Am I supposed to die here? I can't. I can't die. Not yet.

The Supermutants were closing in. The Museum of History was only yards away. My goal, my mission, was to enter that building and retrieve the Lincoln Memorial Picture. But the Mutants have gotten more aggressive and higher in number. DC wasn't always this bad. There has been a shift to make the Mutants more aggressive, the Brotherhood of Steel more exclusive, and Ravenrock to start buzzing again. I thought Heavy and I could take it, but the trek has been long and exhausting. The Supermutants, with their hideous Centaurs were closing in around me.

I felt every strike, every projectile of radioactive sludge, every bullet rip through my battered body. I no longer fought, I only sought the cover of a building or alcove; anything. I was so close! So close to my goal. I could see the oaken doors and the metro that fell beneath it. My legs finally gave way and I collapsed to the ground, crawling on my hands and knees to keep going. There was blood, blood that belonged to me and blood that didn't. I heard their wretched screams of excitement; they'd eat me tonight. I fell over, drained, almost wishing for death, when the bursts of a gun that wasn't mine rang in my ears. Bullets fending off the monsters at my heels.

Charon

"Didya hear? Willow dragged in a smooth skin!"

"Why the hell would she do that?"

"Beats me. Maybe she was feeling generous. Hey Nurse Graves."

"It's Baldy, the one who showed up about a month ago."

A drunken patron hailed for another beer, but he was scrambling for the caps. My employer gave me a glance, a glance to keep my eye on him. My gaze never left the patron. He was thin and sickly and struggled to speak coherently. My employer and I knew what was coming; it was just a matter of time.

"What happened to her?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Oh c'mon, there ain't nothin' else to talk about! Tell us what happened to her! She still alive? Why was she around here again?"

"She hasn't woken up for a day, but she's in stable condition now. She was unconscious when Willow brought her in.

"Did Willow say why she decided to save a smooth skin?"

"She mentioned the first time Baldy came to Underworld, those Brotherhood men were giving Willow trouble. Baldy stepped in and intervened. Willow was paying her back by fighting off Super Mutants."

The drunken patron from before hissed and leapt over the bar, clawing for Ahzrukhal. I pushed past the crowd easily and grabbed the aggressor. My hand easily wrapped completely around this man's neck, fingertips touching fingertips.

Ahzrukhal was laughing, wiping his lip. Nurse Graves helped him to his feet. "You know what to do," He chuckled, "Charon."

The man tried wriggling free, but I clasped his neck tighter and held his wrists together. He choked and hissed and spat and gnashed his rotting teeth. I had to parade him through Underworld, this guy everyone knew and respected. I was bringing him to his end. Everyone stood silent, watching me do my work. They stopped whatever they were doing to watch, a reminder of what could happen to them.

I reached his pearly gates, and by orders I could not kill him.

I was forced to let him rot with the other victims of Ahzrukhal's iron hold in the lower offices. Penned in like animals. I hate Ahzrukhal. I wanted to break every brittle bone in his brittle body. He doesn't deserve to live. He manipulates those around him, keeps them in a drugged, drunken stupor. He destroys good men, runs women out of house and home. Many of his victims were never even feral, but people who didn't have the caps to pay him back. He simply lets them rot in here, they lose their humanity in the darkness.

I opened the doors, groans of pain and hisses of pain escaped through and into what was left of my ears. There, all of my victims rot away. Before him was blackness. Uncertainty. Wild, lawless, filth. I threw him down to the ground before turning around to return to the Ninth Circle. He grabbed my ankle, clinging to it for his life. He asked me to spare him in a barely coherent voice. He asked me to take him to the Doc, that Burrows could cure him. Burrows could do nothing for this man. He begged me to take him back through degraded gums and a sunken face. His hands and fingers were thin and knobby, weakly grasping my boot.

I looked him in his scared eyes, and shook him off like dog shit.

I slammed the door behind me, hearing his wails penetrate the heavy wooden door, echoing in the great hall. Echoing in my head. Ahzrukhals' head is on the chopping block when I am freed from his wretched grasp.

Baldy

I woke up. I woke up on a gurney. Fuuuuck! My head! I rolled over a few times, seeing if I could still move. I wiggled my fingers and toes, flexed and tensed my muscles. Everything seemed to be in working order. I lied flat on my back and opened my eyes, only to be greeted by a blinding light. "Shit!" I swore, covering my eyes. I sat up, tunnel vision ripped through my eyes and into the back of my head. I groaned "Fuck, where am I? How the hell am I still alive?" I was underground; there were no windows. I was naked save for my underwear, eh, whatever. Not the first time. Someone gently pushed me back down.

"You're in the Chop Shop in Underworld, Smoothskin."

I chuckled, "The Chop Shop?" Might as well call it 'We Dissect You'. "I wouldn't trust any other doc."

"Yeah, you shouldn't, because you're alive thanks to me." He snapped. "So do you remember your name?"

