This is a spinoff to my other story, Children of the Vault. Reading that one isn't required, and relevant information will be explained here.
I'm looking for beta readers! If you're interested, please pm me! I'd like to find one good, permanent one, but I'll take help where I can get it lol.
Enjoy the story! Feedback is always appreciated.
2282
Blood covered the floor of the Overseer's office, and a boy lay dead before him. The door slid open, and a dark-skinned woman entered, frantic.
That panic increased when she spotted the dead child.
"Overseer Hayes!" she exclaimed. "What did you do?!"
"Whatever I had to, Doctor Morris," he replied. "Do you want to get out of here alive?"
"W-what?"
"Don't be daft; those little monsters are revolting. They'll kill me."
The woman gaped. "And what makes you so sure they won't hurt me?"
"You're pregnant," he stated. "And you're a friend of Margaret's. Now, do you want out of this?"
"If they won't hurt me, then I have nothing to worry about," she muttered, her brows knitting together in confusion.
Hayes pointed his pistol at her. "No, but I will. You're my way out."
Minutes later, Hayes rushed out of an elevator, dragging the woman with him. He was so close to escape he could taste it; his only concern, which wasn't even valid given the number of people hunting him down, was what Uptopland would be like.
A young girl, no more than twenty, stood by the exit bridge with a gun in her hand. She was short and slim, with a wavy brown bob and green eyes with brown flecks. She, like Hayes, wore black slacks, a black turtleneck, and a white labcoat. The instant she saw him, she leveled her gun with his face. "I swear to god, Hayes, let Rochelle go or I'll blow your fucking brains out. This doesn't end well for you."
The man tensed, but quickly put Rochelle between the two, effectively turning her into a human shield.
The girl faltered.
"How about you put that gun away, Margaret, and I'll let her live?"
January, 2287
Goodneighbor was the same as ever; the stenches of urine and trash hung thick in the air, and a lack of light left the alleyways dark. Shops had closed at sunset, but people still roamed the town, many in search of chems. The ground was damp from rain earlier in the day, and the temperature had dropped low enough to ensure that there'd be ice on the ground by morning.
Margaret Fox had returned to town with the intent of hiring a man named MacCready, who'd set up shop in the Third Rail. She wore her usual black duster, but due to the cold, she had it zipped. It stayed that way even as she entered the bar; her pistol and the knife on her thigh were both covered by it, but she doubted she'd need either of them; Goodneighbor wasn't the place to pick a fight, and everyone knew that.
The woman made her way to the bar, purchased a glass of bourbon from Charlie, then sashayed into the VIP room, where she saw her quarry.
MacCready sat in a plush red chair, sipping on a bottle of alcohol; his gaze shifted to the woman as she entered, prompting him to set the drink down and sigh. "Look lady, if you're preaching about the Atom or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy." He paused briefly to look her over and quirked a brow. "If you need a hired gun, then maybe we can talk."
"Then I guess we can talk," she replied, then took a seat across from him and crossed her legs. "What's your price?"
"Two fifty," he stated. "Up front, and non-negotiable."
"Jeez," Margo muttered, "you really lowball yourself. Two hundred fifty caps for the best sniper in the Commonwealth?" She shook her head. "I came in ready to offer two hundred upfront, plus a salary and a share in loot."
MacCready blinked. "W-well, I mean, I'm not gonna turn something like that down."
"Oh, no, you've already set a price. Why would I pay more?" She gave him a smirk, let him squirm for a moment, then spoke again, "I'm kidding. My offer still stands. The job I have is pretty dangerous though, so if you need, you can back out any time."
"Believe me, I doubt I'll ditch a salary."
"Good. Then I guess-"
"Can't say I'm surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready," a voice interrupted.
Margo scowled and shifted her gaze from MacCready to a pair of men who'd entered. Each sported both a Gunner uniform and a tattoo on their forehead, which she'd heard were their blood types. She hadn't the faintest idea as to how the group had figured out how to determine that information, but assumed they'd come across some old medical journals.
The mercenary eyed Margo for a moment, then scoffed and got to his feet. "I was wondering how long it'd take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock. It's been almost three months; don't tell me you're getting rusty," he teased with a smirk. "Should we take this outside?"
The woman glanced between the two before uncrossing her legs and unzipping her jacket, revealing a white crop top, black shorts, and both her pistol on her hip and the knife on her thigh. The intruders obviously weren't friends, and she wanted to be ready to step in if things turned sour.
"It ain't like that," the gunner - Winlock, apparently - said. "I'm just here to deliver a message."
"In case you forgot, I left the Gunners. For good."
"Yeah, I heard, but you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That isn't going to work for us."
