Strange Friends
1
He's not the brightest man in the wastes, far from it.
He came from a long line of caravaners. The founder – Verl –lived in an underground vault on the east coast, in a city once known as 'New Yawk'. After the bombs fell, Verl set out to become one of the most prominent independent traders across the wastes for more than two hundred years.
To carry on his legacy for all those years, he met a lovely dame – a lone wanderer of the ruins of the earth – and they had two kids. These two kids would take on their parents roles, and continue the caravan of Verl, known as the 'Vees Knees'.
The caravan was one big family, taking on spouses from the communities they passed, so to keep the bloodline flowing, keeping the name alive was serious, the children couldn't go a day without pressure from the parents to find someone to partner with.
The Pitt, Washington, Rock Falls, Canyon City, all parts of the Midwestern Brotherhood knew the traders by heart, and knew their faces from afar.
Vees Knees carried on westward, now at a high of ten men and women and a few children, along with three Brahmin. These all the direct descendants of Verl, all travelling and trading together like one big happy family.
They crossed to the land of the Legion, the great expanse of territory stretched on forever. North, east, south, west, nothing but the red robes of countless men: rapists, defilers, butchers and murderers, all of them.
At least the raiders were nonexistent.
Not the same as the land of NCR, the New California Republic – on the west coasts – which the lands were nothing but raiders, these raiders all being rapists, killers, murderers etc.
It only got worse under the flag of the Bear.
Taxes killed them, raiders killed them, the general instability in the land itself killed them, but the elders of the VK's were determined to push through it all in the name of Verl.
And die for it.
One by one, each member of the caravan was lost to the wastes, and the once happy family was torn asunder. First it was the old, then their kids, then their kids. Eventually only the bottom three of the bloodline remained. Even two of the two-headed Brahmin weren't safe from blades nor bullets. As one lonely night someone had come and slit there twin-headed throats open - for whatever reason.
Each passing second in NCR was a struggle for survival, a war without end.
So was left a mother, a father, a kid – a dull one – and a Brahmin, left to walk the roads, lowest in numbers since they could remember.
The kids name was Ryder, and he wasn't too bright of a man. Calling him man or kid was always a debate with no end, he was only a year off from the big twenty, but his parents never saw that factor. They only saw a boy, all they ever would.
His loving, religious mother, and his loving, irreverent father.
God chose to give you unto me, and you are my gift to this terrible world. Though you could've been a bit more smart…
I don't know what gave you such a thick head, but I know it won't last, I love ya kid, but you need to step up, read or something, don't listen to that mumbo jumbo about 'God' and do it yourself.
It was a wonder his parents ever stayed together long enough to have a child.
One day the three of them (plus the Brahmin) found themselves on one of the biggest successful trade roads; Long 15. Connecting from The Hub of NCR all the way to Primm and beyond, back east.
And like roaches drawn to light, they found themselves with wide O shaped mouths as they stared to the north of that road, at the borders of NCR in an outpost on a hill.
The city of New Vegas.
The first word in the dad's head was: Trade!
The kid however was busy reading an old pre-war book, albeit not successfully, but he was trying. His face mere inches from the third page. It was titled 'Milsurp Review'.
Despite the tremendous distances the kid walked, he was no Beach Bully, but rather your Average Joe or a Lightweight in terms of muscular appearance, he wore a black combat vest and long dark jeans with protective shin pads, lines of bullets and magazines were donned across his chest and belt like small arcs of smiles. Strapped over his shoulders, draping out behind him, was a long midnight cloak, with two large shoulder pads on top. His collar stood up like a Mantis on its hind legs, covering his neck.
Not an inch of skin wasn't covered by his gear.
He had found this armour on a dead man in NCR, along with his first real weapon that his parents called a .45 Auto. Real as in, not a BB gun which couldn't hurt a Gecko.
The armour was pre-war, as was most things, but this one was military-grade, a rare find, one that made even his father a little jealous. Who wore a sheriff's duster with a long green cloak and a wide brimmed hat, 12 gauges of death on his back.
"Not another city, I'm getting on in my years, we all are." said mum.
"You two may see more walking, but I see opportunity!" said dad.
His mother and father argued then and there, on the slope that lead down into the Mojave Desert's clutches. Ryder half listened, half read all the while, to the conversation which would shred there family apart, and of course, the caravan.
2
There Ryder stood, on the edge of Quarry Junction, the thought of his 'brightlessness' came into his head again. What the hell was he thinking? All of this work, was it really worth it?
