Floating in a sea of darkness, the water chills the breath from his lungs. It's twilight, with clouds overhead. MacCready, trying to swim to the sheer rock wall that is the shore, moves his arms and legs, but they don't move the way they should. Instead they flail like rubber, making his progress painfully slow. MacCready starts to sink, head bobbing below the water line. Panic grips him, tightening his chest. He tries again and again, but he can't scream. Mac's cry for help comes out a choked sound, only filling his mouth with water. A sharp pain grips his ankle, holding him in place, and before he can even react, he's drug under. Moving his arms frantically through the abyssal water, he's trying desperately to reach air. The thing, with claws digging deep into this skin, drags him more distant from the surface. The dim light that trickled in from above fading. Lungs are burning. His vision going black.
MacCready awoke with a start, jerking up out of bed and panting for breath. It was as if his lungs forgot how to breathe. His chest ached and his entire body was trembling. Rubbing the sweat off of his brow, he sat up in his sleeping bag that rested on the cold cement of an overpass. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his nearby bag, lit one up, and took a deep drag.
"Get ready. We have a long day ahead of us," a russet brown man with a scraggly black beard said, crouching beside him with a bottle of water. Removing his cigarette, Mac grabbed the water and gulped down several mouthfuls before handing it back.
The young mercenary breathed another drag, refusing to meet man's gaze. "What's the job, Barnes?"
"That's Lieutenant Barnes... Anyway, two neighbors fighting," the lieutenant said, standing up, "One has paid us to 'take care of' the other."
Sighing, MacCready rubbed a hand over his face. "Sounds easy enough. You point. I'll shoot."
"I'll be coming along with you and Veria since Luke is still out of commission. We head out at oh-eight hundred. Don't be late."
"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your panties in a bunch. I'll be there," MacCready mumbled, cigarette moving up and down as he spoke. Barnes growled under his breath, leaving the sniper to his thoughts for the time being. After snubbing out his cigarette, Mac rose to his feet, stretching out his sore calf muscles. He shrugged on his duster, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and collected his gear and ammo. A couple of sweet rolls served as his breakfast, a meal which was hastily eaten on the way to the elevator.
"Good to see you on time, for once," Veria, a woman with a shaved mohawk, spat. MacCready elected not to respond to her comment, and boarded the elevator in silence.
Once on the ground, they hiked under a clear blue sky with Barnes, sporting his power armor, leading the way. At the sound of someone approaching, the three of them took cover behind a boulder near the main road.
"Caravan. Two guards and a guy with a loaded brahmin," Veria whispered, peering out from behind the rock.
"Ha. No sweat," Barnes chuckled, aiming his laser rifle, "MacCready, you get the right. Veria, take left. On my signal."
The travelling caravan hadn't yet been alerted to their presence and plodded closer unknowingly. Mac could hear the soft mooing of the brahmin and the idle chatter of the guards. They couldn't be more than fifty feet away. Looking through his scope, he centered his aim at the guard's forehead.
"Now!"
MacCready released his breath and squeezed the trigger. BAM! The caravan guard fell, back of the head exploding with blood and brain matter. Veria fired off several shots from her handgun, aimed at the center of the other guard. Meanwhile, Barnes red laser fire rained down on the remaining man and his cow. The brahmin, panicking, sprinted and barreled over his owner. The man did not get up. Barnes fired a few shots aimed at the two-headed cow. The animal skidded faces first into the dirt. Kicking in the air, it exhaled out a low rattling moan before going still.
The Gunner Lieutenant rose to his feet. "Check the brahmin. See if he had anything good."
The woman, with an expression that could only be described as pure delight, sauntered to the dead animal and unloaded the strapped on suitcases.
"Keep gunnin' down everyone you see, and there won't be anyone left in the Commonwealth to hire us."
You're lucky your sniping is as sharp as your tongue. I have no problem with your attitude. I think you've got spunk, but Winlock- he'd knock you into next week if he heard you. Best keep your mouth shut around him."
"Aw, I didn't know you cared," MacCready said, smugly grinning and adding a sarcastic tip of his hat.
"Ugh, shut it!" she snapped, rifling through the last of the suitcases. "Nothing but junk, Lieutenant Barnes. Found a few caps, though."
The lieutenant nodded, patting Veria on the back. "Good work. Pocket those for now. We will split them when we get back."
