at escaping his enslavement, his one shot to help all the people of the Pitt escape too. He was used to being the hero, sure, but right now he felt more like a damsel in distress than the feared lone wanderer. That would change. It was going to change.

They’d taken his weapons, leaving him barefisted in the fight, with only the promise that his opponent was also unarmed keeping his spirits up. Fist fights were never his cup of tea, it was why Butch used to rag on him so much back at the vault, and he couldn’t exactly talk his way out of a fight he’d signed up for. He needed some good luck this time.

A bell rang out, and the gate ahead of him flung open, and the geigometer on his wrist crackled to life madly, warning him of the sheer danger of remaining in the Hole too long. He rushed out, eyes scanning the arena for signs of his opponent.

Something grabbed him from behind.

Something hard and tight was pulled across his neck, cutting into his skin something fierce, making him gasp out and struggle in fear, before he raised his hands to try and lift the wire off from around him.

It was pulled tighter, a lightheaded feeling rising Zion’s mind, he didn’t have long left. He had to hope he was lucky.

He let go of the wire and brought his elbow down to where he guessed his attacker’s crotch was. The gasp behind him, and the loosening of the wire, told him he was extremely lucky today.

Zion pulled the wire out of the person’s hands, turning to face his attacker, still doubled slightly at the pain. It was now or never. He wasn’t sure he could punch a man to death.

Instead, he lunged for the throat, using his body to topple his opponent to the floor, pinning their arms down using his knees and using the rest of his weight to press on the person’s throat. He’d only seen someone get choked to death once, at Charon’s expert hands, other than that this was complete guess work.

The person below him spluttered for breath, their kicks beneath Zion trying desperately to push off, but Zion was placed too far forward, the kicks eventually stilling. Soon his opponent lay still, but Zion knew better than to let go. People lost consciousness first, then they died, and he wasn’t sure he could snap their neck. He kept tight hold, until their lips went blue, and waited another moment before checking the pulse had gone below his fingers.

The stadium filled with boos, a poor show indeed. They’d wanted a long, drawn out fight, not a garrotte and a choking, but Zion wasn’t here for entertainment. He was here to win. They’d best realise that soon.

Chapter Text

“It’s just a building,” Theo whispered to himself, steeling himself up to enter. “Just a building. I’ll walk in, ask to speak to Vic, and leave. He’ll be reasonable, he’s human, after all.”

Although the scores of dirty, terrified faces staring back at him from the other side of the fences said otherwise, their silent pleading for rescue making Theo’s gut churn. But there were so many people here, so much better equipped, with bigger guns and tougher armour than he’d ever seen, and all he had was a spear and Sulik. Nothing more.

He turned to look at the floor instead, avoiding the faces so desperate for his help, ignoring how much they had in common, trying not to think too hard about how he was meant to save his entire village if he couldn’t even save these people.

“I’ll be back,” He whispered to himself, a promise they wouldn’t hear. A promise they might not even see carry out, “I’ll be back, and you’ll be free.” One of Metzger’s men stepped forward to meet him as Theo neared the door, emphasising his gun as he blocked Theo’s path.

“What’chu want, tribal?” He asked, sneering at Theo, “You should be in there with the rest of them.”

“I want to talk to Metzger,” Theo said, trying to keep his breathing steady, “About Vic.”

“Ey lads, this kid wants to talk to Metzger!” The man called out to the nearby slavers, gaining a chorus of laughter, “Beat it kid, unless you fancy getting caught yerself.”

“I want to talk to Metzger,” Theo repeated, planting himself firm on the ground, “Let me pass.”

“Or what?” The man jeered, “You’ll poke me with your stick.”

“Or,” Theo tapped his foot to think, trying to square the man up slightly as he thought. It didn’t work, “Or he might lose a really good business deal and you’ll have to answer for it.”

“You don’t scare me kid, go on, get lost.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“Not worth it. Screw off.”

“No. I have to speak to Vic. I can wait out here all day.”

“And I have to shoot anyone who pisses me off, and you’re getting close to it.”

“Fine then!” Theo shouted, “Guess I’ll take my money and go talk to a different slaver then.”

The man at the door didn’t flinch, but a quiet bustle from the other side of it told Theo the message had been received. The door flung open, and another, equally as large man, stepped out, jamming his thumb in Theo’s direction.

“You. Get in here.”

Theo didn’t look back at the door man, simply smirking as he passed him by as he was led into the dark building, the only light being that which glinted off the weapons carried by Metzger’s men. Sulik walked as close as he could get to Theo, his hand hovering over his hammer, both of them trying to focus ahead of them while everyone around them continued to glare.

Eventually they passed through another doorway, reaching the most heavily manned part of this building-come slavery compound, where a large, beaten up old desk sat in the centre of the room, with an equally large and beaten up man sat behind it, watching Theo and Sulik enter with a mix of boredom and annoyance written across his face.

“Two tribals think they have money to offer me?” Metzger asked, leaning back in his chair to fix them a steely glare, “I’d get more money selling you two to the next person who walks through that doorway.”

“You don’t know that for certain,” Theo refuted, “You have no idea how much money I carry on me.”

“You speak well for a tribal,” Metzger replied, his eyes narrowing, “your kind doesn’t have much money on them, nor good weapons. And if you had any decent cash to offer me, you wouldn’t wear such beaten up, useless armour. What do you want?”

“I need to speak with Vic, I heard you have him here,” Theo explained.

“Maybe I do. Maybe he’s not allowed visitors until I can find a use for the useless prat. What do you have to convince me to let you see him?”

“$500,” Theo said with as much confidence as he could muster, only to lose it as the room erupted into laughter. Metzger leaned forward in his seat.

“$500 wouldn’t even be enough to buy you, kid.”

“I’m not asking to buy him,” Theo explained through gritted teeth, “I just want a quick word with him. Five minutes to speak to the man for $500.”

“If you’re offering that much, you must be desperate,” Metzger noted, “And sadly for you, I’m not desperate. If you want to speak with Vic, you’ll have to buy his freedom to speak with you. $2000, up front.”

“$2000? For an old man? You’re joking,” Theo snapped. That was enough to buy the car in the junkyard! And he still had a long way to go to get to Vault 13 after speaking to Vic, he needed money for all of that, and he had barely scraped together the $500 he’d offered Metzger in the first place.

“If you need him that badly, you’ll pay it. And don’t get any funny ideas, you try and steal from me, and I’ll hunt down your family and take them all in to my pens. And trust me, you’ll beg for the price to be as kind as $2000.”

“There must be an… agreement we could reach here,” Theo offered. “Something I could offer you to make your end of the deal a little sweeter, and leave my pockets a little heavier.”

“Maybe there is. But, is a weak kid like you up for a task someone like me could assign you?”

“I’ll have to be.”

Chapter Text

The nights were quickly getting colder and colder, not that a night in the desert was ever particularly warm, but winter was coming with shorter days and colder, longer nights, and Arcade could feel the difference throughout his body, his teeth chattering, his arms shaking, his skin goosebumped for longer and longer. His capillary refill time had dropped through the floor too; it was absolutely freezing tonight.

Many of the legion soldiers had retreated to their beds, sparse of coverings and blankets as they were. But still kinder than the slaves got, most of the time. The young recruits huddled for warmth with no blankets or beds between them, while even the most senior slave could only hope for a forgotten pile of rags. He supposed he should be thankful of Caesar’s ‘hospitality’ in allowing him a blanket at least, even if he did sleep like a dog in his master’s room.

Arcade had been putting off returning to the chambers, seeking something other than the endless debates Caesar demanded of him, and found himself in the foulest corner of the camp. New hostages, kept bound and gagged, awaiting whatever their final fate would be. The arena was a merciful choice, they could just slit their throats the second the machete was in their hands. But more often than not, only crucification awaited. You could see the realisation in their eyes too, after the hours of torture handed to them by the legion, for fun or to teach recruits, that their death was not going to be soon.

There wasn’t many captives tonight. Just one, covered in his own blood and his skin torn from the whip, his face unreadable, but he didn’t shiver. He didn’t stir as Arcade came closer, something about that bald head was almost familiar, from a life Arcade had been thrust away from so many years ago, that same, surprisingly youthful face on someone so hardened by life. Something so very, very familiar…

“Boone?” Arcade asked, finally crouching down beside the prisoner. He reached out to touch him, but Boone jolted back. “I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you think. Although I haven’t exactly got any medical supplies with me to help you…”

“Get away from me, legion scum,” Boone hissed, trying to spit in Arcade’s direction, but his parched lips formed no spittle, “I knew you were with them.”

“I assure you I want to be here almost as much as you do,” Arcade sighed, although Boone only edged away more.

“Then why are you here?” Boone asked, raising his head a little. Arcade paused, and rolled down his sleeve a little, just enough to reveal the somewhat faded branding from when he was newly captured. A bull, sat just over the veins on his wrist, a mark that he was no longer a free man, that he hadn’t been in too long.

“It wasn’t by choice,” Is all Arcade could manage to say. Boone looked at the brand, then looked away. What was there to be said between two men who’d both been betrayed by the same friend anyway?

“You should go, they’ll notice you’re missing,” Boone stated. Arcade took a deep breath, and a wild thought took over him. Surely not…

“Maybe I should stay. Maybe we could escape,” Arcade offered. Boone gave a short, emotionless laugh.

“Yeah? Where would that get us? You haven’t escaped yet.”

“No, but I can’t do it on my own. Maybe we could, together…”

“How likely is it?”

“Honestly, we’ll probably die. But you’re going to get killed anyway, and I…” Arcade faded out. The dark thoughts that haunted his head nearly everyday were returning once more, “I don’t think I have long to live either way.”

“And if we get caught?”

“They’ll crucify you anyway, and I’ll get put back to work with a few more scars. We have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.”

Boone fell into silence once more, as if considering Arcade’s proposal. Then, “We leave now?”

“No, not now. I’ll come back when it’s later.”

“What if you don’t?”

“I know you don’t trust that easily Boone, but I do have a plan. It’s all I’ve had to live for,” Arcade explained. The thought of returning to the Boneyard once more, to ignore what happened here and never have to speak Latin again, it kept him going on the bad days. And there were always more bad days. “We can’t escape without the other. Do you trust me?”

Boone was silent once more, for so long that Arcade started to think he’d fallen asleep. But just as he was about to stand once more, Boone spoke up.

“As much as I can, I suppose.”

That’s all he needed. He could live on less. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

Chapter Text

Colonel Autumn requests your presence, sir.

Those words were swimming through Arcade’s head as he rushed through the halls of Ravenrock, spoken by a soldier with such urgency that he had no choice but to meet. He’d barely even returned from his meeting with that wastelander, hadn’t even had time to check back in, just thrust into his next meeting without any concern. He knew he should’ve gone into science instead of officer work, just like his mother said.

Arcade found the Colonel’s office door with practiced ease, and knocked before letting himself in. The room seemed mostly empty spare Autumn sat behind his desk, rifling through his papers, but there was something… off, about it. Nevertheless, he walked forward towards the colonel’s desk, standing to attention while his aching legs wanted to stay put instead.

“You sent for me, Autumn?” Arcade asked as he neared. Autumn looked up with the same contempt he’d shown Arcade every time they met, although the man couldn’t be faulted for that, as no doubt the same look crossed Arcade’s face.

“Yes, I did. Soldiers?” Autumn called out to the door, which opened quickly as a handful of fully armed, fully kitted Enclave soldiers poured through it, taking place along the far wall, their guns to hand but not aimed. The door was blocked behind them. “Forgive me, but back-up is always a reassurance.”

“Has there been a security threat since I left?” Arcade asked, looking between the soldiers before turning back to Autumn. They never had them in the meetings, there was no need.

“Since you returned. One of America’s most wanted men has been spotted wandering these fine halls, but not to fear, I have the situation under control.”

“Oh? And I’m sure this meeting of ours was much more important than telling me of the risk, and letting me help find this criminal?”

“I don’t think you’re understanding me,” Autumn drawled, a smile small stretching his lips. Arcade’s stomach twisted at the sight; Autumn never smiled at him.

“I understand that killing an officer under false pretences is a crime in our country, even for a colonel such as yourself,” Arcade refuted. “Not to mention, killing one in front of five witnesses is a sure fire way to find yourself at the wrong end of a court martial.”

“Oh but the pretences are very real,” Autumn picked up a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to Arcade, who snatched it from his hands, reading the page as quickly as he could. It was a writ of execution, signed by the President himself, with his name clearly marked on the paper. He’d only ever seen one once, and that officer had disappeared from all Enclave files not long after.

“You’re out of your mind,” Arcade tossed the paper back to the desk, “I have been nothing but loyal to America and to the Enclave.”

“Have you? Cause I seem to recall that there’s been about 200 gallons of water missing in total from your squad’s supplies, and that number always seems to increase when you’re posted into the wasteland.”

Well, he couldn’t let the wastelanders perish so cruelly in the droughts brought by their very own atomic barrage so many years ago, “And as I explained at the time, we were posted in the Mojave at the time, my men were drinking water like fish in the heat and more evaporated at an unprecedented rate in the heat.”

“I would have thought you’d know that was impossible, all those books you read. And your track record for losing prisoners en route to base is quite appalling.”

He couldn’t take those children back, he couldn’t, not knowing what the enclave had in mind for them, “As I told you at the time, they were smarter than we thought, and slipperier. We couldn’t have foreseen their escape.”

“How long have you been chasing that deathclaw pack across America anyway?”

“Five years, but in my defence the Enclave designed them to be intelligent, they’re near human levels,” Or surpassing them, in the case of some colonels.

“But the real stinger is that you were seen conversing with one of them, hmm? Once the President saw that footage relayed from one of our eyebots, he couldn’t deny your traitorous nature.”

“You sent me to do that!” Arcade snapped, “It was only on your express orders that I spoke with Nim at all!”