Oh yes, it will be.
Mantis eggs, Radscorpion eggs, Gecko eggs, Nightstalker's and Cazador's, they were the trials, this was the test.
Deathclaw eggs.
Six, seven, ten foot tall lizard beasts with arms and legs with talons that could rip open flesh with little effort. Fangs that chomp, eyes that burn, talons that stab. And Ryder was going to go into the quarry, and take a dozen or so eggs from the nest.
Not even a month since his first steps on Mojave dirt, and this was what he was doing. Not the brightest of ideas.
He stood in the grand opening of the rock quarry, legs slightly wide, arms crossed, cloak flickering off to the left from the northern winds, eyes facing west. The ground was barren apart from a few clumps of lucky grass that hadn't been killed from the death in the air.
The open pit of limestone stretched out like a giant crater. The rounded edges were shaped like big rocky stairs to the heavens. Giant metal beasts littered the ground floor, huge single digit arms stretched out of their sides, carrying buckets with claws.
In Ryder's left hand was his helmet, black, half gas mask, half helmet, with two dark red eyes that stared back at him, a million tiny scratches sliced across the glass eyes, the elements were tough, but luck had made the gear tougher.
He wiped each eye with a slow stroke of his thumb, and placed it over his head, concealing his skin with the intimidating mask. Protruding from the side of the helmet was a small antenna, connected to a small box with a few dials and switches. This was used for mostly radio chatter, but right now, it had no use.
Under his right arm was his .45, The wooden stock protruding out from the side of his cloak, the barrel pointed backwards. With both hands he un-holstered it, and checked his ammo. About seven rectangular magazines scattered themselves in and around his armour. They weren't drum's, so only thirty bullets were in each one.
It was as much as he could find, buy and make in such times.
"I'll be right." he said to himself, bringing back the bolt atop the gun. That 'New Yawk Accent' never leaving a single member of his family's vocals untouched.
Slowly, carefully, he walks forward.
Grass tufts dotted the ground before him in the quarry, two paths, one high one low, on his right and left, were split apart by a bundle of grey rocks that made a small cliff between them.
Almost on tip toe, he takes the slope upwards. To his left below the rocks was a metal beast crumpled to the ground, almost like a giant dead snake, if its bones were metal, and its blood, oil.
At the sound of a rumbling throat, he whips his head round to his front. Another smaller metal beast greeted him, but behind its metallic wheels was an actual beast. It hunched over menacingly, fangs bared.
Ryder had seen a fair share of these things, this one was rather small, but size didn't matter, to Deathclaw's, at least.
There weakness?
The head. Obviously.
Before the beast could lunge, his rifle was already lined up perfectly with its fat scaly head, and he fired.
He only clenched his finger for a second, and half of his bullets were already flying high and far. The recoil would have been insane, had his gear not compensated for him. Something in the material, he guessed.
No matter how long he had been firing this gun, the speed would always surprise him.
Perhaps the Deathclaw was surprised as well, as its eyes burned bright for a second, before its whole form slapped to the ground. Its face a big mess of red and unrecognisable flesh.
Without reloading, he steps over the dead beast, and continues onwards, his feet carried him close to the small cliff that oversaw the flat open grounds of the quarry. A giant hut-like building that sat on a mess of scaffolding dominated the area, four long arms like cables came out of each side, all of it rusted to hell.
A small earthen ramp led off his vantage point, and about thirty meters from the ramps base, a Deathclaw was charging, all four limbs passing gracefully over the ground like a coyote.
Aiming down the iron sights, he fires his remaining bullets at its bulky form.
This one was an adult, it was large, even at this distance.
The bullets were shrugged off, literally, the thing hunched, and sped up in its chase.
Taking a small quick breath, Ryder quickly ejects the empty mag, and replaces it with a fresh one.
The pitter-patter of its feet was getting louder and closer.
Looking up, the beast was just about to reach the ramp. His eyes went wide, and he quickly sprayed down at it wildly. This time it crumpled, as if its legs were broken. So it lay on its side, huffing wildly in pain, not dead, but disabled permanently.
Behind that, was two rather tiny Deathclaw's, no bigger than his leg, they mimicked its parent, and charged to him, right in the open.
He made quick work of them, and stuck to the high ground, his steps speeding up every time his feet planted down.
He drops his mag, and slides a new one in.