"I don't take orders from you," MacCready quipped, "not anymore. So, why don't you take your girlfriend and walk out of here while you still can?"
The second Gunner gaped for a moment before sputtering, "What?! Winlock, tell me we don't have to listen to this shit!"
Winlock scowled, and his posture shifted aggressively. "The only reason we haven't filled you with bullets is because we don't want a war with Goodneighbor," he sneered. "See, we respect other people's boundaries; we know how to play the game. It's something you never learned."
"For respecting boundaries," Margo chimed in, "you sure are rude, interrupting us like this." She got to her feet and moved to stand next to MacCready, who gave her a glance but remained silent. "I suggest you do what he said; grab your lady friend, and get the hell out."
The man gave a harsh laugh. "Listen here, you little bitch-"
She drew her pistol and aimed right between the Gunner's eyes. The man was over a foot taller than her, and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, but she could never rely on her appearance to intimidate anyone.
It was her gaze that unnerved people.
MacCready took notice of it; her eyes were a bright green, and sections of them were brown, but they were certainly the eyes of a killer. He'd seen the look before, as had Winlock and Barnes, and it was like she was a completely different woman than the one he'd been speaking to moments earlier.
"I'll tell you one more time," she muttered. Her voice was just as cold as her eyes; really though, she had no intention of shooting Winlock. She just needed him to believe she would. "Get the hell out of here, Winlock, before I paint the walls with your goddamn brains. You delivered your message."
Winlock had fallen silent the second he realized he had a gun in his face, and slowly raised his hands. "Fine. We'll leave, alright?" His gaze flicked to the other gunner, then he lowered his hands just as slowly as he'd raised them, and the two carefully - and quietly - made their way out.
"Are you fuc- freakin' crazy?!"
Margo blinked and lowered the gun, looking to MacCready as she slipped it back into its holster. "What?"
"You pulled a gun and threatened a Gunner - in Goodneighbor!" He exclaimed. "If anyone had seen you, there'd have been he-" the man paused, huffed, then continued, "there'd have been problems!"
"We're in the VIP room," Margo said. "Nobody can see us from out there. It's fine." She plopped back down into her chair. "So, where were we?"
MacCready gaped at the woman for a moment, then let out another huff and plopped into his seat as well. "What's the job you wanted to hire me for?"
"I'm out for revenge."
"That it?"
"Basically."
"So what do you need me for?" He crossed his arms. "Just find him, kill him, and be done with it."
"Maybe I just wanted the company," she replied. "Does it really matter?"
He eyed her, then let out a sigh. "No, I guess not."
"Good. In that case, we leave tomorrow."
It had been months since MacCready had been on the road; until this woman - he still didn't know her name - had shown up, nobody would touch him. Not after finding out he used to run with the Gunners. Fortunately for him, she was quiet, polite, and alert. They'd come close to a group of raiders, but she'd seen them before he could and changed their course. He wasn't used to traveling with anyone competent.
"So," he began, "you got a name, boss?"
"Margaret Fox, but my friends call me Margo."
"Gotcha. I'll stick with calling you boss."
She laughed a bit. "Why'd you ask my name if you didn't want to use it? We might be traveling together for a while, MacCready. Call me Margo." The woman pursed her bright red lips and stuffed her hands in her pockets. "Are you from the Commonwealth?"
MacCready let out a sigh. "Are we straying into small talk territory?" He continued walking beside Margo, toying with the hem of his sleeve as they spoke. "To answer your question, no, I'm not. I grew up in Capital Wasteland."
The woman paused, and he watched as her brows knitted together. "Capital Wasteland? Isn't that north of here?"
He blinked in surprise and stopped as well, looking to his companion. "What? No, it's southwest. Straight down the coast."
"Oh!" Margo flashed him a sheepish grin. "Okay. So, Capital as in D.C. That makes more sense." She resumed walking, waving a hand as if to brush off her mistake. "I don't hear about it much, sorry. What brings you out to the Commonwealth?"
"Work," he stated simply. She was moving toward topics he didn't want to talk about, and rather than letting that happen, he changed the topic - rather drastically.
"Are you a vault dweller?"
Again, Margo stopped. It was clear that the question had caught her off guard, and judging by the haunted expression on her face, whatever happened with her vault wasn't good. He felt guilty, but only for a moment.
"How'd you know?" She whispered.
"I met one as a kid, back in Capital Wasteland. He spoke a lot better than most people who'd grown up in the area, and he carried himself differently. He was pale, too - at least, he was lighter than normal - and he barely had any scars. You're the same. Most people out here end up pretty rough." MacCready continued walking. "I didn't realize it ended badly; I didn't mean to bring any bad memories up."