They traveled farther, hiking through brush and thickets until the mercenary group reached a small hill overlooking a ramshackle two-story shack. At their leader's signal, they went prone, making themselves harder to spot.
"Recon, MacCready," Barnes ordered. "How many targets?"
Pulling binoculars out from his belt, he peered through the lenses. A man to the side of the house, tending to his sparse garden of tatos. Scanning the house, he spotted movement in a makeshift window. A female figure appeared outside, yelling something to the man. A smaller woman came into view behind her before re-entering the house.
"One man outside. At least two women inside."
"Alright," the lieutenant whispered sternly, "Veria and I will get into position near the entrance. Once you see us, take out the outside target. That will be our signal to charge in."
MacCready, unslinging his rifle from his back, nodded his head. "You got it, Boss."
Sighing and growling something along the lines of, "Is it so hard to say, 'Lieutenant?'" Barnes retreated down the hill with Veria, leaving MacCready alone with his rifle. Just how he liked it. Looking through the binoculars, he found the farmer. He wondered what this small family had done to piss their neighbor's off so badly that they wanted them dead. They seemed like a normal meager family trying to get by. Mac turned his attention to the doorway of the building. Veria and Barnes were nearing the doorway, creeping along carefully, taking cover behind an old rusted car.
Mac moved his rifle into position and, looking through the scope, found his target once more. He centered the crosshairs on his head, and pulled in a breath through his nose. Sliding his finger over the trigger, he squeezed it gently and exhaled. The gun jerked and the farmer dropped, blood splattering on the house. He moved his sights over Barnes and Veria as they rushed in, disappearing inside.
The sniper hurried over to the shack. The door had been torn from the hinges, giving a clear view of the carnage inside. He stepped over the body of a blonde woman, eyes wide and mouth open in a partial scream. The other female, barely a young adult, lay face down on the stairs, blood dripping down the wooden boards steadily. Barnes and Veria rummaged through the various cabinets and boxes, tossing items they deemed useless over their shoulder.
"Good work," Barnes grinned, giving MacCready a clap on the back, "Do a sweep upstairs and check for valuables. We'll finish down here and meet you out front."
"Yeah. Sure." He shrugged nonchalantly, stepping around the corpse as he plodded up the stairs. At the top, he found a cramped hallway branching off into two rooms. I doubt there's anyone else here. Mac thought as he shuffled toward the first door, holding his rifle at the ready just in case. They would have heard the commotion by now. He opened the door, finding a bare room with only two mattresses pushed together and a beat-up end table. A blur of movement, seen out of the corner of his eye, darted into the far room. MacCready crouched, moving forward with cautious, precise steps. At the door frame of the next room, he backed against the wall. Alright... to the count of three.
One. He took a deep breath- in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Two. Sliding his finger from the trigger guard to the trigger itself, Mac tightened the grip on his rifle.
Three! In one fluid motion, he swung into the doorway swiftly with rifle ready. In front of him, stood a small boy with a tear-stained face, a faded blue onesie, and a teddy bear clenched tight with both stubby hands.
"Dammit!" MacCready uttered under his breath harshly, lowering the gun. The kid, with messy sandy-blonde hair and only knee high in height, couldn't have been much older than Duncan. What was he supposed to do? Whatever it was, he had to do it fast, before Barnes decided to check on him for taking too long. Shouldering his weapon, Mac kneeled to eye-level with the boy.
"Mommy... Sis..." the child sniffed, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.
Grasping his shoulders firmly, MacCready urgently spoke no louder than a whisper, "You can't cry. Cryin' is going to get you killed." He glanced around the room, weighing his options. A three-drawer dresser, which was missing two drawers, was pushed against the left back corner. There were no windows to push him out of, and chances are the kid probably wouldn't survive the fall. A low cot, pushed against the right wall, was the only other thing in the room. It was the only option. Gripping his wrist, the mercenary dragged him to the bed.
"Hide under here and don't make a noise. They can't hear you, or you're dead." MacCready stressed to the whimpering child as he shimmied under the cot. "Wait until we leave. Use the main road. Find a caravan. They will take care of you." He had no clue if the boy understood anything he was saying, but he had to try.
Rising to his feet, Mac briskly walked to the dresser and emptied the contents onto the floor. Blankets, thread-bare children's clothes, and a few toys littered the wooden floor.