Up ahead was another metal beast, this one coated in red, on its side was '235T' in bright white writing that contrasted the dark coat of red. It was almost floating off the cliff edge, the front wheels weren't touching ground.
He squatted behind its back wheels, and looked out over the quarries expanse.
Two pools of water, one off to the far left near two of those hut-like buildings, the other pool was directly beneath his cliff, which was only ten or so meters high. Not too far beyond this pool was a small cave, looking like a barrel of a gun in the quarry cliff face.
That's where the eggs are.
But between him and there, was only a few more Deathclaw's.
Only, meaning, not quite a dozen, most of them adults, one of them, like the big granddaddy of them all.
This one was twice as large as any adult, horns the size of his arms, its arms were burly, and would put even the strongest of humans to shame. It looked quite literally like the devil itself, with those dark horns on its forehead, his mum would be shrieking.
And so was he, silently, behind his helmet.
Just look at those nails!
Nails like swords, and its dark green skin stood out among the usual tannish shade of a normal Deathclaw's.
This was no normal Deathclaw.
All eyes were on Ryder, and he gave the smallest Eep! Before baring his rifle down to them.
He fired, went wild in his aim, and despite the range, and his racing mind, he did manage to knock out two of the adults, lucky shots hit their eyes and blinded them, making them crawl on the ground in pain.
The rest charged, the granddaddy covering the rear. A fifty or so meter stretch of running was all that stood between Ryder and those deadly talons, and teeth, especially those teeth.
That path was to the right of the cave, up a slope, then a home stretch to the big red beast Ryder crouched next to.
Like some crazed junky on Psycho, he made a huge arc of gunfire rain down on the charging devils, the gun was just below his head, but his aim was well enough. Another two at the front of the pack fell, but disappointingly, the others didn't trip on their corpses. They merely jumped and soared over and around them.
They were already halfway in there charge to him.
Taking the initiative, he clips his gun back on his underarm sheath, and begins ascending the red beast, first the wheels, then the chassis itself.
One of his steps was three of theirs.
He stood atop the beast now, one hand griping a long pipe that protruded from the top, the other hand reattached to his gun – almost automatically – and wasted no time in firing from his vantage. Looking like some mobster defending his turf.
One more went down, only three were left, one of them being The Big One.
His gun was dry, and the barrel clicked in unsatisfying rhythm's, as he didn't comprehend the sound straight away.
Ryder spun wildly, and went the only way he could.
Up.
The arm of the red giant was made of a hundred metal bars, each was crisscrossed over each other infinitely, and with newfound haste, Ryder scaled the arm, one bar after the other.
Right where he had been standing on the ground, one of the Deathclaw's smashed its head into the side of the beast. Helping it in its journey to the cliff's edge.
Threw there great size, they were slow climbers.
Ryder made a bit of ground (or air) and spun his sloped form around, back to the bars. He loaded up a fresh round of ammo, and aimed down between his legs.
The closest Deathclaw's jaws parted in surprise, just like his did when he first laid eyes on Vegas, then its eyes popped like small grenades, it tumbled off the edge quickly, arms wide in defeat as it soared weightlessly to the ground below.
Which was, by the way, quite a way down.
Ryder flicked his eyes back to the matter at hand, The Big One had seemingly had enough, and had climbed over the other Deathclaw to reach him first.
And he was fresh out of ammo.
He scrambled back to his front, and continued up the arm, even more faster than before, he was quite literally scurrying away like a rat.
After three seconds of climbing, Ryder stopped. He had made it to the peak of the arm rather quickly. Now he looked over to the drop below, the pool a fair bit away, and the cold, hard, limestone ground. He spun around.
The Big One was closing in, but Ryder was only half concerned about that, his thoughts asked the big question.
How heavy was this thing?
As if to confirm his suspicions, the red beast began to teeter forwards the more The Big One gained ground on him.
He put a hand forward and said, "W-Woah hold up-"
It was right on him now, it raised one hand, five scythes of death ready to kill, not even his armour could keep them away from his flesh.
Then a feeling of weightlessness overcame him (and the Deathclaw) making them freeze in place.
As one, Ryder and The Big One slowly turned their eyes back to the red beasts body, it's hind wheels were floating in the air, and the whole pre-war machine was on the biggest of slopes.
Ryder stopped peering over the beasts shoulder, and looked back to the ground again, weirdly, it seemed a bit closer now.
He slowly got up from his prone position, The Big One was still watching the red beast below, as if it knew what would happen if it angled any further.