“Really, are you that desperate that you will try to throw your innocent colonel under the bus here? I did nothing of the sort. You have no proof, but I do have proof of you being more than just polite with the wastelanders.”

“You set me up!” Arcade yelled, turning to the congregated soldiers for back up, but they all stayed stock still. What was this, a firing squad? “Are you out of your mind? They’ll know, they’ll find out.”

“Will they now? Find out what, how much their beloved officer has mislead them?”

“Remember this men,” Arcade called out to the soldiers as Colonel Autumn drew his pistol, “Remember everything you can.”

“It won’t do you any good,” Autumn warned, standing from his desk and walking towards Arcade. Arcade swallowed deeply, but refused to flinch, only standing straighter to dwarf Autumn even further. “You’ll be dead, and I’ll get a commendation.”

The pistol pushed into Arcade’s forehead as Autumn shoved him down to his knees. There was no way to fight for his freedom here, no escape beyond the soldiers called for back up, even if he managed to miss the point-blank shot. There was no escape now but into the darkness, and whatever punishment met him past it.

Surely he deserved it.

Chapter Text

“Less than satisfactory, X6-88. Your mission took five days longer than it should have, and you don’t even have a unit to show for it. Explain yourself.”

“There were unexpected complications, sir.”

That was an understatement. Every inch of X6’s body ached with the tell-tale signs of bruises forming beneath his skin, or at least the patches of skin not already bruised. The lost synth had last been seen near Fallon’s Department store, so there was where he headed. No-one had thought to warn him of the Super Mutant population there.

He had, in all honesty, found the synth right away, mere moments before being ambushed by more super mutants than even he could take. After he’d shot down three, a fourth had come around the back and knocked him unconcious with what he could only assume was a wooden bat. His head still ached from the impact, and it was taking all he had to not hold it right now. He was glad for his sunglasses as even with them on the room was too bright.

But once he’d come around, he hadn’t found himself in any better of a situation. Captured, kept as fresh meat for the super mutants to eat, and apparently these ones liked their meat tender. He certainly felt tender now, it was amazing he could even keep himself standing. Any lesser synth would surely have fallen down by now.

“You didn’t even bring the synth’s body back with you. Waste of good material.”

Short of killing all the super mutants and pulling what was still to be digested from their stomachs, X6 didn’t really have a good way to bring the synth back. But that sort of reply was dangerous, especially after a failed mission. “Your annoyance is noted. Next time, I will bring back everything I can.” Maybe some nice discarded intestines would have placated the scientist…

“Enough. Father’s mother wishes to see you. Dismissed.”

X6 turned and left the SRB, hiding his relief, but dreading the stairs all the way to the director’s suite, those countless stairs weren’t going to be easy going, not to mention he was running on empty. He’d barely slept, and certainly hadn’t eaten, since he left the institute five days ago. Each step felt like a mountain, but if he didn’t keep up the pace, someone would notice. He couldn’t let that happen.

He felt like he was swaying as he walked, stumbling up the stairs and through to Nora’s small flat. He hoped she was here, he wasn’t sure he could withstand walking all the way back to the teleporter again, and traipsing through the Commonwealth to find her.

But he could find no signs of her, meaning the journey up here had been in vain. He should’ve checked, he only had himself to blame, and he couldn’t stay here. Those chairs looked just too inviting.

The doors to the flat slid open, grabbing X6’s attention as Nora walked in, messing about with her pipboy and so enraptured in her meddling she didn’t even notice him stood in the centre of the room. She flopped down on one of the seats wordlessly.

“Ma’am?” X6 asked, making her jump out of her skin, “Sorry, I was told to report to you?”

Nora opened her mouth to speak, only for her eyebrows to furrow down as she stood up again. “Geez X, what happened to you? You look like a super mutant used you as an drum set.”

“You’re not far from the truth, ma’am.”

“Come on, sit down,” Nora instructed, grabbing X6’s shoulder and leading him to the plush sofa, the iron grip and look on her face telling him refusal was not an option. The stabbing of the bruises beneath her fingers, and the sharp blast of feeling from a gentle hand on him for the first time since they’d parted ways was so painful he shook her off without thinking, which only made her look more concerned. “There’s no way I’m letting you stay here without me again you know. They’re not sending you on another mission like that. When was the last time you ate?”

“That’s not-“

“So when you left, right? Stay here, I’ll get you something.”

Nora rushed from the room, leaving X6 to relax into the plush cushions, the fear of being found like this numbed behind the threat of sleep. He wasn’t entirely opposed to that for once.

Chapter Text

Saturday mornings were always quiet, mostly spent cleaning up the bar from last night’s civilised riot as everyone in Megaton decided to celebrate the start of the weekend the exact same way: by lining Gob’s pockets with caps. But now there was the wreckage from them all to clean up, and Gob stood behind the bar, checking the stock was all good for another busy night while Nova cleaned the front of house. Gob hadn’t changed the name of the saloon, even after Moriarty was found dead five years ago under completely normal and not at all suspicious circumstances. There was no point, all the regular’s would keep the old name no matter what he changed it to.

“Don’t rush yourself Nova,” Gob called out, “I doubt we’ll see anyone for a few hours yet.”

“Or maybe they’ll come in early to cure their hangover, hmm?” Nova replied.

“We can only hope.”

The front door opened, and Gob instinctively stood to attention, peering round the door to see if it was a new customer or a regular. New customers needed a much more formal greeting, after all.

Someone stumbled in, carrying something in his arms, the filth and blood covering him completely obscuring him from Gob. Formal it was then. “Welcome to Moriarty’s Saloon, what can I get for you?”

The person looked up, almost like he was in shock, and Gob recognised him in a heartbeat. “MacCready! Welcome back, we haven’t seen you around here for a while.”

“No, I’ve been… no,” MacCready mumbled out, staggering further into the saloon, still clutching his bundle tight. Was it moving?

“Come on, sweetheart, you look like you’re about to collapse. Why don’t you sit down?” Nova asked, guiding MacCready to a nearby chair, which he collapsed into, still clutching his bundle tight. Mercenaries returning to the bar covered in blood wasn’t exactly an uncommon sight, but something seemed a little off, and Gob couldn’t put his finger on it.

“So, where have you been? You look like someone dragged you through hell, or at least DC. Job gone wrong?”

“Just, around I guess,” MacCready shook his head, propping it up on his hand against the table, nearly nodding off as he sat. The bundle wriggled again, and strange noises came out of it.

“What have you got there?” Nova asked, inching closer, only for MacCready to clutch it closer, his hand shooting towards his gun. Nova automatically stepped back, holding her hands up, “I’m not gonna take it.”

“Him. You’re not gonna take him,” MacCready corrected her. The muffled noises progressed to a whinging cry, which seemed to snap MacCready’s attention back to it. “Hey buddy, it’s alright, we’re safe now. We’re safe.”

Nova slowly made her way back to the bar and leant over it to speak to Gob, “Grab a bottle of milk, I think the little one’s hungry.”

Gob did as he was told, handing the milk back to Nova for her to hand it to MacCready. MacCready flinched again as she stepped near, before staring at the bottle. “I don’t have any caps on me. I, I left it. I left everything.”

“It’s on the house,” Gob said quickly, before adding, “the amount of drinks you and your customers buy in here, we can lose a little profit for you for once.”

MacCready barely seemed to acknowledge Gob as he spoke, just took a hold of the bottle and held it to the bundle in his arms, soothing the baby within it. There was something so unnatural and stiff about the way he spoke though, something was very wrong. And all that blood… and who exactly was this baby?

“Where’s Lucy?” Nova asked, a name that hit Gob like a brick. The girl MacCready had in here last, his arm around her shoulder, their lips constantly together, both drunk as a skunk and sneaking off to the rooms upstairs. MacCready seemed to tense. “I liked her, you didn’t chase her off, did you?”

“No. I…” MacCready shook his head again, a shaky hand putting the bottle back on the table while the baby louded protested. Nova risked stepping forward again. “I didn’t…”

Nova got close enough to kneal beside MacCready, to place a hand on his leg as he started shaking, his muffled sobs hidden beneath the baby’s hungry cries, “I left everything, everything but Duncan. I couldn’t… I couldn’t get anything. I…” MacCready turned his face away, and Nova put a hand up to help support the baby still clutched tight to his chest, tighter with every sob, as if letting go of him for a second would cause the baby to disappear forever. “I couldn’t save her.”

Chapter Text

Winter was settling in with a nasty chilling bite that froze MacCready’s fingers to his gun. Just four more hours on watch at Sanctuary, then he could go back to bed, go back to being warm. A mighty cough wracked his lungs, and he covered his mouth with his hand just in time, each cough feeling like it took all the air from his lungs, only to proving him wrong by the next one managing just after. Each fit drained him to the point of having to lean back against the watch tower’s wall for a moment to catch his breath. The cold had definitely hit him early this year.

After a few minutes spent trying to claw air back into his lungs, MacCready returned to his watch post, still spluttering as he did so, rubbing the spittle off his lips with the back of his hand. Just four more hours. He knew he should’ve stopped smoking, every year his winter cough seemed to get worse and worse.

Except part of him knew this wasn’t a normal cough. What the cough was, well, that was another matter altogether. He’d spent some time back when Duncan first got ill trying to find what the disease was, so he probably had more knowledge than the average wastelander on the horrible, horrible, body shattering diseases people could get simply by existing, but he couldn’t claim to be an expert. Everything seemed to have a cough anyway. Even Duncan coughed a bit when he was sick.

Not that this could be the disease Duncan had, he hadn’t had a fever, and he hadn’t seen him in so long now. If MacCready just told himself it was too long, that he hadn’t read of diseases with a longer ‘infection-to-signs-showing’ time, maybe he could start to believe it. If he said it wasn’t serious for long enough, it wouldn’t be.

The next fit of coughs took him by surprise, too fast for him to drop his gun, so he leant into the back of his hand as his lungs forcefully tried to clear themselves, once again draining him, each cough another painful crash through his chest, until they lightened enough for him to try and catch his breath back. He hadn’t even the energy to lean against the wall, just remain crouched over his gun until he could raise his head again.

There was blood on the back of his hand.

…

Maybe he should speak to someone in the morning.

Chapter Text

Deathclaws are pack animals, they do not do well in isolation.

He’d heard those words spoken so long ago now, by the very man who used the knowledge he’d gained watching them against him now. Xarn curled in closer on himself, too aware of the armoured soldiers just beyond the door, just waiting for the order to kill him. No doubt they’d relish it, the bragging rights to say that they had killed a deathclaw. He wasn’t scared. Not anymore. But he wasn’t going to go easily.

He thought of his pack almost constantly, silently hoping that they had moved on, realised the danger they had been in when he hadn’t returned. But, then again, he was a mature male deathclaw; by rights, he should’ve left or fought Gruthar for the right to be alpha, maybe they thought he’d gone to live on his own. He’d never even dared think of doing so, the unending pain of isolation, of not knowing if his pack, his family, was alive was too much to bear. How could he ever search for another?

Maybe they thought he was dead. It would be better than them knowing that he’d broken the most important rule they’d set. “Never speak to the scientists. Never reveal how smart we truly are.” He couldn’t help it. Before he could pretend to be an animal, knowing that they’d give up eventually and return him to the pack, but there was no hope here. Just the knowledge that each day brought only more pain, no basking, no laying on top of the other nest guardians to share heat, no teaching the hatchlings how to hunt by encouraging them to hunt him, it was too much. He hoped his pack had left him for dead. He deserved no better.

If there was even a pack left alive. He’d felt a tearing at his very soul so long ago, not long after he’d finally spoken to Schreber, it could only be bad news. The crushing loneliness of being away from his pack was bad, but the uncertainty of whether he even had a pack at all was killing him. They could all be dead; Kerith, her harsh tongue making sure her guardians were in line, Jul, their greatest warrior who never flinched, Valdis, who spent so long playing with the children everyone knew he was biding his time until he could have his own. Goris, as strange as that one was, was sweet in his own way, always having an ear to listen to his troubles so long as Xarn would listen to ramblings about his research. And Gruthar, their fearless alpha, who loved all the pack as his family and knew just how to keep them all together.

And he’d ruined it. All their hard work to survive the Enclave, all their hard work to make a new life for themselves out in the wasteland, all of Gruthar’s work to ingratiate themselves into human society. All gone.

Death didn’t scare him anymore. He knew it would come, sooner rather than later. All he hoped for was a chance to pay back the Enclave for what they did to him.

Chapter Text

The road stretched out before them, dotted by mindless, milling feral ghouls, their lolled heads and staggered movements making them seem every bit the villain in an old zombie holotape. Courier and Raul crouched behind one of the nearby cars watching them while mindlessly messing with their hands; Raul was checking his pistols, while Courier scratched at the back of hers.

“What do you think, boss? Reckon we can take them?” Raul asked, “And by ‘we’ I mean ‘you’, they’d just let me pass if I do nothing.”

“Aye, I kna,” Courier mumbled, checking through her ammo supply. She certainly had enough 5.56mm for her varmint rifle to shoot them all, but after the first shot they’d come running, she needed something more powerful. The laser pistol she’d picked up from the robed ghoul back towards Nipton might do the trick, so long as she wasn’t rusty with it. “Alright, on my count. You take the one on the left, I’ll gan right. One. Two. Three!”

Courier darted out from cover and aimed the pistol towards the nearest ghoul’s head, pulling the trigger and watching it crumble into a pile of ash. The sound of ballistic smashing bone from her right told her Raul had hit his mark too. The other ghouls heads flicked up, a chorus of growling through the road letting all other nearby ghouls know they were under attack.

Courier aimed at the next one, rushing head first towards them, getting the ghoul in the shoulder, and it didn’t even react. Raul took it out with a good shot to the neck, while Courier aimed at the next nearest, shooting out it’s left ankle and causing it to stagger and almost fall, before she turned to the third ghoul to shoot out an eye.