"You couldn't have known," she stated, following after him.
He did, though. Most vaults seemed to have screwed up experiments, or bloody ends. The only one he knew that wasn't something out of a nightmare was Vault 81, which had sane dwellers and occasionally made trades with people from the Commonwealth. Regardless, her reaction had been exactly what he wanted.
Margo, as expected, was silent for a long while. She continued walking, and the two had almost no problems until she stopped in a little neighborhood with a water tower at the end of the street. "This place reminds me of Sanctuary," she stated.
"Yeah, no kidding," he replied, looking around. She was right; some of the houses were identical to those in Sanctuary. "You thinking of stopping for the night? This seems like a good place, and I don't know if we'll come across anything better before it gets dark."
"You scared of the dark, MacCready?" She smirked, then nodded toward a home that seemed to be in decent condition. "How's that one look?"
"Not bad," he muttered, looking it over. It was a little yellow home, and it probably had two or three bedrooms. "We should probably get settled in. I don't like standing out in the open like this."
"Neither do I."
Once inside, Margo set her bag on the dining table. The living area was open, with a large kitchen and breakfast nook. The living room had a couch and loveseat, and an old TV. A table by the window had a number of books, along with a radio. Despite the walls being in decent enough shape to make the house look like it wasn't falling in, upon entering she was able to see several holes in the roof. "How are we doing sleeping arrangements?" She asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, are we each taking a bedroom? Sharing one? Are we just crashing in the living room? Who's taking first watch?"
He blinked. "Uh, usually the bedrooms depend on my client, and we usually just sleep?"
"You don't have issues with anyone attacking you at night?" Her brows knitted together.
"You do?"
"Every once in a while," she muttered. "But if you don't think it'll be an issue, then it doesn't really matter. You've been doing this longer than I have." Margo let out a sigh before rummaging through her bag. "How much do you eat?"
"What?"
She paused and looked to him, raising a brow. "It's not a hard question."
MacCready's brows knitted in confusion, but he shrugged. "I dunno, a normal amount, I guess?"
"A normal amount for me is a lot to everyone else," she stated. "But I'll guesstimate. Instamash?"
"Depends. Do you know how to make it right?"
She paused again. "Do you?"
He blinked. "You don't know how to cook, do you?" The man let out a sigh and made his way over to Margo; he removed his hat and coat, then took the box of instamash from her bag that she'd been planning to cook. "I'll do it."
Margo offered him a small, shy smile, but it didn't reach her eyes; her thoughts, apparently, were still occupied by her vault. "Alright." She watched MacCready make his way to the kitchen; there was an old portable burner on the counter that still worked, and once he'd set to cooking, she made her way to one of the bedrooms.
As she was laying out her bedroll, thunder began to roll outside. Fortunately, the room seemed to be mostly intact; there were no large holes in the roof or walls, and a blanket hung on the window. It was old and tattered and falling down, and most definitely not a recent addition to the room, but it'd keep most of the rain from coming in given that the glass was gone. After laying out the bedroll, Margo removed her duster and rolled it up, then set it down to be used as a pillow. She slipped her boots off as well before making her way back out to the living area, noting that the second bedroom wasn't in nearly as good condition as the one she'd laid claim to.
"Claimed a bedroom?" MacCready inquired, keeping his eyes on the food.
"Yeah. There's a blanket over the window and it doesn't look like there are any big holes for the rain to come in. If you need a dry spot, you're welcome to lay in there."
"I'll take the living room or the other bedroom," he stated. "It's fine; I'm not gonna intrude."
"It looks like there are holes in the roof all over the place. The one I set up in seems to be in the best condition." She let out a sigh and plopped down on the couch. "I'm not gonna make you share a room with me, but the door's open if you decide you don't want to be wet."
"Doubt I'll take you up on the offer, but thanks, I guess." He let out a sigh, then plopped a scoop of the instamash into a bowl he'd found in the cabinet. "Food's done."
The two ate in silence. Margo had seemed to realize that MacCready wasn't one for conversation, so she hadn't said anything after thanking him for the food. That, or his question about her being a vault dweller was still bugging her. She made her way to the bedroom after eating - neither of them bothered to clean the dishes - and that left MacCready alone in the living room.
He wasn't sure how he felt about traveling with another vault dweller; the last one he'd met, back in Little Lamplight, had been involved with a lot of crap with the Brotherhood of Steel and the Enclave, and god knows what else. A few years after, he'd heard rumors of another out west, in NCR territory, that had been in a similar situation. Time and time again, vault dwellers got themselves and their friends into potentially lethal situations.
Had he unknowingly signed up for that as well?