Ryder braced his arms ahead of him, almost like a boxer would, but his palms were open, and his knees, bent.
Ryder stood, making it teeter and creak further. Arm still raised, his precarious friend spun its head at him, as if to say 'What the hell are you doing?', its eyes were slightly wider than before.
As if realising its preys presence, The Big One made one last desperate attempt to cut Ryder down.
Using its weight, it swiped in a great arc with such strength that the wind could be heard being cut.
Ryder jumped. But he still felt the wind pass from those swords on its hands.
Like a sandstorm, the wind ripped past his ears, despite the helmet. For one horrifying moment, he thought he hadn't jumped far enough to reach the water. But the panic passed, and he flailed his arms in small circles to reinforce his mind that he would make it.
He landed, feet first like a flying pencil, into the pool of water.
Looking up to the shimmering surface, he saw the arm was chasing him, Deathclaw as well. Coming down through the air like a giant knife.
He braced himself, covering his face with his arms, it was closing to quickly to move or swim away.
Even through the muffling of waters, he heard a thunder struck crash as the arm smashed the limestone next to his pool, not in it.
He breached the surface, gasping for air, the helmet made it difficult, but he managed. He went for the edge, clawing his way out of the stench of the water, it tasted bitter in his mouth, he wondered what had or still was in it.
On his knees and hands, he coughed up a small amount of quarry water, removing his mask only for a moment.
Another low rumbling of a throat drew his attention.
Pinned beneath the arm of the red beast was The Big One itself, in all its fallen glory. One leg was mangled beyond recognition, its chest poured a fountain of crimson liquid, and one arm was bending the wrong way. All of it crushed beneath the metal bars of the arm.
It was dead, in a sense, mangled between the countless bars, a cruel fate.
Those lights in its eyes were fading, but were still filled with hate for the human that killed it.
Raising his head, Ryder saw the last Deathclaw, perched on the red beast like a statue, it was accompanied by two other small ones, who all stared in awe, most like. Behind them were the two blind Deathclaw's, and another, and another, the whole pack, or what remained, was perched up there.
A second later, they high tailed it back the way Ryder had come from, gone quicker than when they were charging him.
Ryder put his hands to his knees, and took some well earned deep breaths. Then ignoring The Big One, he moved on to the cave. All the while he saw no more Deathclaw's, the place was once more barren.
He reached the mouth of the cave without incident, he peered down into it and saw it wasn't even that deep.
But it was covered, walls and all, with those eggs he was here for. Most of them were hatched, but he counted one dozen hadn't.
Perfect.
Well, if one large dark blue Deathclaw wasn't laying there, arms wide to protect the back of the cave, it would have been perfect.
He had a feeling that this was the mother. It was big, maybe even bigger than The Big One, and its teeth hung out of its mouth, further than the rest of its kind.
Donned on the right side of his chest was a curved sheath, in it was a knife, quite large, it got him and his caravan through a lot, and he had it for a long time.
He takes it out with one smooth motion of his hand, the rough hilt pointed down to the last Deathclaw.
Ryder curls his arm behind his shoulder, and flung his figure forward.
The blade sung as it flew through the air.
With deadly precision, the right eye of the Deathclaw Mother was replaced by his blade, it groaned, and fell backwards, dead.
Silence passed.
He had done it, he had cleared the quarry, and gotten the eggs.
From behind his cloak, he protruded a large bundle of rope, a net, given to him by his contractor.
Like picking food off a farm, Ryder bundles clutches of eggs into the net, counting in his head as he did so (he plucked his knife from the mothers eye, like a fork stuck in a chewy piece of meat.)
On the twelfth egg – his goal – he noticed there were still three or so unhatched eggs around him. He wondered if he should crush them. Then the thought changed, crush them, kill them, murder the unborn.
Then his eyes laid upon the lifeless one of the mother. He had technically murdered a family, like NCR did to his.
He pondered a while, thinking hard.
Minute's passed, then he was walking out of the quarries entrance, a net of eggs slung over his shoulder.
Behind him, in the cave, was life.
3
The long road he walked across was Interstate 15, but most called it I-15 for short. It was the New Vegas extension of Long 15, running through the Mojave and past Vegas itself. It went all the way north beyond that, all the way to Zion, where his father had gone.
But a few miles down beyond 'Quarry Junction', Ryder walked on into the Vegas outskirts, which were anything but a war zone at most times, but on this day the sounds of bullets were asleep, and he passed war torn streets without much activity.