A warning yell from Raul was suddenly cut off, followed by a tonne weight smacking into the Courier, knocking her onto the hood of the car as gnashing, rotted teeth snapped at her legs. With a muffled scream, Courier brought up the leg and brought it crashing into the feral’s face, stunning it just long enough for her to scramble back to her feet and take in what had happened. They’d been flanked, with Raul currently wrestling with two more ferals as the one she kicked regained it’s senses. Another was approaching her from behind, and there was still two more up the road to deal with. Uh oh.

“Hey! I’m one of you!” Raul yelled as he continued to wrestle the nearest ghoul. Courier stood up on the car’s bonnet and aimed a laser straight in the nearest ghoul’s eye, before turning to the next and getting shooting it through the eye too, watching it scatter into a pile of dust. “Don’t eat me, eat the smoothskin!” Raul yelled, knocking one of the ghouls to the floor with an exasperated gasp. Courier quickly fired two bullets into it’s skull while Raul shot the other ghoul trying to grab him.

The ghoul from up the road grabbed Courier and nearly pulled her off the car, but a well aimed right hook knocked broke it’s brittle jaw in a splatter of blood and spittle, and a final bullet killed it too. Raul was gasping for breath, the final ghoul slowly making it’s agonised way over to them.

“Uh, sorry boss,” Raul gasped out, grasping his arm. Courier finished off the final ghoul with barely even a glance towards it.

“Joke’s on you, I’ve got eczema,” She complained, check over her hands, “My skin’s as smooth as sandpaper.”

Especially right now. That punch had broken open a handful non-closing fissures in her skin, and the ghoul blood was now mixing with spots of her own, not enough to impede her fighting, but enough to cause a serious problem. She needed to disinfect those, and soon, and the memory of alcohol touching flared-up flesh was enough to make her wince, never mind actually doing it. But Raul needed seeing to too… Well, she couldn’t exactly heal him up with bloody hands, could she?

“Gimme a sec, I just need ta sort me hands out,” Courier waved Raul to sit on the car, which he did with a relieved sigh.

“Sure thing boss, I’ll just bleed out while you moisturise. Don’t mind me.”

Courier pulled out a bottle of vodka, not exactly medical grade alcohol but if it was good enough for ethylene glycol poisoning, it was good enough for field medicine, and twisted open the top, before pouring it over the backs of her hands. She hissed at the feeling, like fire spreading across the micro-cuts across the damaged skin, strongest where the visible fissure were, but it washed away the blood without wasting precious water. She repeated it with the other hand, gasping out once again, and thankful when the bottle was empty. She’d bandage them, but with wounds that small it felt like a waste.

“Remind me to ask for liquid paraffin next time we see a doctor,” Courier asked, flicking her hands out in hopes it would relieve some of the sting.

“If I remember myself it’d be a first,” Raul shrugged.

Chapter Text

“If you die down there, I can have your helmet, right?”

“You leave that helmet alone, I’ll haunt your arse if you touch it.”

Veronica immediately stepped back from the discarded helmet, pouting slightly as she did so. Boone was sat further back from the water side, keeping watch for any threats with Lily by his side. Cass handed Courier a swig of whiskey to drink, which Courier declined. Arcade had his arms crossed, watching disapprovingly as Raul tried to help Courier into the rebreather.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Arcade warned, “For one, you can’t hold your breath for long enough to surface if that machine goes wrong down there, for another, you don’t know if there’s unexploded bombs just waiting for you to knock them.”

“Ah, I’ll be fine,” Courier assured him, adjusting the rebreather a little and bending down to pat Rex’s head. “I’ll be back in a jiffy, don’t worry.”

“You can swim, right?” Raul asked, patting the rebreather into place.

“Aye, more or less. Well enough to get there and back at least.”

“Courier, I’m not comfortable with this…”

“Then don’t come,” Courier snapped back, turning towards the water’s edge. She’d discarded her usual armour for something more practical and lighter, and downed a rad-x just to be safe, even though the geigometer read nothing exciting. It wasn’t long before she was wading in knee deep water, then doggy paddling deeper into the water. Arcade’s distant complaining could still be heard as Courier purposefully swam badly just to annoy him, before breaking into a forward crawl to assuage his worries.

She dunked her head under water briefly to try out the rebreather a few times, making sure she knew what she was doing before she was under there for good. She’d decided to risk not bringing her glasses, hoping she could make out the plane just enough without them, rather than risking losing them to Lake Mead. Once her pipboy started to click to let her know she was in position, she treaded water for a moment to psyche herself up, before diving below the water.

It was dusty down here, two hundred years of rotting machinery and toxins filling the waters making it a horrible shade of brown that only darkened the further she got down. At this rate, it’d be a miracle if she could even see the plane, never mind attach the ballasts to it.

It just kept going, deeper, deeper, darker, darker, until her hand touched something cold and metallic beneath her. A wing. She couldn’t make out the shape with her eyes, so she chose to close them instead, to keep the stinging water out of them as much as possible. A steady hand lead her across the wing until she found the best spot, and blindly tied the ballast beneath it.

With one hand still on the wing, she headed back the way she came, feeling along to the cockpit to find the other wing easier, and found the correct position, attaching the second ballast in place. That was the hard bit done, now just to resurface.

Courier let go off the wing and position her feet above it, hoping to use it to propel herself upwards, when something bashed into her from behind. She gasped, turning to see what it was, only for it to return, knocking the rebreather out of her mouth.

Panic shot through her, followed by the sudden realisation that she had to get to the surface fast. She kicked off the plane wing, desperately kicking and swinging with all her might to reach the surface, the water lightening by half shades far too slowly, her muscles straining to keep moving, her lungs screaming out in pain with the lack of air.

Not much further. Not much further.

Something hit her again, knocking the air out of her lungs and her arms off track, the surface now spun around and no long above her head. Panic settled in once again as she spun around, trying to find the way up, water filling her nose and freaking her out more.

She couldn’t die like this, not after teasing Arcade about it.

But there wasn’t much more time. It felt like the water was trying to force its way into her lungs now, and she was too tired to fight it anymore. Each kick felt like twenty, each swing of her hands seemed to only make the light above her dim more. This was it? This was how Vegas died?

Not with a bang, but with a pathetic gurgle?

Chapter Text

The edges of the long strips of lights started to glow, the dread they brought with them pooling in Xarn’s stomach. He’d lost track of how long he’d been here, how long it had last been since he’d been taken from the pack. He should’ve known better than to go hunting that far away from the vault, but the pickings looked too good. The desire to bring back a good haul to Gruthar had been too tempting.

The centre of the light’s audibly blinked on as the door to the holding cell opened. Animal, but the orders make sense. He’d hoped to forget Gruthar’s instructions on how to behave around the scientists, that their freedom would last longer than the mere couple of months he’d had. He hadn’t the strength to push himself to his feet anymore, only to growl at Dr Schreber as he entered, completely emotionless.

“Did you sleep well?” Schreber asked, monotonous and uncaring. “I suppose that’s something to ask you when you finally start talking. Do deathclaws dream?”

He does, he dreams of his pack and rolling in the afternoon sun when he feels cold and digging his claws into the sand once again. And he has nightmares of what Schreber used to do to them all in the name of knowledge. Xarn growled again as Schreber stepped closer.

“Stop,” Schreber ordered, and Xarn did so. Smart enough to follow orders, but not enough to question them. “We will repeat this daily until I gain the evidence I need.”

And then he and the rest of the pack will be wiped out. It wasn’t worth it, even if every inch of him still ached from yesterday.

“I told you last week, when you first arrived, what you must do if you want this to stop. It will stay the same.”

The instruction had none of the words the deathclaws were meant to understand, too convulted, but not enough that Xarn couldn’t still carry it out. He stared as blankly as he could manage as Schreber summoned over one of the soldiers carrying the electric prod. It took an awful lot of willpower not to wince at the sight of it. Schreber waved the soldier towards Xarn.

The smash of electricity rushed through Xarn’s body, sending his limbs out flailing as he howled in pain and panic, and once the prod was lifted her crashed to the floor, still twitching and gasping for breath. He’d barely had a moment to recover before it was back, the contact with his left flank nearly sending him careening off to the right, the his legs useless as the electrical current made them do anything but find their place beneath him. The prod was lifted off again, moved towards his shoulder as he tried to push himself up, sending him crashing to the floor once more with a loud howl, his long claws cratching furrows in his arms as they curled up beyond his control.

The prod was lifted once more, with a slightly longer pause long enough for Xarn to growl pathetically, trying to tell Schreber to go away, pulling against the chains that stopped him from swiping the scientist’s head off his shoulders to no avail. Schreber moved his hand again, and the pain returned once more, an endless burning running through his body, forcing ever inch of him to wake up and scream in pain.

But this time the probe felt like it wouldn’t come off, just pushed harder into Xarn’s scales until he collapsed on the ground out of reach of the probe. The soldier stepped forward instantly, forcing the probe into Xarn’s softer scales on his belly, drawing Xarn into a ball as he shook and screamed with pain, unending, as if the only way it would ever be lifted was when he was dead, until-

“Stop!” Xarn screamed, the word barely even clear to him through his inability to control his body, but the probe was lifted and the soldier stumbled backwards. Schreber stepped closer, his usually blank face filled with surprise.

“Did- did you just say ‘stop’?” Schreber asked. He was closer than he’d ever been before, and Xarn opened his mouth to speak again, as Schreber stepped closer to hear it, only for Xarn to spring to action, bringing a claw round to try and slice Schreber’s head off his shoulders. But the soldier spotted it, shoving Schreber out of the way in time so Xarn’s claws only scratched deep gashes in the power armour.

“Don’t touch me again,” Schreber warned the soldier. “Did you hear that? It said ‘stop’.”

“It might have been an escape of gas,” the soldier suggested.

“No, it definitely wasn’t,” Schreber corrected them, scribbling down on a clipboard. “Wild deathclaws apparently have a limited ability to replicate certain sounds, but that was context specific and correct. There’s only one way to really find out,” Schreber clicked his pen against the board and waved the soldier back over as Xarn twisted to growl in their face, “We need to repeat the test.”

Chapter Text

The final soldier fell dead, crumpling with a heavy thud on the floor as Theo dropped his arm to his side, each breath coming out in heaves. He could barely feel his arm anymore, the weapons had shot something green and warm at it that numbed all feeling, and he didn’t dare look for fear of what he would find.

He quickly glanced over his team to assess how they were faring: Sulik and Vic were bleeding heavily, but was already setting upon himself with stimpacks, Marcus seemed to shake off the few extra bullet holes he’d gained in the fight, while Lenny emerged from where he’d sheltered behind Marcus relatively unscathed, but raced towards Goris as soon as he emerged.

Goris had ran claws first into the fight, as he always did, and Theo had lost track of him, but now he was curled up on the floor, shaking and breathing sharply as blood pooled into the sand surrounding him. Theo shook his head back into the moment and raced to join Lenny by Goris’ side.

“Goris?” Lenny asked, reaching out to shake Goris’ shoulder, “Can you h-hear me?”

Goris flinched inwards at the touch, giving a quiet warning growl before whimpering slightly. Theo couldn’t see where he was bleeding from, but Goris’ visible sides were covered in dark burns, the scales underneath already falling off from the small amount of movement Goris was doing. Marcus joined them, ready to lead a strong arm if necessary.

“Goris, I need to see w-where your injury is,” Lenny repeated, but didn’t move to touch Goris again. “I can’t move you if you might swipe at me.”

They’d all done it at some point, accidentally hit Lenny or someone else while they were trying to help out, albeit often without any pain relief. But Goris could very easily kill someone if they weren’t careful now. Marcus instead placed his hand down to meet Goris.

“Come on, it’ll be over quicker if you let Lenny see,” Marcus instructed, trying to pull Goris away from the wound, although even with his strength it seemed like a struggle. Beneath Goris’ arms were many small wounds stretching deep into his flesh, the blood pooling out and pouring over his stomach and into the sand in pulses. Goris’ breath was shaky and he was quickly trying to cover it up again.

“Bullet wounds?” Theo asked. One of the soldier’s had come with a machine gun, something he’d only realised after Goris had already pounced on them. Had Goris been hit? He must have ate quite a lot of lead before he fell if he did…

“We need to remove them,” Lenny instructed, rifling through his doctor’s bag as Theo crouched, ready to assist, “Then I need to close the w-wounds. But doing that is…”

Those wounds were deep and bleeding fast, trying to suture them up as Lenny usually did would take forever, and there were so many too. And the stimpack probably wouldn’t work fast enough.

That’s when Theo noticed one of the burns to the edge of the bullet spray covering Goris. It almost looked like it dipped into the flesh beneath it, and when Theo placed a finger over it, it dipped in.

“Gah! Don’t touch that!” Goris yelled, kicking out wildly in Theo’s direction.

“Lenny, does that look like a fresh bullet wound?” Theo asked. Lenny lent over to give it a closer look. “Maybe we could use the energy weapon those soldier’s were using to cauterise the wounds instead?”

“Are you suggesting we shoot Goris to life?” Marcus asked, pulling Goris’ arms away from Lenny and Theo and trying to secure him.

“Would it work?” Theo asked. Lenny gently ran his own fingers over the burn, his forehead furrowed in thought as Goris quietly scratched in the sand to ignore the pain.

“It might, b-but I can’t promise. Goris?”

“Just get this over with,” Goris replied, digging his claws into the sand.

Theo rushed to grab one of the guns as Lenny pulled out a pair of tweezers and moved to the first bullet, trying to swiftly and carefully remove it while Goris gnashed his teeth. Theo returned, turning the gun over in his hands to try to figure it out. He pointed it down at the sand and tried the trigger, almost jumping as the green goo shot out of it.

“First b-bullet is gone,” Lenny called out, bringing Theo back to Goris. The first wound was set slightly apart from the others, while Lenny had moved onto a wound at the opposite edge of the spray , giving Theo a good clear view of his target.

