It was just the bad end to a bad beginning.
Arcade knew they never should've entered the quarry. Even if the workers at Sloan had asked kindly there was just something about deathclaw nest that reeked with BAD IDEA all over it… but he wasn't about to allow for Emma to head in alone. He knew the woman well enough by this point – even if he didn't come along she'd be going by herself instead.
The first few of the beasts hadn't been especially difficult to handle – a few young ones and young adults – before the unlikely duo pressed on, headed in further, facing increasingly threatening opposition. "When we make it back to Freeside I'm never following you anyplace again, Emma! Last I checked gathering broc flowers did not equal deathclaw killing… let alone the million and one other things we've run around doing in the process!" He shouted at the courier over the sounds of his plasma fire and the screeching roars of the deathclaws. The lull in the charges brought the tall Follower around with a frown, enough where he could see the courier shooting. She didn't notice the Big Daddy – the alpha male - of the quarry deathclaws slinking up behind her, focused as she was on her target, and Arcade reacted without really thinking on the consequences of his actions.
One step. A second. The third.
And he was there, reaching out, grabbing a surprised Emma and yanking her to the side just as a massive clawed hand slammed directly across his back, ripping savagely through flesh and sinew and bone. The force of the blow caused the blond to jackknife forward into the side of the quarry face-first hard enough his glasses didn't survive the impact, but he was far beyond any caring of such a fact. There was pain. Wetness. Warmth that spread across his back and sides as he scrabbled futilely, incapable of regaining his feet, as blood stained the whiteness of his Followers jacket deep crimson. He managed to roll over enough to press his back against the hard surface behind him, the world before him a blurred sense of nothingness, motion, and roars.
Or was that a scream?
What could've been minutes, what could've been hours, the sounds eventually dulled… aside from the plip-plip of blood and near frantic footfalls, searching, seeking, before eventually coming towards him with a hesitance he'd never heard in them before.
"Squishy..?" Emma called, gasping softly when she spotted the Follower's condition, hurrying to his side. "Arcade! Come on man, you've gotta get up. You've gotta.." Blue eyes finally reopened, enough to see blurred movement from beside him as Emma's much smaller form attempted to lug the man to his feet, and he shuddered as agony traced through his senses at the movement he just wasn't capable of anymore. "Can't.." He started, coughing feebly, as a bubbled trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth from the sheer effort of even speaking. "I think.. the.. r-rock's the only thing keeping my back together." More coughing, weaker this time, more blood.. "Doesn'.. doesn't really hurt much anymore. It's okay."
Emma was crying in earnest now, trying to find stimpacks, trying to find anything that could help. Arcade knew what was going to happen to him and accepted this, even if she didn't… a large hand reached out to wrap around her much smaller one that still gripped onto her shotgun in case more of the deathclaws arrived, using the last remnants of his strength to pull it up where he could feel its muzzle against his skull. "It's okay." He repeated, voice faltering weakly as those blue eyes finally closed. He could feel damp coolness, such a stark contrast to the near nothingness he could feel otherwise, from the young woman's tears that dripped on his face, causing clean smears in the blood caked there. "Fate never did… never did like me much anyway, you know. Quomodo semper fuit.."
He could hear a strangled sob and his last sensation was of her hand tensing under his own as it pulled the trigger.
Breathe in.
Lights out.