Normally, Fiends, junkie driven maniacs, would be having fire fights with NCR, who should have been able to clear out the junkies with all their military might, but for unknown reasons, they hadn't as of yet.
He knew this because he passed two of them on the way to his destination.
One man and one woman. They wore skulls of animals on their heads, and minimal armour on their bodies. The woman, an old saggy hag, had two teapots covering her breasts, and other bits of kitchen-wear covered smaller sections of her, all of it tied together by thin rope. The man wore similar, but his teapots were between the spot on his legs.
They didn't wear much, agility, you see.
"Lookie ere'!" The old croaky voice of the woman called out, even though it was just her and the man junkie. "How about you's-"
"Can it." he called right back at them, removing his helmet as he did so, so as his face was seen and recognised. "Or Motor-Runner will have your heads."
Their eyes – as expected – went wide with who they saw.
"Oh shit!" the man said, standing stupidly in the middle of the road in front of him. "Let's go!"
They left into the alleys without another word.
Ryder walked on, the bright dazzling lights of Vegas high on his right. A giant tower shaped like a big roulette spinner dominated the skies.
A huge barricade made from cars, trucks and odd sheets of metal stopped his trek into Westside. Westside was, in fact, the Western outskirts of Vegas, people lived in these crumpled buildings, and all they had were these shoddy barricades to keep the Fiends out.
But Westside had numbers, and hunters, and of course, Red Lucy.
She sent him out there in the first place.
In the centre of the barricade was a small gate he pushed open. Westside was like one giant X, ruins were renamed houses, and the shops were closed for the night. The streets were barren, save for the drunk in the centre of the X, who never seemed to move from that spot, Ryder noticed.
Readjusting his sack (the egg sack), he approaches the drunk, who waves his bottle in greeting.
He mumbled something, and Ryder mumbled right back. The hunkered drunk laughed, and waved him on.
The drunk leant against a post of a sign, said sign had two words stitched together in crude red letters.
The Thorn.
Below the sign and next to the drunk, was a sewer hatch.
With undying effort, he forced the sack of eggs in first, careful not to break them, and followed after them.
4
The Thorn was the real life-force of Westside.
A giant pit dominated the underground, where humans and animals battled to the death against each other. The winners would win glory, and the spectators would win caps on bets, and get some entertainment in this dead world.
Metal walkways sprawled in great circles around the fighting pit, legs dangled off them, arms were high, mouths were cheering. Might've been a hundred people watching the fight right now.
The fight was two Radscorpion's, up against two burly men (he had seen them before, Bear Brothers) who wielded giant sledgehammers in each hand.
The tails of the animals stung, the crowd cheered, the sledges squashed, the people cheered more, but when blood spilt, that was when things went downright insane.
That was, after all, what The Thorn was made for, blood.
Normally one would never be able to pass through the dense walkways, but when they saw the sack of Deathclaw eggs, they parted like waves.
They would mutter at him, "Its Deathclaw ones…" or "How did he…" and he would always have that smug face behind his mask.
Like a goddess of war among men, Red Lucy watched over the fight from her perch. Her hair was that of fire, and her curvy, perfect body was covered by a much too tight duster, she sat cross legged on an overdesigned chair – giving a freakishly similar curvature of a large hand – her black boots tapping in time with the drums in the background.
Ryder came up from behind Red Lucy's chair, carefully bypassing her guards and placing the bag of eggs behind her.
The crowd returned there gazes back to the fight, forgetting the hunter who brought them there entertainment.
"I've brought you the Deathclaw eggs." Ryder said, a bit of excitement in his tone.
She turned her head slightly and examined the eggs, her eyes were wide, but she suppressed them a second later.
"You've, indeed, become the greatest hunter The Thorn has ever seen, the best I've ever seen." Ryder could hear a bit of shock and unbelieving doubt in her lustful voice.
"And you thought I couldn't do it."
"You've surprised me, and for that, you've earned the honour of being part of this sacred ground. Come to me often and I'll share with you the wealth of The Thorn."
"And the wealth of many other things, I imagine?"
"Your bravery surpasses that of any other, and I've come to admire your actions. I would know you deeper, Come with me… My Hunter."
She stood up, and walked along a walkway and up some stairs (swinging?). And like a dog, Ryder followed.
She led him to the far reaches of The Thorn, behind the spectators, beyond the cages, and into the living quarters. Specifically, Lucy's living quarters.
He entered after her, and she made sure the door was locked behind him.