“Brace yourself,” Theo warned, holding the gun tight and aiming as best as he could down the sights. “One, two-“

He pulled the trigger, hitting the wound square on and gaining a loud roar from Goris as he scratched into the sand, writhing in pain while Marcus tried to calm him. The goo sizzled the scales underneath, a heavy smell of burning emanating from the wound, but no blood poured forth. It worked, but there were still so many wounds to sort, and Lenny had just pulled out the second bullet.

“Sulik, grab some healing powder,” Theo called back, “I think we’re gonna need it.”

Chapter Text

“If you think I’ll help save his life, you’re mistaken,” Acrade spat at the praetorian guards who crowded him. The last few hours were a blur; he had been dragged into Caesar’s tent, money had been exchanged somewhere, and now he was surrounded by guards and stood over the unconscious form of the tyrant of the Mojave. “Being able to save lives means knowing how to end them too.”

“You will remove the tumour, or you will die,” the one of the guards warned.

“A small sacrifice for the good of the world,” Arcade retorted. His hands were shaking, but there was a firm sense of nobility in his words. He’d die, yes, but he’d take Caesar down with him. He’d be forgotten, but the people of the wasteland would be saved. No one would thank him for it, or even know what he did, but at least his death would mean something this way.

The guards were clearly losing their patience, their beloved king dying as they stood arguing, and a flurry of whispers told Arcade they had no idea what to do. They couldn’t kill him, it’d be as good as killing Caesar themselves, and if they just handed Arcade the tools to do the job, he might just speed up Caesar’s death instead. The flap to Caesar’s quarters brushed open, and a head stuck through.

“What is the delay?” Vulpes asked, scanning the scene before him, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Must I do everything myself? Guards, grab the doctor and follow me.”

The nearest praetorian guards grabbed Arcade’s arms and pulled him along behind Vulpes, Arcade protesting all the while, trying to struggle free. But they were much stronger than he was, and soon Arcade found himself outside the tent once more, blinking in the bright sunlight. Vulpes waved his hand across the camp.

“You may not care to save Lord Caesar’s life, but what about the lives of the slaves?” Vulpes asked. Arcade stopped struggling, following Vulpes line of sight to where the slave women were struggling under the weight of their packages. “Should you fail to save Caesar, I will have each and every one of them executed in front of you, and then leave you chained and buried beneath their bodies, so that dehydration or the maggots might kill you for me.”

“You’re bluffing,” Arcade refuted, but even he could hear the shaking in his voice, “You need them to run the camp, you can’t kill them all.”

“They’re slaves, easily replaceable,” Vulpes said, his monotone and casual disregard for the poor people making Arcade’s blood run cold. “All it would take was one letter back East, or for us to invade Novac, and we’d replace them all. They have little value compared to Caesar.”

“Yes they do!” Arcade yelled, “They’re living people, they deserve the right to their life!”

“Then we’ve come to an understanding,” Vulpes replied with a smile, turning to one of the nearby soldiers, “Go grab one of the slave children, any will do. Let us return to the tent.”

The guards dragged Arcade back inside, the darkness of the tent now hurting Arcade’s eyes once more. They dumped him back by Caesar’s side as another guard entered with a young girl, wide eyed and terrified but staying silent. Vulpes handed the surgery kit to Arcade.

“You know what you must do.”

Chapter Text

There was so much that needed doing, but MacCready just couldn’t bring himself to go do it. Animals needed feeding, checking on, crops too, but Duncan was clearly sick. He’d never really been a sickly baby, and the few times that he had been, MacCready was worried sick about him. But this time felt different.

Duncan had a fever that just wouldn’t seem to go down, and those blue boils seemed to be growing and spreading at an alarming rate. And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

No amount of wet towels or blankets seemed to do the trick, no warm soup or bottles of water. It’d been a week since Duncan had fallen sick and he only seemed to be getting worse. Sooner or later MacCready would need to carry him to Megaton if there was no improvements, but his wild desire to believe Duncan would be alright, that it couldn’t be anything serious, made him hesitant to go. What if it was bad news? He couldn’t-

Duncan was muttering in his sleep, his face screwed up and his tiny limbs flailing in the throes of a nightmare. Poor guy had been having awful fever dreams ever since this started, and all MacCready could do was try to wake up as gently as he could, running his fingers through his son’s hair until Duncan awoke with tears.

“Daddy,” Duncan whined, pulling on all of MacCready’s heart strings as he lent down to pull Duncan into a hug, “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay buddy, I got you, nothing bad’s gonna happen,” MacCready assured him, desperately wishing he could be certain of it.

“Don’ wanna die,” Duncan whined, making MacCready hug him closer. Pride aside, he needed to get to Megaton, and fast.

Chapter Text

“Whiskey Zion?” Courier asked, pulling down one of the bottles from behind the bar, “and plain beer for you, right Theo?”

“Well remembered,” Theo grinned, pulling the offered bottle of beer out of Courier’s hand. It had been a year since the second battle of hoover dam, and Courier had offered the two a chance to finally meet, as well as a vacation in the beautiful Las Vegas. Theo had been thrown out of every casino for breaking the bank on his first day, much to the humour of his still surviving team mates, while Zion had been taking it slow, enjoying the heat he never got back home and having long conversations with Sarah at Vault 21 about vault life.

But now it was night time, the city that never sleeps was still in full glow, and Courier had offered them a quiet night in the private bar in the Lucky 38’s tower, overlooking the city. Everyone else was out; Cass and Veronica had taken Butch, Charon, and Clover on a night out, while Marcus and Arcade had invited Goris on a tour of various settlements and were planning on spending the night in Jacobstown, with Boone tagging along for firepower. Rex had gone with Arcade, while ED-E was apparently ‘integral to the night out experience’. Lily, Raul and Lenny had instead retired early, to talk about the old world and rest their weary bones, leaving just Courier, Zion and Theo to enjoy a quiet night alone.

It had been quite the first impression, Zion had only really heard stories of the fabled Chosen One from terrified Enclave soldiers and Courier, so meeting the aged hero had been exciting and terrifying at the same time. But all it took was for the Courier to explain that Zion had finished off the enclave for Theo to start treating him like an old friend. But tonight, they were sat on by of the tables, gazing out over Vegas and drinking to friends, old and new.

“Must feel good, looking out over everything like this regularly,” Theo commented, taking a swig of his beer, “Over everyone you saved.”

“They saved themselves, I just needed to push them in the right direction,” Courier shrugged. “Bet it feels better for Zion, when he visits Tenpenny Tower.”

“Ugh, don't even mention that place to me,” Zion groaned, “I'd rather forget it.”

He sipped from his whiskey glass, Courier had kindly left him the whole bottle but four years in the wastes with people offering to buy him drinks for bringing pure water to them meant he'd learnt how to pace himself. Theo seemed to have other ideas, finishing off his beer before helping himself to a bottle of sarsparilla, pausing as he returned to his seat.

“Where'd you get a scar like that?” Theo asked, pointing vaguely across Zion's skull, “up in your hairline, looks like you let Goris try and suture you up.”

Theo laughed to himself, but Zion raised his hand to the scar, tracing it nervously. It had always been an unspoken rule, never to ask about scars, but clearly Theo hadn't picked up on it.

“I travelled to the swamps, some tribals out there decided to treat me to some brain surgery,” Zion said off-handedly.

“Tribals?” Theo asked, freezing in place, his long hair obscuring his face.

“Some post-apocalypse hippy cult,” Courier quickly corrected, before shooting Zion a cautionary look. Had he been too rude about them? He knew Theo was himself a tribal, but had he taken offence? Zion started to apologise but was cut off by Theo.

“Okay, yeah, those ones are weird. You know the NCR started out as one of those? Fresh out of a vault. Had to be saved by my grandfather,” Theo smiled proudly to himself.

“Shame he couldn't be here,” Zion mumbled, which made Theo laugh.

“Considering he died before I was born, it'd be pretty impressive if he could make it.”

“Yeah, and considering Theo was born in the ninteen hundreds,” Courier joked.

“Give over, I'm only in my early fifties,” Theo snorted, shoving Courier playfully. They lapsed into silence once again, watching as new tourists entered through the gates to the strip, wide eyed and amazed at all the lights and sounds, a barrage of information long lost to the ages. “Hey, do you guys want to see one of my coolest scars?” Theo asked, pulling his leg up onto the table and hitching up his trouser leg, revealing long, deep gashes in the flesh that had long since healed over, but ran nearly the full length of it.

“Jeez, how'd you get that, wrestling a deathclaw?” Zion asked.

“Nearly. Jumped between Goris and someone he was keen on killing to try and calm him down. Take it from an expert, no matter how nice the deathclaw, don't get in their way when they're in a blood frenzy,” Theo explained, rolling the trouser leg down again. “Goris feels horrible about it still, but not many people have a scar like that.”

“I used to have a scar from Butch, from when we were children, but it's mostly faded now,” Zion explained, rubbing the back of his right hand where it used to be. “Fucker came at me with his switchblade because I called his mom an alcoholic.”

“At least you two have cool, friendly fire scars,” Courier moaned, pointing to a small scar below her left eye. “Boone was teaching me how to use a scope and forgot to tell me not to look through as I shot.” She mimed the recoil smacking her back in the eye and pulled an exaggerated face of pain, while Zion and Theo laughed.

“I thought that was from where you got shot in the head,” Theo laughed, “I thought it was a little small.”

“Nah, that's here,” Courier lifted her fringe to show the more impressive scar just above the medial edge of her right eyebrow, “Doc Mitchell did a canny job on it, but he could only do so much.”

“It looks fine, couldn't even see it if you hadn't showed me,” Theo assured her.

“Oh, I'm not that broken up by it,” Courier waved him off, “Besides, how many people can say they survived getting shot in the head and have the scar to prove it?”

“I'll drink to that,” Theo agreed, lifting his bottle, “to surviving long enough to tell our tales and being able to do so with laughter rather than tears.”

“Hear hear!”

“Wae aye.”

Chapter Text

Siri had been a slave for too long to not know to ask questions. When one of the legionairres raced into her tent and dragged her to her feet without explanation, she knew better than to ask where they were going, or why his fellow soldier deemed it necessary to raid her supplies before following after her. She hoped whatever they had in mind would be quick.

But when they lead her all the way to the depths of the Legion stronghold, to rooms she had never seen, had never had a right to even ask about, she couldn’t help but start to wonder what was happening. No-one even spoke of the rooms to her, not even Arcade, and the terror that formed in her stomach as to what was awaiting her behind the doors nearly made her freeze.

Finally she was dragged through one of the doors, deep within the casino Caesar had claimed for himself, pushed past so many people she didn’t even catch the face of, her eyes drawn to the trail of blood staining the carpet underfoot. So that’s why they took her supplies, but why they didn’t just grab Arcade was beyond her. Surely he’d be closer at this time of day, kept like a dog at the end of a tight leash.

She got her answer as she was dragged into the bathroom, where the trail of blood ended in hunched over figure, gasping and panting with fear as the soldiers stood watching, completely helpless. Siri couldn’t see his face from where she stood, but that blond hair was unmistakable.

“Arcade,” she gasped, rushing to his side, “What happened? What did they do?”

She whispered as quietly as she could, painfully aware of all the soldiers watching and listening intently. Arcade shook his head, clutching at his gut with a face screwed up in pain.

“They didn’t,” he barely gasped out, his teeth gritted through every word. Siri pulled his arm away, and Arcade was too weak to even fight back. The jostle made something smooth and slippery fall away from Arcade and onto the floor below him, something wet, and red.

Siri bit back a scream as she realised what it was, a loop of intestine splattering on the floor from Arcade’s abdomen. No amount of first aid training could prepare her for this, no tribal remedy could possibly heal a wound so expertly gouged by a trained doctor. She turned to one of the soldiers stood nearby, feeling her own fear reflected in his face.

“Can you cut his shirt off? I need better access.”

The soldier obliged, albeit non-too-gently, each movement causing more gasps of pain as Arcade went back to clenching his stomach, his hands and shirt completely soaked with his own bright red blood. God, even if she could stop the bleeding, he might not even have enough blood to make it. She reached into the supplies the soldiers had grabbed, trying to find some healing powder at the least. Arcade reached out to her hand, and Siri thoughtlessly knocked it away, but he kept trying to get her to let go of the powder.

“Please don’t move, you need your strength,” Siri implored, but Arcade simply shook his head, leaning back against the wall, his breathing getting sharper by the second. All the times he’d helped her when she couldn’t help her own patients, all the times he’d lent a kindly ear when she just needed someone to talk to, all the times he’d taught her what she had so desperately wanted to know all those years ago as she trained to be a doctor. All of it meant nothing if she couldn’t help him now.

When first he’d come here, he’d been such a breath of fresh air, so lively and angry, so ready to argue with all the soldiers and help the women any way he could. Now he was shivering on a cold bathroom floor, the life leaving him with every heart beat, his blood pooling around his legs and seeping into the clothing over her knees. She didn’t even have anything to ease the pain, just powder so sharp it made your eyes water. She made to grab it again, but Arcade went for her hand again, and this time it felt less like he was thinking of the healing powder.

She held out her hand instead, and Arcade took it, his fingers too lifeless to grab it properly, only to lay it on hers. The least she could do was be a friend in his final moments, as he bled to death all over the legion’s floors.

Chapter Text

“She’s been gone too long,” Arcade declared, stepping closer to the edge of the lake, “We need to do something.”

“Like what? She’s the only one with that breathing device,” Cass pointed out. “Besides, she’s gotten out of worse scenarios.”

“Well we can’t leave her down there! If somethings gone wrong she’ll need help.”

“So how do you propose we get out there and bring her back?” Veronica asked, her voice giving away the worry she couldn’t hide, “I can’t swim that well.”

“Maybe we could use this device and hope she’s on top of the plane?” Raul suggested, holding up the remote Courier had handed him for safe keeping, not trusting Cass or Veronica to not hit it prematurely. “I mean, if she’s dead it’ll be no use, but it’s an idea.”