"What's the hold up, MacCready?" Barnes familiar voice boomed in the doorway. It took all of his willpower not to jump at the sound.
"Just checking the place out. There's nothing up here but trash."
The lieutenant eyed the mess on the floor, then back to the sniper, raising an eyebrow. "I see. Well, let's head back to base. We should be able to arrive around chow time."
Mac nodded, striding to the door frame. They were halfway out when Barnes stopped in his tracks. "What was that?"
"I don't hear anything."
A muffled whine, barely audible, sounded behind them. Barnes pivoted around, stepping into the center of the room. He waited, listening.
"Listen, I really don't think-"
Before the mercenary could even blink, Barnes reached under and jerked the kid out by the collar. Holding the small child at arm's length, he used his other hand to draw his ten millimeter. Shrieking, the child wiggled, trying to himself free, but he was held with an iron grip.
"You're losing your touch, Mac," the lieutenant said with a hint of enmity around the edges, as if he had known Mac was lying, "You missed one."
"Wait, we don't have to off the kid," the sniper said, trying his damndest not to plead. "Can't we take him back? Conscript him to be a Gunner?"
Barnes laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd heard in his lifetime. "We are mercenaries, not babysitters. All the people we conscript can shoot and hold a gun. It would take years for the kid to get to that point. Resources we don't have."
Mac edged closer to him. "What if we just... take him out in the middle of nowhere? The wilderness will most likely get him anyway, if the rads don't first."
The lieutenant turned his eyes toward Mac briefly, shaking his head with an exasperated sigh. BANG! Dark crimson splattered on the two as the gunshot echoed throughout the room, fading into silence. The shot was felt in the pit of his chest, gutting him. Releasing the limp figure, the boy crumpled to the floor like a rag doll.
"I didn't see you complain when we took out that caravan," Barnes said, folding his arms, "A life is a life, and we are paid to take them no matter whose it is. We have to see every contract through. Now, come on. I won't tell Winlock about today, but if this happens again... I cannot guarantee your safety."
MacCready, balling his fists up at his sides, kept his narrowed eyes to the floor in front of him. Barnes moved past him, exiting the room. The sniper followed, shuffling along, with a pang of sadness growing somewhere deep within.
He walked back with the others, remaining silent and periodically falling a few steps behind. His shoes scuffed the ground, causing clouds of dirt to rise. What if that had been Duncan in there? He wondered. Could I have saved him then?
As soon as they reached the base, MacCready threw his stuff down. It was dinner time, but his appetite was lost. Instead, he decided to sit by a garbage can fire, and light up a cigarette.
"Ya feelin' ok? You look like shit," Veria asked as she approached.
"I feel like shi- ...crap. I doubt I'll be sleeping tonight." MacCready took a long drag of his cigarette, then flicked it over the bridge railing.
"Take this." She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a syringe with two canisters on the side. "This shit is Psycho. It always helps me sleep. Chems are against rules, so don't let the others see."
The sniper quickly grabbed the needle, inspecting it in the firelight. He wasn't the type to do chems, but today he didn't give a damn about consequences, rules, or being alive for that matter. Jabbing the syringe into this arm, Mac pushed the plunger all the way down. He tossed the used Psycho over the bridge and crawled into his sleeping bag. The effects started almost immediately. Every noise, every sound, every laugh caused an irritation deep in his core. Grinding his teeth, he turned over. Mac could swear he tasted blood. What I wouldn't give to shoot all the Gunners straight to hell. Violent thoughts danced in his head until sleep finally found him.
He's floating in a sea of chilling dark water, but the current pulls him in. MacCready doesn't fight it, letting the rip tide take him. It pulls him to a cave, like water to a drain. Sinking to his knees, he ends up on a sandy shore. Out of the darkness, and faster than lighting, he is pinned down by a Mirelurk King- a Mirelurk King wearing power armor. Water pours in, covering him. His arms are too weak to resist. The creature laughs, throaty and deep, with its claws digging into his flesh.
MacCready bolted upright. Rubbing the sweat from his brow, he shook the nightmare from his mind. "Damn Gunners... Just glorified Raiders," he huffed under his breath, packing his few belongings. He knew it was probably just the Psycho talking, but he didn't give a shit. He was already drowning…Barely staying above water.
"Working for the Gunners... Ha! Worst mistake I ever made," the young sniper muttered. And like a shadow in the night, he disappeared without a trace.