She closed the distance between them, pressing her body to his, whispering into his ear very slowly.
"Even the strongest creatures need their rest, and their companionship, I've been looking forward to this."
She turns around (just in time to avoid his leaning head) and slowly walks into the depths of her quarters. She spoke true, and deep down, ever since he got the second set of eggs, that she was all over him from then on out. He shadowed her, eyes on nothing but her figure that swayed with each step she took.
There was a lone light above the door behind him, and it illuminated half the room, on the cusp of the light was a switch on the right wall, Lucy – with a flick of her hand – switches on the lone switch, and two red beams of light from the ceiling spew down into the darkness, revealing a king sized bed, with dark crimson sheets covering the softest looking bed he had ever seen.
He didn't think she was one for setting the mood.
He only stared at the bed for a second, failing to notice how quickly Red Lucy had stripped down to her undergarments. Her legs were bare, as were her arms. Only the thinnest layer of a silky red dress was between him and her.
She slowly laid down on the bed on her side, facing him. Legs bent, arms moving swiftly across the sheets surface, beckoning him to her, the effect was dizzying.
"Come, my hunter."
First his cloak, then his vest, then his boots, helmet, pants, everything. So fast he surprised himself. He tossed it all aside in one great pile of mess, and joined her with much conviction.
She rode him all night long, climaxing atop him over and over again and shrieking his name, her fingers were at a constant intertwining of his own, so much so that it pained him. They held each other as tightly as they could, breathing into each other's mouths, living on each other's breaths. The clean pretty mattress below them became indented with the force of two great hunters.
Though when he went to kiss her, she would always pull away. It wouldn't bother him now but...
Something told Ryder, as he was ridden, that he wouldn't get much rest tonight.
It was worth it.
5
He awoke against Lucy's bare form, her skin as silky as the dress she wore before. His grey eyes took in every part of her, she was quite literally a work of art.
And he bedded her, or maybe she bedded him, either way, he felt so goddamn lucky right now. The Thorn was one of the biggest sources of money making in the Mojave, exception to the casino's, and the leader was laying down with him right now. All he had to do was kill off Deathclaw's with an exceptional rifle.
Thinking of said rifle, he wanted to take in its glory, thank it with his eyes, but when he examined the pile of his gear beside the bed, there was no lump of wood and steel to be seen.
Confused, he slowly separates himself from Lucy, and lifts his legs up and over to the ground, inspecting the pile closer.
No .45 in sight.
He squats down, and began rummaging the pile, not caring how much noise he made.
No gun.
"Where the-"
The water.
When he lifted himself to the surface out of the quarry pool, he did feel a bit lighter, had the gun dropped in there?
He takes a sharp breath in, letting it out with a curt groan.
"What is it?" came Lucy's voice from behind him.
"I left something behind, doesn't matter now."
"Your gun? I was wondering why you didn't have it. You can go get it then, we're done here."
He turns his head to her, she had already begun fastening her duster back to her body whilst slipping on one of her boots.
"What do you mean? I thought we…" he trails off, unsure of what to say.
"We wanted to know one another deeper, now we have, besides, the Thorn is closed today, I have things to take care of. Eggs and all."
She walked over to him, who was silent all the while. She ran a hand through his short jet black hair, then traced his features with careful fingertips. It was her way of calming down her animals and friends, and it worked on her subjects to.
Even Ryder calmed down slightly.
She traced the tattoo on Ryder's left eye, it was a curly 'V' shape, that went half below his eyes, half onto his eyebrow, the whole shape was on the slightest of angles.
"You never told me what this means." she stated, tracing the V with delicacy.
"No, I didn't."
"No need to be sour. Our love was sweet my hunter, but our passion will have to wait, the Thorn demands attention."
She had used him like one of her animals, and his use was over, that was what he heard out of her mouth. He felt slightly disgusted, even after the hot connection of their bodies, he had thought they would be something, maybe make his stupid parents proud that he had found someone to continue the bloodline with.
Red Lucy would've been perfect.
Would have.
"Here." She un-holsters her hunting shotgun, coated in yellow and black stripes, along with two boxes of ammo for it. "For your contribution, come back anytime."
"Yeah, right."
He only half heard the last part, he was busy pocketing his ammo, and slinging the shotgun around his left shoulder.
She left him there, off to count his eggs he stole from the animals families, those eyes of the Deathclaw mother came to him as he closed his eyes to think of what to do now. Those eyes filled with protectiveness of its unborn young, he imagined it was just like a human mother, kids and all.