“It’s better than nothing, if she’s in trouble she can hold on,” Arcade agreed, “Go on then.”

Raul pointed the remote at the centre of the lake and pressed the button. Nothing happened. They waited another few seconds. Still nothing happened.

“Knew we shouldn’t have trusted them,” Raul grumbled, only to be interrupted by the crashing of the water, and the sudden emergence of a plane, the splashing of the water hiding most of it from view, but the rust and decay covering the plane spoke of its age, even behind the obstructing spray.

“Can you see her?” Arcade asked, peering across the plane. It was hard to see from this angle, but maybe there was a flash of leather armour just on the right wing. “We should go out and-“

“GRANDMA’S COMING DEARIE!” Lily yelled, rushing to the water’s edge and throwing herself into the lake before anyone could stop her. Rex followed closely after, barking madly as he went. Everyone watched with baited breath as Lily got closer, reaching up to one of the wings and pulling something off it, before making her way back, much more slowly towards shore.

“She doesn’t look right,” Cass mumbled, her eyes trained on the motionless figure Lily was carrying. Arcade’s mouth was dry, his mind racing back over his training. How did he resuscitate a drowning victim again, was it rescue breaths first or compressions?

Lily finally made it back to land with everyone rushing forward to help her bring Courier to Arcade faster, her rebreathing machine spouting water all over the floor. Arcade raced to her side, taking stock of how her chest wasn’t moving, how blue her lips looked, even how cold her skin was.

“Courier, Courier can you hear me?” Arcade asked, shaking her shoulder with one hand and leaning back her head and opening her mouth as he manouvered over to her chest, pausing as he realised she was still wearing her combat armour. “Veronica, help me get this off her,” he instructed, trying to untie the chest piece as quickly as he could.

“I don’t think this is the time for getting frisky,” Cass joked, but Arcade glared at her, shutting her up. There was a time for jokes, and it wasn’t now. The chest piece fell away, leaving the moment of truth to come. Arcade took a deep breath, placing his hands over the Courier’s sternum, fingers interlaced, and pushed with all his might.

The feeling of his friend’s chest collapsing beneath him almost made him hesitate, but the adrenaline kicked in quickly as Arcade positioned himself further over her chest, using his body weight to press in harder, feeling the compressions go even deeper. Twice a second, each compression counted, until after thirty he stopped, grabbing her nose and leaning her head back, blowing two long breaths into her lungs, before he returned to the compressions once more. At the seventeenth compression of the second set, Courier sparked to life again, a feeble cough racketing through her lungs as Arcade jumped back, pausing for a second before grabbing her hand and moving her into the recovery position, leaning over to make sure she was still breathing. She was. Poorly.

“Courier, can you hear me?” Arcade repeated, tapping her shoulder. Another bout of coughs sputtered across her lips, followed with more water, but she nodded her head, before nearly doubling over in a retch. “You idiot! I told you it was a bad idea! You nearly died out there!”

“There’s that famous Doctor Gannon bedside manner,” Cass joked, but the relief in her voice told of her own worry.

“Nearly died,” Courier corrected him, trying to sit up before another bout of coughs drove her back to the recovery position, “Am not dead yet.”

“Well, if you don’t end up killing yourself I’ll certainly do it soon enough,” Arcade snapped. “The amount of trouble you get yourself in. Next time you decide to go drown in a lake, I’m not coming.”

“Noted. Ta for the broken ribs.”

“You earned them.”

Chapter Text

The vault was painfully quiet, save for the scratching of claws upon metal and the distant thud of footsteps where the soldiers marched any humans they found back out of the vault. Occasional shots rang out, followed by the short lived screams of some innocent or another.

Goris stuck his head around the doorway to one of the living quarters, sniffing the air with mild interest. Honestly, the entire vault smelt of humans, how the Enclave expected them to be able to hunt down any remaining ones was beyond him. But if he pretended well enough, they believed that he was searching thoroughly and finding no-one, rather than glancing over any humans they had not themselves seen.

He skulked deeper into the room, his scales burning beneath the daylight lamps in here. What he would give to have his blanket back again right now. Not that the Enclave cared much for his comfort to bring it on the mission for him.

But this room was fascinating, covered in strange items he'd never seen before, with strange diagrams up on the walls like the scientists sometimes had, but these didn't look quite like those. And the books! Lined up on out-juttings from the walls, what he would give to be able to pick one up and start reading. But that would give the game away, so all he could do was pretend to sniff the air while reading the titles out of the corner of his eye. Freedom would come soon, and with it, books.

A crashing on the floor behind him sent Goris spinning to see the noise, while a flash of blue and steel rushed towards him. A sharp stabbing pain beneath his armpit made him roar out in shock and pain, swiping his hand backwards and knocking the human flying, while the scrambling sound of claws racing along the metal floors told him someone had heard.

“Monster!” The human yelled, scrambling backwards away from Goris and reaching towards one of the drawers. “Stay back! Leave my family alone!”

The scrambling reached the doorway as Gruthar stuck his head around, taking in the sight of Goris bleeding, still shocked into stillness in the centre of the room, while the human had pulled out another knife and was waving it between the two of them. Gruthar forced his way in, standing back on his hindlegs to the greatest height he could reach in the small room, causing the human to scream out in terror, rushing towards the door with the knife brandished towards Gruthar.

Goris rushed forwards in an instant, clamping his teeth down around the human's arm and dragging them back away from Gruthar as they continued to scream. The noise had attracted the attention of the Enclave soldiers, however, as the loud but steady beat of their march told Goris they were coming.

“They've found one,” the first soldier declared, stepping into the room. “Stop.”

Goris and Gruthar immediately froze, as per the instruction, Goris' mouth still firmly grasped around the human's arm as they struggled to pull it free, tears streaming down their face. “Drop it.” Goris let go of the human as the soldier dragged them back to their feet, marching them out of the room as they continued to scream. “Continue to search,” The soldier yelled back, allowing Goris and Gruthar to move once more.

But first, Gruthar turned to Goris, his head cocked as he looked to where Goris was still bleeding. It didn't look like it would stop any time soon and they didn't really have a choice to stop and tend to it. The knife had fallen out as Goris had rushed to save Gruthar, so there wasn't even that to stop the bleeding.

They couldn't say anything, not now, but Gruthar gently knocked his head against Goris', a sign of thanks, before leaving through the door once more, barely squeezing through the tight doorway again. How much more of the vault was there to check?

Chapter Text

“Alright, jokes over, let me out now!”

It felt like they'd been stationary for hours, with nothing but the howling wind shaking the car to keep him company. There had been shots fired earlier alright, shortly after that damned stupid tribal had yelled something about an ambush. But that had been ages ago, surely they could let him out now.

“Don't tell me you've fallen asleep!” Myron yelled, kicking at the roof of the trunk, “Let me out!”

What a hilarious joke it had been. He'd asked how they were all going to fit in the car, and Theo had given some sarcastic reply he'd barely even bothered to listen to at the time, never mind remember, then Marcus had grabbed him and thrown him in the trunk. Filthy mutant, how dare he even touch him?

They'd even kept him in there for a while before the car started moving, and it was gross in here. Myron was pretty sure he touched some old painting, a couple of xander roots and even a disembodied toe in here during the travel, not to mention things kept moving about and hitting him. But now there were stopped, and they'd left him in here.

“I swear if you've gone off without me I'll leave you! You'll regret messing with me!

Boy it was getting warm in here, was it starting to get near to midday? The bloody car didn't have air conditioning, especially not in the boot. If they didn't come back soon, he'd be as cooked as the brahmin shit the junkies huffed.

“I'll kill you!”

If the heat didn't kill him first.

Chapter Text

Each step echoed round the room, the only sound Zion could hear beyond his own breathing and the whirring thoughts in his mind. His armour was completely drenched in blood, only some of it his own, the rest belonging to Charon. Had they made it in time? Would he be okay?

Three Dog had practically forced the Brotherhood to take in the injured ghoul and give him medical assistance, but Zion had had to leave his friend in the hands of people who thought he was better off dead, and each second that stretched by without any news made his fear grow that they would just refuse to help him. His only spark of hope was that, if they were going to kill Charon, they wouldn't try to help him first. He'd be dead by now if the Brotherhood planned to do nothing.

He paused at the door, straining his ears for any sounds beyond it, but heard nothing. With a sigh he returned to pacing, the mere few seconds break stiffening his injured ankle again, forcing him to limp once more, each step a lightning bolt of pain ricochetting up his leg. No-one had seen to it yet, far too busy stopping Charon from bleeding to death and rightfully so, but still, it hurt. He'd asked Three Dog for a stimpack but he hadn't any, only a few words of thanks for getting the radio up and running again. He'd offered to speak to Zion further once Charon was alright. Zion couldn't remember why they needed to speak at all.

Eventually his ankle protested too loudly for him to ignore, each step threatening to buckle him over and send him crumbling to the floor, forcing Zion into one of the seats nearby, lifting his foot up onto another one in hopes that would stop it from twinging with pain with every heart beat. He ran his hand through his hair to give himself something to do, only to find he couldn't do so easily. With a tug and a crushing of his fingers he pulled one of the matts out, finding the tell tale dark brown crust on it. Was it his own blood? Was it Charon's? He'd lost track.

The door parted slightly, and Zion jumped to his feet in an instant, nearly falling over immediately as his ankle buckled over once again. A field medic stuck their head out of the door, catching Zion's eye and waving him in, which Zion did as quickly as his legs could hobble.

“He's alive,” the medic assured him, to which Zion sighed with relief, “But he's in a bad way. He'll need plenty of time to rest.”

“He can have as much time as he needs,” Zion assured her, pushing closer to see Charon. The ghoul was wrapped up tightly in bandages but fast asleep, looking more peaceful than Zion had ever seen him. Charon rarely seemed to sleep anyway, he could no doubt do with a good long rest. Instead Zion collapsed into the seat beside Charon, more than happy to just watch his friend continue to live.

“Are you injured too?” The medic asked, pointing to Zion's ankle, “I can see to it if you like?”

“If you're not busy,” Zion shrugged, looking over to where Charon still slept. He doubted the ghoul would give anyone much trouble for some time. The medic pulled over another chair and gently lifted Zion's ankle up onto it, but even that movement made Zion shift with discomfort, closing his eyes and looking way as the medic reached to pull off his boot, biting his lip as it was slowly removed.

“This will need some time to rest too,” the medic tutted, to which Zion cautiously opened his eye to see what the fuss was about. He'd tried stuffing some bandages down his boot when he first arrive to stop it rubbing, but now those bandages were soaked with his own blood, the skin underneath bruised and swollen.

“Where's that blood coming from?” Zion asked, suddenly feeling a little pale. Blood was fine coming from his enemies, but there was a good reason he'd never followed his dad into medicine, as he quickly looked away to stop his nausea.

“You've rubbed the flesh off the back of your feet,” the medic explained, “no doubt the boots fit better before you twisted your ankle and ran through DC in them. It'll heal in time, but no wearing these boots until then.”

“That's fine,” Zion waved them off, sighing with relief as the medic started to bandage his foot again, “I wasn't planning on going anywhere soon.”

Chapter Text

The legionaries had to have a death wish, leaving him around sharp blades so often. Oh sure, they were called for for him to do his job, but it'd be so easy to grab one and just use it against them. It was a thought that swirled around Arcade's mind from time to time, whenever he held a knife, a scalpel, a pair of scissors, anything sharp in their presence.

The first time it had happened, he'd almost dropped the knife he'd been holding. It wasn't as if he was a pacifist, far from it, the thought of all the legion getting killed brought him much joy, but this thought seemed to come from nowhere, certainly not one he'd placed there himself. Like an uninvited guest kicking down the front door to his house. It had made him feel sick.

But the thought came again, and again, each time making him feel nervous, trying to put down the blade whenever the thought came. It was better when it was the legionaries, but sometimes the nagging image of the blade being forced into someone by his own hand came when he was helping Siri treat his fellow slaves, the thought being pushed into the forefront of his mind with such force that he almost physically tripped over himself.

The worst times was when he gave into it, when the thoughts came in Caesar's presence, the idea of slashing the warlord's throat as he demanded Arcade debate with him on the nature of man. If only Caesar knew what his nature truly was, as he stood there with the blade he'd already seen himself kill people with in his mind's eye. Would he be impressed? Scared? Would he think Arcade was capable of it, or was it just the years of forced servitude, of being forced to hold hours long debate with the person he despised most in the world finally catching up with him, finally his mind had been put out to pasture and it was only a matter of time before his body followed.

If only he could make it to Caesar's throat before one of the guards realised what he was doing. But they never left him alone with Caesar and anything that could be considered a weapon. Last time they even removed the rugs.

“And what of the stoic philosophy?” Caesar asked as Arcade returned the scalpel he'd been cleaning to its rightful place, dragged back to the conversation he'd been trying to zone out of. “What do you make of autonomous individual will?”

Debating any philosophies based on virtue and ethics was the worst, considering he was debating them with a literal slaver and warlord who's entire ethical reasoning wasn't even large enough to fill a thimble, yet Caesar often insisted. Through all the years Arcade had been subjected to him, he'd realised that the warlord spoke of them as someone might speak of thinking like a brahmin: a fun mental exercise that one could never carry out in real life. Ethics, morality and virtue were nothing more to Caesar than a pass time to consider like a pre-war man might consider a cross-word he'd never complete. Debating with him was exhausting, like pushing a boulder up a mountain it never wanted to truly climb.

“To make your own happiness in truly awful situations is a noble goal, but trying to do so for extended time would surely become tiring,” Arcade listed off.

“Even Cato the Younger could not see the worth in living under Julius Caesar,” Caesar noted, “Clearly his grasp of stoicism wasn't quite up to scratch.”