I had to think for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to my surroundings. The doc was sitting in a chair next to me, clipboard in hand. There was a nurse in the corner, typing something on a computer. There was a sort of observation window with two glowing sources of light moving around. I couldn't quite see what they were, but a good guess they were Glowing Ones. Only after I was adjusted did I say something. "I remember who I am. But who are you?"

"I'm Doc Borrows."

"When can I leave?"

"You're asking me that already? Not soon, I can tell you that much."

"Well why the fuck not?" I sneered.

He snickered and shook his head, writing something down. "You must be better if you're arguing with me."

"But why can't I leave yet?" I persisted, slowly sitting up.

"That." He pointed to my side. There was a wrap around my torso, and I ran my fingers over the gauze, I felt a shallow delve in my side.

"Fuck." That was when a fragmine exploded a car and the shrapnel took a chunk out of me. Another story to tell. I looked over my body and only saw scabs and dressings and scars. I looked over my hands, covered in scratches and dirt. My arms weren't any better. The only thing probably untouched were my feet, but they were still fucked up. It seemed like I had lost a toenail or broken something since four of my toes were wrapped tightly in gauze. "I really went through the ringer, didn't I?"

"We didn't think you'd wake up." We looked at each other for a tense moment. The words really sunk in. "But you're conscious now, and I have to make sure your brain is still in working order. How old are you?"

I shrugged, "24ish."

"Good, good," Burrows mused, a gravely sort of musing. He scribbled something on a clip board. The nurse brought over some food, some stale apples and purified water. "What were you doing to get shot up full of so many holes?"

I had to think about that for a moment, the food sort of helped. I shrugged and looked down. "I dunno, typical Wasteland stuff, man." I kept eating. "I wasn't prepared for all the Super Mutants I guess. There are more of them than there were a month ago, yeah?"

The Doc nodded. "There are."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Beats me. So why are you here again?"

"That Three Dog guy is offering me a reward for fixing his dish." I lied. The miser wasn't offering me jack shit for such an important piece of machinery. I was really in D.C for the Temple of the Union, clearing out the Super Mutants and slavers of the Lincoln Memorial. But first, I was going to get the Lincoln Memorial Picture since Caleb needed a reference. "So, what exactly happened to me?"

"You were dragged in here shot up full of holes, severe blood loss was your main issue. Your left leg and right arm were broken. Four of your toenails were essentially dead, so we removed them. They should grow back soon. There were several deep lacerations on your arms and face. This one," he gently pressed his finger down the bridge of my nose and traced the wound the full length, "This one, right here, your nose was split open. That was a trick to sow back together. But the biggest issue we had was stopping that from bleeding." He pointed to my side. "It's a miracle the lacerations didn't pierce your lungs or else we would have had to of given up there."

"Thanks Doc." I mumbled, feeling the wounds again. "So how long will it take me to recover?"

He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at me. "Why are you itchin' to leave so bad?"

I have a mission to complete. A mission that quickly running out of time to complete. "I've got business I need to get done as soon as possible. Don't think it's because I'm surrounded by ghouls. I ain't no ghoul hater."

He stood up. "I understand, but your body still needs rest."

"Can I take a bath?" I asked. I really reeked. I couldn't remember the last time I bathed.

"Let the bandages sit another day, we'll pump you full of stimpacks, and after that you should be good to leave." He turned his attention to the girl in the corner.

I had to sit there, staring at the ceiling, for what seemed like hours. My body started aching again, aching for pain relief and cold peace. That cold peace only Med-X could give me. When the Doc was out tending to his glowing pets and Nurse Graves was tending to a woman in the corner, I carefully snuck out of my bed and over to my pack. I pulled out a syringe, then silently climbed into bed. Nobody saw me. I turned over on my side, away from everyone, and inserted the needle into my arm. Instantly, I was relaxed and weightless. I didn't feel my side aching, my leg throbbing, or my arm with it's piercing pain. My mind forgot about everything, I had enough sense to hide the needle, then I slipped off to sleep.

Charon

"Hey, baldy woke up today!"

"And? What's so exciting about that?"

"I dunno, somethin' to talk about. Do you think she'll survive?"

"Survive what? The sight of your ugly ass?"

"Shut up, you don't look much better." They both laughed and hailed two shots of vodka. "I mean, just because she's awake doesn't mean she'll survive her injuries. I've heard from sources that she was through hell and back."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Broken limbs, a whole shit ton of lost blood, shot up full of holes, and a lot of deep cuts all over her."

"Sounds rough. How did she make it?"

"A fuckin' miracle. Doc was sayin' she shouldn't have lived."

"Well no shit. She must be living for something important."

"What is that important to live through hell?"

He scoffed. "Not much."

"Well, whatever it is, I hope it ain't that pressing. She don't look half bad."

"Maybe if she let her hair grow out I'd say so. She ain't my type. Too muscly."

"She's better lookin' than the broads down here." He said in a hushed voice.

"You can say that again." They both laughed.

She had stopped in here before. The patron who complained about her being to 'muscly' made a move on her she didn't like. She kicked up a fuss and threatened him. I had her halfway to the door when she ripped herself free. She escorted herself out.

If she made trouble one more time, I was sure to not let that happen again.