Kids he stole.
The .45 auto came to his head, although the shotgun was powerful no doubt, but the .45 was like no other, and he wanted it back.
Strapping on his gear, he passes the Thorns pit in silence. Lucy waved at him near one of the cages where the animals were kept in.
He didn't wave back.
6
Back on I-15 now, eyes and body facing south, now in reverse. The Fiends had their break, and the sounds of gunfire echoed all around him. He slipped by easily, them and NCR were to focused on killing each other to even notice him walk past.
On the open road between the Vegas outskirts and the hills where Quarry Junction lay was a long open flat plain of nothing, barren apart from a long railway line that once carried things called 'trains'. Trains where apparently these bullet shaped cars that could go faster than any vehicle, as long as these tracks were present and powered.
Yeah, right.
Ryder looked left, the railway went on forever, past old buildings that were homes to raiders and other scavengers. A massive dark mountain – called Black Mountain – dominated that side. To his right was Red Rock canyon, home to the Great Khans, whom he was familiar with, tribal's, travellers, good fighters, too.
Ryder had quite literally no friends out here, only associates with the gangs of the Mojave. The Khans were the most friendly with him, favours and tasks with the leader 'Papa Bear' got him in the good books.
The Thorn, yes, but after that night, he would probably keep his distance from there and Lucy, he didn't like the idea of going back for a while.
He sold drugs to the Fiends, giving him free passage to them, but for how long was unknown, and he would soon be out killing them in due time. NCR knew nothing about him, nor did those big families that ran Vegas, as he never saw the inside of that great city in his time here, too expensive to get past the gates.
As for the Legion, he hadn't seen any of them, not in a long time, and not in the Mojave.
Though he was not alone in this place.
Near Red Rock was a farmstead, once filled with near do wells called Powder Gangers, he and his mother cleared them out, along with the Vault they originated from. After they were wiped out, it was the last time his mother held a gun, and picked up a rake instead.
The farmstead was a ways away to his back right, just out of eyesight, one would think it was dangerous to live out on a farm on your lonesome, but she wasn't one to forget how to use a gun, and the Khans agreed to keep the area clear for her, so Ryder wasn't concerned.
But still, he kept his distance today.
He made a small jump, passing over the railway in one motion, it had seemed the tats were wearing off, as he felt slightly sluggish for just a moment of time.
He smiled at his successful leap across the tracks, but after that, he heard a rumbling that wasn't distant, but right behind him.
He turns, a small section of the dirt he was just standing on began to spew up dust. The ground began to shimmer like a water's surface.
"What the f-"
A giant light yellow pincer reached out of the ground, rising up and up, exposing its arm to the blaring sun. It was shaped like that of a Radscorpion's.
Sure enough, its thick carapace followed after its arm, accompanied by its head which held too many eyes, one more giant pincer as thick as a Brahmin emerged, followed by the rest of its hard body, a long tail curved over its back to finish its reveal.
Eight rather small legs, four on each side of its body, began skittering away, carrying its tail right towards him.
Tktktktkt
Backing up, Ryder un-slings Lucy's shotgun from his back, points the barrel at one of its eyes, and squeezes the trigger.
Clk
Lucy gave him a faulty shotgun as a reward!?
He twists the barrel around, so as to examine the other side.
Empty.
He hadn't even loaded the damn thing.
The tats were definitely gone now.
Spinning like a ball on a roulette, Ryder high tailed it south, fast as his feet took him, he didn't bother loading the gun, his arms were flailing, his legs akimbo.
Each step kicked up puffs of dust as his boots took him away from the rapidly closing arachnid.
Tktktktk!
The skittering of the eight legs was so close they echoed in his ears, visions of that long stinger on its back frightened him, and carried him further than he thought he could go. His breathing went heavy, fogging up the insides of his helmet with each gasp of air.
Though daring, he cast his head back quickly, the thing was so close he could reach out and touch it if he wanted.
It wasn't fair, the thing had more than twice the amount of feet then he had!
Not only that, but its stinger towered over him like those buildings in Vegas.
In a staggering motion, he chucks his knife into the eyes. It bounced off its carapace harmlessly. If his drugs hadn't worn off, he may have gotten it good.
Not now though.
One of its giant claws snagged at his leg, ripping a small tear in his pants and skin, he didn't limp, but the pain was there. His cloak flapped wildly behind him like a flag in a blazing wind.