“Maybe it was. Maybe Cato Uticensis found his joy in killing himself, knowing how much it would hurt his hated enemy,” Arcade replied. The flash of a thought he had not made himself thrust through his mind, the scene of Cato's suicide replaced with him on the mathmatician table, his own guts spilled by his own hand, the scalpel dropped to the floor. Arcade squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to free his mind of the thought, yet it lingered longer than he hoped.

Cato's death was seen as a victory over Caesar, so much so that Cato had been named after it ultimately, as if he had won a war in Utica on that day. And he had, finally free of Caesar forever more, and all he had needed was a blade and his own two hands.

...Was his subconcious trying to tell him something?

Chapter Text

A sharp kick to his ribs jolted MacCready awake with a start, his fuzzy head and sore body telling him nothing as to where the hell he was. He flinched backwards from the kick, trying to push himself to his feet but finding his hands tied behind his back instead.

“What's going on?” He demanded, trying to sit upright. Someone had bound his legs too, tying both his hands and feet together, leaving him mostly unable to sit upright.

“Kick him again,” came a command from somewhere behind MacCready, followed shortly by another sharp kick to his ribs that he curled up to block another of. The next two kicks instead collided with the side of his face, and MacCready was powerless to stop them.

“Leave him,” the same voice commanded again, and the kicking stopped, allowing MacCready to lift his head to search for his assailant. They were lucky they got the drop on him, if he wasn't tied up right now... “Sleep well?”

“What's going on?” MacCready demanded, “Where's Nora?”

“Safe, for now. We heard you found something recently. Something valuable to us. We want it back.” A pair of hands pulled MacCready up to a knealing position, finally coming face to face with some raider he'd never seen before.

“I haven't found anything,” MacCready lied, staring the raider straight in the eyes. The raider glared at him, before slapping MacCready across the face with force, leaving a nasty stinging to his cheek.

“That needle you got from Med-Tek, where is it?” The raider repeated.

“What needle?” MacCready insisted. The raider slapped him again, now leaving both cheeks stinging.

“Don't play stupid, we know you went in there. Our boss needs it, and you're gonna tell us what you did with it.”

“I didn't do anything,” MacCready insisted, “I don't know what needle you're talking about. Sounds like your boys grabbed the wrong guy.”

That didn't seem to please the raider, as he stepped back, before slamming a right hook straight into the side of MacCready's face, knocking him back to the floor with a loud crash, his shoulder bearing the bulk of the fall with a slam of pain.

“Tell us where the needle is!” The raider demanded, as another one dragged MacCready back to his knees.

“I've never even been to Med-Tek,” MacCready insisted, “You've got the wrong guy.”

The raider reeled back again, slamming his fist straight on into MacCready's nose, the tissue beneath feeling crushed by the hit, before a sudden gush of warmth down MacCready's face and onto his chest told him it had started bleeding. “I can do this all night.”

“Then do it,” MacCready spat, “It'll get you nowhere.”

The raider, kicked MacCready backwards, the back of his head slamming against the cold, hard floor with enough force to send stars scattering across his eyes, dark shadows forming at the edges of his vision that he could only barely brush it of his mind. The raider lent over MacCready, his eyes shooting fire that MacCready hoped he was shooting back.

“Tell us or we'll hurt the girl.”

“I can't tell you,” MacCready replied through gritted teeth, “I don't know what you're speaking of.”

“We'll do it,” the raider threatened, leaning in closer, “pull out her pretty teeth, slice off her pretty skin, have our fun with her. Make you watch.”

“Do it, I don't care,” MacCready lied. He couldn't tell them, Duncan needed that cure, all he could do was continue to bluff and hope it got him out of there, “She's just an employer. That's all.”

“Is that so?” The raider asked. “We'll see how you feel in a few hours time, shall we?”

Nora would understand, she had to. No one was more important than Duncan.

Chapter Text

“That's her,” Theo whispered, peering through the open door to the bar.

They'd heard rumours of a vertibird crashing near Klamath and had travelled to the wreckage as soon as they could, but already the embers were gone and the bodies were cold. But Lenny had pointed out that the cockpit was empty, the glass smashed in from inside. Someone had left the vertibird, and the footprints leading away from the wreckage said they hadn't been dragged by the crazed Mister Handy.

The cyberdog they'd received from Doctor Henry proved invaluable in tracking down the sent, bringing them a short distance into Klamath itself, and back to Buckner House. The trail had ended there, but simply peering into the bar proved sufficient to spot the Enclave soldier. Everyone else at the bar looked like the normal clientelle, fresh from work and ready to drink away the night. But this woman was nursing a whiskey in a quiet corner by herself, her unusually clean skin more than proof enough that she wasn't from the wastelands.

Theo led the way in, everyone else splitting up to be less suspicious. Sulik made a beeline to warn Mrs Buckner about what was going on, while the others merged into the crowd, trying to keep themselves hidden. Goris, Lenny and Marcus waited outside.

“Excuse me, ma'am,” Theo said softly, pulling over a seat to sit at the woman's table. She eyed him suspiciously, “You seem like a lady of the world, have you seen that crashed airplane outside of town?”

“Crashed aiplane?” She asked, a strong drawl to her words that almost made Theo jump in surprise, “Pre-war, I guess?”

“No, it's really weird, you should come see it,” Theo insisted.

“I think I'm fine here, my friends will be here soon to pick me up.”

“Of course, of course, but maybe we... uh, sorry, didn't catch your name.”

“Call me Daisy.”

“Pretty name, I'm Theo. Maybe when your friends get here we could all go to the crashed plane together, it's really cool.”

“If this is your idea of asking a woman out on a date, little boy, you need more practice,” Daisy scolded.

“This isn't a date,” Theo said, a smile crossing his lips. “This is a shakedown.” With that, Vic, Sulik and Cassidy turned back towards Theo and Daisy, guns in hand and ready to fire. Marcus squeezed through the doorway to stare her down too, while Goris pushed past him, his face unreadable beneath his cloak. “You know why we're here.”

“I assure you I don't. You're just threatening a poor, defenceless woman for no reason. You should be ashamed,” Daisy leered back at him, “Won't anyone help me?”

“I think they should leave,” Theo countered, the sudden loud scratching of chairs across the room being dragged across the floor bringing a smile to his face. They knew when to not get involved then. Smart. “This is the wasteland, lady, not the 'United States'. Wastelanders help other wastelanders, not murderers.”

“I honestly don't know what you're talking about,” Daisy insisted.

“You'd be more scared if you were telling the truth,” Theo countered. “We want to know where the Enclave's base of operations is. Tell us, and we'll leave you alone to rejoin your friends.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

A flurry of movement shot out across Theo's line of sight, a flutter of material dropped to the floor, a large mass of pale scales rushing full speed towards Daisy, her chair clattering to the floor as she was shoved off it. Theo jumped to his feet in shock.

“Goris? What are you doing?” Theo yelled, but Goris already had Daisy pinned to the wall, his long claws trapping her arms as his teeth came within inches of her throat.

“Answer his questions,” Goris warned, “You won't get to go home either way.”

“Goris, stop that, put her down,” Theo yelled, but Goris didn't seem to be listening. He had the same look in his eyes as when he was fighting raiders, the same heartless joy of fighting, the thrill of the kill, and from Daisy's look of horror, she'd recognised it too.

“Why would I answer?” She asked, flinching as Goris moved closer, his horns nearly tangling with her hair.

“Because it won't change anything. Tell me where I can find them now, or I'll hunt them down myself. One by one. Starting with you.”

“Goris, snap out of it,” Theo commanded. Everyone else had lowered their weapons now, too worried about hurting Goris, too scared of turning his attention to them. Theo had to step in, he could see exactly where this was going, and it'd just make it harder on all of them in the long run.

“What even are you?” Daisy spat, trying to wriggle free of Goris.

“I'm an intelligent Deathclaw, I was made by you. And you killed us all. Now I will return the favour,” Goris growled, raising his claw to strike, Daisy flinching away in horror.

“Goris, no!” Theo yelled, grabbing Goris' arm to stop the strike, only for Goris to turn around and swipe him instead. Theo froze, the shock stopping the pain for a moment that seemed to teeter on eternity, as the realisation seemed to dawn in Goris' eyes too. Then the pain pulsed through and Theo fell to the floor, grasping his leg in pain, blood gushing from the wound. A crash from the wall seemed to suggest Goris had let go of Daisy, but Theo was too busy biting back his screams to pay much attention.

“Lenny!” Marcus yelled, the doctor rushing in as Goris sprinted out on all fours with barely a word exchanged. Lenny looked over the wound quickly as he fished out his things.

“It's bad, but I d-don't think it'll kill you,” Lenny explained. Daisy stumbled to her feet behind them, clutching at her chest, wide eyed in panic.

“San Fransisco,” she forced out, “Try there. Don't send that thing after me.”

And with that she fled from the bar, Marcus letting her go. Theo was still grasping at his leg, panting with the pain. Hoo boy, he'd need to talk to Goris about this one.

Chapter Text

Raul held his breath, pushing himself back against the rock as hard as he could as a couple of super mutants passed him by, shouting at each other in conversation. At least it covered the sound of his breathing. This had been a stupid idea, just one of many over the years. But Cuddles had left the door open to his cell, giving him an opportunity to at least try. He had to take it.

Raul stuck his head out from around the rock, seeing the coast was clear, and slowly made his way out of cover. There were nightkin in droves around this mountain, and his eyes weren't good enough to see the slight flicker of the night sky that would tell him where they were. Nor were his ears good enough to hear their light steps. All he had to go by was his luck, and if his life had told him anything, it was that his luck couldn't be trusted.

He stuck within eyeshot of the road, knowing that the road at least would lead him away from Black Mountain. It was surprisingly quiet on this stretch. Had Tabitha forgotten to post someone here? Maybe his luck was finally-

“What are you doing?” Came a sudden bark from behind him, the tell-tale sound of a stealth boy shutting down telling Raul that Tabitha had posted someone here after all. He had a split second to decide whether to run, or to stand his ground and hope Tabitha would be merciful. The choice was clear.

“It looked like a nice night, I thought I'd go for a walk,” Raul replied, turning around to face the nightkin, being careful to look at its knees rather than its face.

“Tabitha said you're not to leave, under any circumstances,” the nightkin growled, grabbing Raul's arm, “You're coming back now.”

“Okay, okay,” Raul agreed, following behind the nightkin. But its much longer strides were too fast for Raul to keep up with, causing him to trip at one point and get dragged along the floor back up the mountain, each rock scraping more of his already loose flesh off of him.

“WHERE'S MY RAUL?” Tabitha screamed from up the mountain, making Raul flinch. Clearly he wouldn't have gotten much further anyway.

“I've found him, Best Friend Tabitha!” The nightkin yelled, picking up Raul by his arm to wave him at her, Raul biting back a yell of pain and the sudden jolt.

“Hey hey, easy on the joints!” Raul yelled as the nightkin lowered him again, “they're fragile!”

They passed through the entry gates and the Nightkin tossed Raul to the floor, as he barely managed to break his fall, his hands bearing the brunt of it, with his knees hitting second. He groaned, turning to sit on his backside and checking over his hands. They were grazed, no worse.

Except another sizable hand grabbed him and pulled him to his feet, and he came eye-to-wig with Tabitha.

“Raul, what are you doing out of your cell? I didn't say you could leave,” Tabitha asked, her lips pulled back in a snarl.

Think fast Raul, you're life depends on it, as always, “It was a nice night, and the door was unlocked, so I thought you'd been kind enough to let me go see it.”

“If I let you out, I would have said so,” Tabitha started, before raising her voice, “BUT I DIDN'T SAY SO!”

Raul flinched backwards from the sound, well, there went a bit more of his hearing, “The old mind's not as sharp as it used to be, Tabitha, I forgot.”

“Well you won't forget again. Because next time you won't be able to leave!” Tabitha yelled, “I'll just kill you now!”

Oh crap, think faster, “Uh, sorry you feel that way, Tabitha. I guess I won't get to finish your project then.”

“Project?”

“Yeah, you know, your friend? I was hoping I might find something that'd help me fix your robot on my walk, but if you think I was just that bad, I guess you must be right, I deserve my punishment.”

Tabitha froze, grumbling to herself. “Fine. Go back to your cell, and lock yourself in. And don't go out again without my permission!”

“Got it, boss,” Raul agreed, stumbling back to his cell, his knees still protesting the movement now with the added pain of skinned knees. Even if he could fix that stupid robot, at this point, it'd be too risky to do. It was the only thing keeping him alive.

Good thing Tabitha couldn't realise that.

Chapter Text

“He's running for it! Chase him!”

Bullets flew past Zion's head, close enough that he could hear the whistle as he ran from the raiders. Such a silly mistake! He should've counted his bullets earlier, he should've stuck to the roads and not tried for a shortcut. He wasn't that far from Springvale at least, and from there he wasn't far from Megaton. If he kept running he'd get there eventually.

“Fucking shoot him already!”

The shouts of the raiders just didn't seem to let up; they'd taken one look at the kid in a gleaming new vault suit and tried to shake him down. When he'd shot back, more had come out to confront him. Now he was out of bullets, out of places to hide, nearly out of breath.

He ran forwards, out of ground beneath him, falling feet first over the side of a small cliff.

He yelped in surprise, the ground coming to meet him with such speed that he barely had time to put his hands out, landing knees first, then chest onto the ground below. He scrambled to his feet before the pain had time to register, immediately recognising the cave that hid Vault 101. He could hide in there!

He lurched towards it, the pain in his legs suddenly registering, but he bit his tongue to stop from shouting out, pushed forwards regardless, through the door and collapsing on the other side of it, his own body acting as the door stop.

Zion caught his breath as slowly as he could, trying to take long, deep breaths that wouldn't be as loud to any passing raider, his ear held to the crack in the door. Now his body seemed to catch up, the adrenaline of tumbling over the cliff catching back up with him. Each slow breath caused an ache in his chest, and his knees seemed to have frozen into place. He couldn't feel any bleeding, but that wasn't necessarily a good sign. At least his knees seemed to take more of the fall, it might mean he had avoided major internal bleeds. Maybe. The entire skin surrounding his knees ached to the touch, and he had to stretch them out to reduce the pan, although the pain of moving them there was nearly enough to make him alert the raiders.

“Damnit, where'd he go?” He heard the distant voice, “Keep looking, he can't have gotten far after a fall like that.”

They weren't wrong.

Chapter Text

“Hey man, you doing okay? Haven't seen you move in a couple of days.”

“I am fine.”

“You sure you couldn't go for some sleep?”

“No.”

It had been a tense week, with all of Zion's friends from across his journey gathered around his death bed, bustled aside by Brotherhood scribes desperately trying to save the life of the kid they'd sent in to die. Everyone was getting in each others way, especially all of Zion's friends. Jericho and Cross had nearly come to blows three times every day, while Butch had taken to hiding behind Fawkes to avoid Clover, and Sergeant RL-3 was doing everything in its power to avoid all the scribes that wanted to 'see how it worked'.

That left just Charon and Dogmeat, both of them sat by Zion's bed day and night, making sure no-one hurt the comatose hero. There was probably something witty to be said about that, Charon thought, but he didn't care to say it.

Dogmeat never left Zion's side, the heartbroken pooch would sit with his head resting upon the bed when the scribes were in, and jumped up to sit on Zion's feet when they were gone, those large eyes watching Zion without pause. Every so often Dogmeat would whine and paw at Zion, but never got a response.

Charon was less sentimental. He was the hired muscle, and he would protect Zion until the contract was ended. Even if he had tried to release Charon from the contract non-stop since he'd first got his hands on it, even if Zion's death would technically lead the contract to be void...

Maybe he had to admit it. He actually nearly liked the kid, as annoying and clueless as he was. Compared to his usual employers, Zion at least asked his input and took it on board and didn't complain about him grumbling about his methods. And he insisted Charon sleep from time to time too, as strange as that was. Charon never needed much sleep anyway, but Zion insisted on it. And insisted that Charon could take time out for himself if he needed it.

“It's a tactical break,” Zion had tried to insist, “You're less effective if you're tired, hungry, or annoyed at me, so when you need to, you have to take a break, right?”

“You're annoying me now.”

“Okay! Break time!”

Maybe he just dreaded returning to his usual employers. Once Zion's contract was void, it was only a matter of time before he ended up working for someone else. Someone who cared less about whether he needed a stimpack or a rest, someone who didn't go out of his way to get the right ammo and better guns for him, someone who didn't start smiling when they met up after time away...

It was all his fault anyway, if he hadn't let Zion rush on ahead, if he hadn't been blocked from entering the rotunda, if he'd just been there, he could have activated the purifier without the risks. But he hadn't. And his failure to do his one job had lead to the death of the only employer who'd ever given a shit.

Charon rolled his neck, leaning back in his chair and crossed his arms. Now he was just getting annoyed at himself, and that would get him nowhere. Butch returned once more, carrying a bottle of water with him to hand to Charon. Fresh, pure water, once a scarcity, now flowing freely from the memorial. What a concept.

“If you need a break man, just let me know. I can watch over him.”

“I don't need to go anywhere, I am fine here,” Charon insisted, leaning back on the chair. He'd gone longer without sleep, after all.

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful day in the desert, a light breeze blew the sand gently across the ground, not enough to create dust, but enough that it took the sting out of the early evening sun. Theo was sat in the sunshine, enjoying a last moment of laziness before he went out hunting, watching as the villagers went about finishing up their day's duties.

“Hard at work, I see,” the elder chastised, walking up to Theo. He gave a shrug back.

“If I leave now, everything will still be hiding from the heat. There's no rushing a good hunting trip,” Theo explained, settling in cosier to his seat.

“More like there's no rushing a lazy son. Get up, help out a little,” the elder kicked at his feet until he drew them back in with a scowl.

“I've done my jobs, can't I just get a little down time?”

“Down time? If only your grandfather could hear you say that, Theo.”

“Theo? Wait, since when did you call me Theo?” Theo asked. He was certain he hadn't started using that nickname until after he'd left the village. Speaking of, why was he back here anyway?

A strange, droning noise filled the air, making everyone stop in their tracks and try to locate it. It seemed to be coming from above them, from the Southern skies. All the warriors reached for their weapons, as did Theo, ushering everyone else back inside.

The noise got louder, clearer, and less natural, as huge metal constructions made their way ever closer, casting shadows that stretched across the entire village. And they were lowering.

Someone threw a spear at the approaching machine, but it hit off the side fruitlessly as it came in to land, everyone else held their ground. Theo found himself near the front of the crowd, and watched as a landing was lowered from the machine. People exited it, covered head to toe in strange armour made entirely of metal, and wielding massive guns.

“You're not welcome here,” Cameron yelled, “Leave.”

“We will, but we'll be taking you with us,” one of the men said, their voice strangely distorted through their helmet, “Do so peacefully and it'll be easier for everyone.”

Cameron thrust his spear into the man, but the tip barely even scratched the armour. The message was given, at least. No peaceful option.

“Very well. Men, open fire!”

The machine guns whirred to life, their barrels exploding in a flash of bright light, a hail of bullets raining into the unlucky warriors stood in their way, as screams pierced the skies and bodies fell to the floor around him. Theo's own voice joined the screams, dropping his spear and breaking rank, almost immediately falling to the floor in shock.

He pushed himself back to his feet, the evening sun having disappeared in a heartbeat, and he scrambled to find his weapon. The spear had gone, but his trusty laser pistol had miraculously returned. No good for hunting, perfect for killing.

“Theo?” Goris asked, “Whatever is the matter?”

“They're attacking!” Theo yelled, his mind catching up with his senses just a moment too late. This wasn't Arroyo, this was the desert, somewhere North of Vault 13. His friends were slowly waking up, their groggy, unimpressed faces saying he'd woken them up. “Arroyo, it's being attacked, I have to get home.”

“It was just a nightmare,” Vic assured him, “Go back to sleep, we'll be back in a week.”

“No, that's not good enough,” Theo insisted, grabbing his sleeping bag and gathering it up, “We need to set off now. They're in danger, I have to help.”

“Really? Right now?” Cassidy asked, rubbing at his temples. Was the safety of his village too much to ask from these guys?

“Look, if I'm wrong you guys can laugh at me all you want, but if I'm right... I have to get back. Stay here if you want, I'm taking my car, Theo said with a tone of finality that finally got everyone else moving. No one wanted to wander the deserts alone.

Chapter Text

“Welcome back, Charon. I imagine it went well?”

Charon ran a hand down his face, barely managing to keep himself sat upright. He'd returned to Underworld after nearly a week away, having not rested in all that time, and barely even rested before it either. Ahzrukhal could claim whatever he wanted, but the man was a bloody slave driver, plain and simple.

Charon dumped the bag of caps on the table, which Ahzrukhal swept up with greedy hands, a sinister smile stretching across his lips. “Wonderful. Return to watching the bar for me, I have work to do.”

With that, Ahzrukhal returned to behind the bar, chatting pleasantly with his patrons. If only they knew the vile things that went through the bartender's mind, the poison he poured into the world with his mere existence, never mind actions and words, maybe they'd drink elsewhere. Or maybe nobody here cared enough anymore anyway.

Charon took another moment to himself, before trying to push himself up from his seat, barely getting anywhere before he came crashing back down into it. Maybe he was more tired than he'd originally thought...

But Ahzrukhal was glaring at him from across the bar now, and Charon didn't have much choice. He tried again, making it to his feet and managing the stagger across to the wall to lean on, his legs nearly buckling under his own weight. He should've slept on the way back, he should've known Ahzrukhal would just put him back on guard duty without a break. He should have taken his annoyance about him being away an extra day over the ceaseless ache in his feet.

Just three more days to go before Ahzrukhal sent him on another mission. He could hold out until then.

Chapter Text

They'd seen the smoke for miles, billowing out in great clouds from the West, a dark summons they couldn't ignore. The car had been pushed far beyond its limits, sputtering through the sand as fast as its ancient engine could take it. The smoke itself had been devastating, but what was worse was how thin it had become, from dying fires that were slowly sputtering out long before they reached the source. Fresh fires meant they could still help. Dying fires meant...

Theo barrelled out of the car before it had fully stopped, running the last few hundred yards to where the bridge to Arroyo stood, with no guard stopping people entering or exiting, the smell of his home burning reaching his nose before his feet had even touched the sand. The bridge had been cut, laying helplessly across the other side of the chasm, stopping anyone from attacking.

Or returning.

Theo halted just beyond the crevice, his breathing ragged, his eyes looking around wildly at the bodies scattered across the floor, showing signs of decay, accelerated by the unrelenting sun. They'd fought back, and he should have too, if only he hadn't been so busy trying to save them to actually help. He avoided their faces, the faces of his village, of the people he'd let down...

But one of the bodies didn't seem in as bad a state of decay as the rest, and he inched over to it, curiosity winning out over his revulsion. He knelt beside the head, laying face down in the sand, the clothing already so familiar...

“Chosen...” the raspy voice sputtered, before a wrack of coughs shook the half dead body of hakunin. Theo jolted back in shock, he was alive! “The shadow of darkness arrived before you.”

“hakunin, hang on, I can help,” Theo insisted, turning back towards the car and yelling, “Lenny!”

“No, you must listen,” hakunin insisted, his voice weak. How long had he been out here? “Dark souls came, they took everyone.”

“Dark souls? What do you mean?”

“A rush of wind came. On it were great dragonflies that spat flame. Evil men crawled from the beasts' bellies and brought death to our warriors.”

That explained the bodies, but what was hakunin even talking about? Great Dragonflies?

“Our warriors couldn't stop them?” Theo asked, turning back towards the car, “Lenny! Get here now!”

“The spirits were willing but the spearheads were weak. The evil ones burned our warriors with the light of hell.”

“And they killed everyone?” Theo asked quietly, his heart sinking to his knees. This couldn't all be for nothing, it just couldn't be, he was meant to save everyone! That was his destiny!

“All were dead or taken. My spirit returned to flesh only to reveal the truth to you,” hakunin coughed feebly again, and footsteps coming up from behind Theo told him Lenny had finally showed up. Theo turned, his eyes imploring, but the grim set to Lenny's mouth told him it was probably too late. A choked sob nearly made it up his throat, but Theo swallowed it down.

“What happened to the ones who were taken?”

“A strange mist stole their minds and sent them to the land of Sleep. The evil ones walked among the dreamers, yet did not dream.”

A knockout gas then, why hakunin couldn't just say it straight right now... “And then?”

“The beasts swallowed all, then took to the winds,” hakunin's voice was so weak now as to nearly be whispering. Theo rested his hands upon his shoulders.

“Which way did they go?”

“Did you never listen when I taught you the yearly dance of the wind spirits?” Hakunin chastised, making Theo roll his eyes even as tears were springing in the corners. Of all the times for hakunin to want to bring up his troubles lsitening to him... “South, of course. I overhead the dark souls speaking, they planned to rest their beasts at a place named Navarro before carrying on their flight.”

There was a scuffle of activity among his friends, and a few of them rushed back to the car. Theo scrunched up his eyes, to try and force the tears not to fall. He had to be strong. For Arroyo. “What should I do?”

“Leave me. You must seek the fold of the dark ones and rescue our people.”

It sounded impossible, to track flying beasts and bring down enemies stronger than all their warriors combined but... hadn't finding the GECK sounded impossible too? “I will try,” Theo promised. hakunin reached towards his hand, and Theo grasped it firmly.

“You are the Chosen. You must do.” Hakunin insisted, before the grip in his hands loosened, his body slumping into the sand.

“Hakunin?” Theo asked, shaking his shoulder with his own shaking hand. Lenny knelt beside him, searching for a pulse, before shaking his head. There was nothing to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks now, as Theo continued to hold Hakunin's hand, his shoulder's shaking with sobs and his breath catching almost continuously. All those years of teasing the strange old man, and he'd never even said sorry. Or thank you.

The cold evening breeze blew the sand over Hakunin's body, chilling Theo's skin like a ghost had passed through him, freezing the tears that fell freely as his friends watched silently, like a vigil for the dead they had never met.

He had no idea how long he sat there, crying over his dead friend, over his family that were missing, over his mother, over everything left unsaid, but Hakunin's hand was cold by the time Theo gently replaced it on the floor, finally lifting his hand to his face to wipe off the salty tracks the tears had left behind.

A rush of adrenaline seemed to course through his body, lifting him up from his achy knees to stand firm once again, as if all the dead warriors were pushing him on, encouraging him to win the fight they could not. He didn't have a choice. He'd set out to save Arroyo, and he would do so, at any cost. The dead had to be respected, and then, the living had to be saved. Nothing else mattered but his quest, his destiny to save Arroyo had yet to be fulfilled.

“We have work to do.”

Chapter Text

He should've known it was a trap, should've known it was a distraction. What did the Enclave have to gain by trying to fight the Brotherhood on their own turf, on their own rules? Of course the attack on the Citadel had been a distraction.

The motorbike just couldn't go fast enough, even with Zion screaming at it to speed up. Veronica was left in the dust, left to pick up the bodies strewn by the Enclave's weaponry. He had his own battle to fight, he couldn't wait for the Brotherhood to catch up.

The vertibirds were already flying off from Megaton by the time he'd started his journey, but maybe they had just dropped off the soldiers? Maybe he'd get back in the midst of the fight, ready to help, ready to save the day at the final minute just as he always did...

He was pushing the bike far beyond its limits, it could give out on him and he'd only have himself to blame, although he knew he'd loudly blame the bike too. It had to keep going, he was so close he could almost taste the smoke emanating from Megaton that he tried to pointedly ignore. Someone would be alive. Someone had to be alive.

He leapt off the bike, dumping it unceremoniously outside the open front gates, the greeter robot laying in scattered heaps of scrap metal across the sand. Zion rushed through, his trusty Rock-It Launcher already in his hands, fully loaded and ready to kick some Enclave butt.

But only the dead remained.

Zion stopped just inside the gate, just over the body of Harden Simms, wearing his father's old duster and wielding his own gun, laid in a pool of his own blood in the sand, just as Lucas had ten years ago in the saloon. Further down the crater, Zion could see more bodies of townsfolk, some still carrying weapons, some clearly trying to flee the carnage, the buildings peppered with bullet holes and the ground covered in casings.

“Hello?” Zion yelled, “Is anyone there? It's Zion, the Lone Wanderer, I'm here to rescue you.”

But no-one replied, only the creak of centuries old rust acknowledged him. He could go searching, house to house, door to door, but only one house called to him now. His own, where his father, his friends, where Duncan was. MacCready would no doubt have seen the vertibirds from Rivet City, no doubt he was on his way too. If he didn't have an alive Duncan to show for it...

Zion raced up the hill towards his house, and stopped dead immediately once in view of his door. Fawkes.

Fawkes' face was still tight with anger, loosened only slightly by death, and laying a good five feet away from his body, clearly having fallen mid-burst from his machine gun and his body so peppered with bullets that it was hard to see where his old torn vault suit was. A pile of plasma lay on the bridge between Zion's house and Jericho's house, and he could only guess it was Jericho from his weapon laying among the pile of goo, half dissolved and disappearing.

He needed to check the house, no matter what he might find in there. Zion stepped over Fawkes' body, and noticed immediately that the door had been kicked in, the signs of a barricade having been formed on the other side lay shattered across his floor. Wood and metal painted by blood. So much blood.

But not a single body in sight. Zion raced from room to room, calling out the names of his remaining, unaccounted for friends, but could find nothing. Just the heavy amounts of blood in the front room, and the signs of a stuggle in the bedrooms. Zion checked every knook and cranny, every possible hiding spot someone might have shoved themselves into, but there was nothing. Nothing but the blood.

“Where are you?” Zion wondered aloud, heading back out of his house, freezing once more at the sight of Fawkes' body. If Fawkes was dead, what hope did any of the others have? But he needed to find them. He needed to. Craterside Supply, that would be his next best bet. Or Gob, at the saloon. But the shop first. He turned to head towards the gates-

Deathclaw.

Deathclaw in Megaton, and Zion's surprise gasp alerted it, turning to face him with those soulless eyes, lifting it's claws up, it's mouth parting ready to roar. Zion stumbled back, lifting his Rock-it Launcher.

And the Deathclaw immediately covered its eyes with one of its hands, peering around it to check Zion had put his weapon away. It was one of the intelligent Deathclaws then, the calling card of a deathclaw smart enough to know its eyes were weakpoints, and its hands, less so. The pale golden scales, the slightly curved horns and the large plasma burn scar on the deathclaw's shoulder looked familiar too.

“Hargar?” Zion asked. If Hargar was here, Nim wouldn't be far behind, “What happened? Where's everyone?

As always, Hargar didn't respond, just turned to look at the Megaton gate, before turning back to Zion, and heading towards the open gate. A cue to follow then? Zion jogged to catch up, staying close to the deathclaw but out of its reach. Without Nim here, or without the deathclaw speaking to him, he could only really guess that it was Hargar. If he guessed wrong, he'd pretty quickly lose his head.

Hargar lead the way out of the town and towards Springvale nearby. Were there survivors holed up in the abandoned village? It made sense, it was close enough to carry the injured, far enough away that they would see the Enclave coming, sheltered from the weather. Hargar walked with a look of determination, without pause or stalling to check if Zion was keeping up.

“Is everyone okay?” Zion asked, “Have you seen a little kid, about yay high, answers to Duncan, calls the adults mungo?” Predictably, Hargar only grumbled in response and Zion didn't really understand what that meant. “Is Nim nearby?”

This time Hargar clicked in response, turning to look at Zion. “Is that a yes?” Zion asked, and received clicking in response. “Is the grumble a no or a maybe?”

Hargar stopped in his tracks, and stared at Zion for a moment, before shaking his head a leading the way again. They were really going far into Springvale here, they'd soon be leaving the village altogether. Yet Hargar didn't stop or even pay attention to any of the houses, he just kept walking, until they'd left the village altogether.

“How much further?” Zion asked. There wasn't anything else this way, other than... but there was no way to get in there. Hargar didn't seem to realise that though, and made his way towards the cave entrance anyway. “Wait, Hargar, I can't go in there.”

Hargar didn't stop though, opening the door to the tunnel and squeezing his way in. Clearly vault-tec didn't have intelligent deathclaws in mind as potential threats when designing the vaults. Zion paused before following him in, keeping one of his pistols to hand. Maybe they were just inside the cave, and he'd be reunited soon. There's no way Vault 101 let his Dad back in...

Yet there was no one else in the cave, and Hargar pushed onwards regardless. Zion stopped again, staring at the forboding door he saw so often in his dreams, the door he knew he could never step through again. “It's not going to open, Hargar. Nim's not in there, is she?”

Hargar grumbled again, pausing closer to the door. Zion opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sudden whir of the Vault Door siren, warning everyone nearby to stand back. It was opening?

Exactly as he remembered, the door clanged and clattered, metal hit metal, a hiss of pistons and a whirr of gears as the door's seal was broken, and the door was shifted out of the way. Zion stepped closer, his hand firmly on his pistol, ready for an ambush.

“Zion?” The familiar voice called out through the smoke, as Overseer Almodovar stepped forward, staring straight at Zion as if he was straight from a dream. “Is that really you?”

“Amata?” Zion asked, stowing away his pistol and stepping closer. The ten years had been kind to Amata, kinder than they had been to him. No longer did she look like his best friend, the one kid he could trust in the whole world, the weird daughter of the annoying overseer. She looked like an adult, like someone you would trust to run a settlement. But more than anything, she looked genuinely happy.

Too bad he couldn't wait around, “Have you seen anyone come this way from Megaton?” Zion asked. There was time to catch up later, he needed to find everyone now. Amata didn't seem to take offence, she stood up straighter, looked more official, more diplomatic as she replied.

“I didn't get names, but a a bunch of people came to the door asking for help, they came with your friend there,” Amata indicated to Hargar. “They're in your father's old office, if you put on a helmet and jog there, rather than run, you shouldn't get stopped.”

“Thank you,” Zion nodded, pulling out his power armour helmet and putting it on, before rushing as fast as he could manage without causing a panic into the vault. A decade hadn't made him rusty, each corridor was as familiar as his own face, each door was exactly where he left it. More rust had formed, but other than that, it was the same old vault, just undeniably busier from people moving in to find an easier life. No one stopped him.

The corridors grew increasingly nostalgic and he almost stopped his jogging just to truly take it all in. He was back in Vault 101, the classroom he'd spent so much of his life in was just around the corner, he could even stick his head in if he wanted... But no, he wanted to see who had survived. He had to. He picked up the pace, the corridors here deserted, rounded the final corner into his dad's old office.

“Clover!” Zion exclaimed, rushing forward to meet her. She was sat in one of the waiting room chairs, but got to her feet and rushed to hug him in greeting as soon as he entered.

“Oh, you're okay,” Clover sighed with relief, “I was so worried.”

“Where's Duncan?” Zion asked, letting her go and staring around the room. The only other person in here was that mechanic he'd seen with Nim a few times, and the shattered remains of the Sergeant, which the mechanic was busy pondering over.

“I... I'm sorry, lover, I don't know,” Clover admitted, her eyes telling of her own worry. Zion could feel himself physically deflate, running his hand through his hair. “I was returning from a shopping trip to Tenpenny Towers, and the vertibirds were already there. I would've fought but the lady and the deathclaw held me back. We watched them leave and went searching for survivors.”

“Did you find any sign of Duncan?” Zion asked.

“I'm sorry,” Clover repeated, “Fawkes and Jericho were already dead when we got there, and the Sergeant was in a worse state than he is now,” Clover pointed at where the mechanic was still fiddling with some of RL-3's parts. “The house had been raided. We found Charon, but...”

“Where is he?” Zion asked, “I didn't see him.”

“In there,” Clover pointed towards the Vault's surgery room, “He was in real bad shape, I thought he was dead, but the lady said he was still alive, so the deathclaw carried him here.”

“Did you search the house? Did you find anything?” Zion asked again, feeling increasingly desperate.

“I searched eveywhere, but I couldn't find anyone. I'm sorry Zion.”

“Then Duncan, Dad and Butch are all unaccounted for?” Zion asked, turning to the chair and collapsing into it. Clover looked about ready to cry, and he didn't have the strength to comfort her. The stress and exhaustion of the day seemed to hit him all at once, and he didn't realise he was snoozing off until the door to the surgery slid open, rudely awakening him with a start.

“Nim?” Zion asked, standing to his feet. “What's... How's Charon?”

“Bit early to say,” Nim shrugged, “He's alive, barely. If we'd taken any longer, then-”

“Can I see him?” Zion asked, trying to peer around the door.

“Aye, be my guest. Don't touch any of his wounds,” Nim suggested as Zion pushed past her, stopping as he saw how bandaged up Charon was. Why was it always Charon who got the worst injuries...? But the ghoul was breathing, and that was better than he could say for Fawkes or Jericho right now, small mercy as it was.

“What now?” Zion asked, collapsing into the seat beside Charon's bed. He felt utterly lost and helpless, cowering in his childhood home like a naughty school boy, the clinic so familiar and yet so foreign. His mind kept saying his father was going to walk in any moment and ask why he was alone in the clinic, but his father was still missing. Everything felt so foreign now, even the doctor was someone he'd never seen before, checking Charon's vital signs like a ghoul was a normal patient in a vault.

“You stay here, I'll go search for survivors,” Nim offered, “Hargar will appreciate not being locked in a cave any longer.”

Time seemed to crawl along, each second spent watching the vault doctors continuing to try and keep Charon stable felt like years. At some point Amata had come to talk to him, to distract him or catch up with him, he didn't really know. She spoke of the vault and of her new family with such genuine joy that he felt horrible for his gloomy mood, but he couldn't even bring himself to smile genuinely when she told him they were expecting. It felt like a grimace.

The outer doors to the clinic audibly opened, and the mechanic's voice could be heard from where he still sat on the floor, “That was quick, boss. Did you forget something?”

Nim didn't answer, just appeared rapidly at the door to the surgery, meeting Zion's eyes with a grim look and a holotape in her hands. “They know we're here.”

“The Enclave?” Zion asked, standing to his feet immediately, “Hwo do you know?”

“I went back to your house, they'd left this here,” Nim held up the holotape, “They knew we'd come back, and they've seen that we've shifted bodies. They know we're in the area, they know where the vaults are and they'll know, like everyone else in DC knows, that you came from this vault. We can't stay here.”

“We can't move Charon,” Zion shook his head.

“We might have to leave him, RL-3 and Raul behind for now,” Nim suggested, “At least until they can make the journey to Bloodwater.”

It wasn't a choice Zion wanted to make, but it wasn't really a choice he had. A hand reached over and gently took his arm, “They'll be safe here. We'll shut the vault door after you, no-one will get in.”

“It'll be no good if they have overwrite codes that can force the door open,” Nim pointed out, “This is the old US government we're talking about here, they're only one step behind Vault-Tec in terms of how much control they had over the vaults.”

Amata's face was set, that same look of determination from all those years ago as clear as a memory on her face. “Then we'll change what we can. They can stay here, I'll alert security.”

With that Amata said a quick farewell to Zion and left the clinic. Nim pulled out her Pipboy-2000 and started to mess with the buttons. “What's the holotape?” Zion asked.

“Din kna. Haven't checked it yet, thought you'd want to watch it first,” Nim suggested, inserting it into the pipboy, the screen lighting up her face before she handed it over to him.

Zion took it, and watched as the static-y screen cleared ever so slightly, enough to show him two figures stood on screen. Or maybe stood was the wrong word. One figure stood, another was knealt beside him, wrestling with what must have been some sort of bindings. The image grew clearer as the standing figure started to speak.

“My my, you have been a thorn in our side,” he said, “when really, there is no need. Terrorists like you stand no chance against the mighty America.”

The kneeling person yelled something, muffled under a gag that was growing clearer, the styled hair and leather jacket far too familiar. “Butch!” Zion yelled at the screen fruitlessly.

“I'd suggest you turn yourself in peacefully, before anyone innocent gets hurt,” the man continued.

“Innocent? A town of innocents lies dead because of you!” Zion continued to yell, but the man on screen merely indicated for someone off screen to move onwards, and two soldiers, decked in their power armour, moved ownards, dragging two more people with them. The image didn't have to be clear for Zion to recognise them, an aging man who moved when dragged, but glared daggers at them as he did so. And a small child, kicking and screaming all the way, his mouth covered by one of the soldier's hands. That's where they'd gone.

“There's a government outpost up North, in a place called Raven Rock. I suggest you come quickly, before anyone else gets hurt,” the man warned, drawing a pistol and holding it to Butch's head as his other hand pulled the gag down from around his mouth. Butch's eyes had darkened, the realisation stretched across his face as to what was going to happen.

“Tunnel Snakes R-” The pistol blasted, cutting off Butch's final words as his body slumped to the floor, Duncan screaming in terror as the soldiers dragged him and James off once more. The man stared at Butch's body for a moment, as one might look at the body of a rat caught in a trap, before turning back to the camera.

“It'd be my pleasure to finally meet you, Zion River. Tell the guards Colonel Autumn sent for you, they'll bring you straight to me.”

With that the image clicked out, leaving Zion staring open mouthed at the screen. Nim gently pulled the screen out from his hands, removing the holotape and smashing it on the floor.

“If he wants a terrorist,” Zion mumbled, standing to his feet, his head spinning and his stomach doing cartwheels. Fawkes, Jericho, all of Megaton, and now Butch too? Autumn wouldn't see another night, “I'll give him goddamn terror!”