But no matter if his skin was torn, he didn't slow down. But he could feel the hairs on his neck stick up by the feeling of the arachnids presence right behind him.
He thought about tossing his gun at it, but the sliver of his intelligence told him not to.
Through the speedy chase, man and Radscorpion found themselves up a limestone ramp in a familiar looking quarry. Ryder never knew a mutated arachnid could run for so long and not lose interest.
Ryder ran up to the red beast once more, its fallen form hadn't moved since his Deathclaw chase, and now, he would use it again to get away from another beast, on another chase.
Tossing the shotgun up first, he scales the side, using the wheels as leverages to hoist himself up. A pincer swiped at his dangling feet, but Ryder whipped out of the way at the last moment.
There he hunched, atop the toppled beast, staring down the Radscorpion, too stupid to climb after him.
Yeah, stupid alright.
"Piss off, will ya?" he said, grinning.
The arachnid simply stared back with those countless eyes.
Ryder un-slung his gun and a box of ammo from his trip to the Thorn, he counted twelve red shells in each box, and begun slotting them into his belts. Not much ammo, but he didn't expect much from Lucy.
As he slotted in six shells into the shotgun with his thumb, his eyes darted to the mutant every now and then, checking to make sure it didn't move.
And it hadn't, it just sat there stupidly, oblivious to the threat of the weapon he was loading.
On the fifth shell something rather surprising, and least expected, happened.
A Deathclaw, no higher than his knee, lunged from the right of the beast, unseen until now, it brought its hands together as if it was clapping, and imbedded its rather long claws into the Radscorpion's carapace. Then it bit on its face with its long fangs.
The Radscorpion retaliated by raising its pincers like an odd salute, making a small squeaky shriek from its invisible mouth.
It must've felt like how he did when he first came here.
Its stinger went wild, striking down this way and that, it stuck itself into the back of the little Deathclaw, but it looked as if it didn't even comprehend it.
Like two wrestlers, the mutants tumbled around on the dirt, hissing and growling. Ryder was the spectator, and he was getting his money's worth watching. He let his legs dangle off the edge of the beast, his shotgun placed across his lap.
The beasts had completely forgotten he was there.
After a minute of screeching, the Radscorpion finally succumbed to its fate, as the Deathclaw inserted four of its talons into four of its eyes to finish it off.
Funny, it took a baby Deathclaw a minute or two to kill a Radscorpion, and he had to run away from it.
The Deathclaw stared at the corpse of its fallen prey for a moment before turning to Ryder. It lifted its head to watch him, two small horns protruded its forehead like all the others, but this one was a shade of dark green, maybe blue even, that was what made this particular one stand out.
Maybe it had hatched last night, saw its fallen mother, and had simply stayed in this place, waiting for her to wake up.
A lost child.
Still though, he raises his gun, levelling it to the little Deathclaw.
In response, it tilts its head to the side, like a curious dog – or a child.
Ryder tilts his head, mimicking it. It tilts the opposite way, so does he.
It was probably thinking 'what the hell is this thing?'
To test, Ryder gives a slow wave with his left hand, his right hand slowly lowering the barrel to get a better view.
It does the same.
One of the most feared things in this place, was waving at him, slowly increasing in speed, as if getting used to it. He sighs, then stands up.
He walked down the arm of the beast, this time on a downward slope. He jumped off at the end, bypassing The Big One's corpse as he did so.
He scans the quarry, had that little Deathclaw been alone? It looked like it, surely its parents would be…
Pattering feet behind him.
He whips around, aiming his gun, but stopped at what he saw.
The Little One was crooning the corpse of The Big One, if he was not mistaken, it made sobbing sounds, like crying, almost.
Pained, he turns away, back to the pool he fell in. Sure enough, the bottom of the water was a shade darker than the rest of the slightly murky quarry water.
Thinking ahead, he placed his new shotgun on the ground, along with his shell wraps, along with the .45 ammo he had left over.
He made sure the Little One was still occupied before diving in.
He emerged ten seconds later, first his arm came up, holding the rifle like a trophy, then he fully emerged to see quite a sight.
The Deathclaw had begun chewing on the butt of Lucy's gun.
"Hey! Watch it!" he called, rushing over. The thing made a small gruff of surprise, dropped the gun, and ran backwards.
Falling to his knees beside the pile of ammo, he examines the damage, it was fine, only a few light scratches could be seen. His ammo belt was there… one ammo belt.
Sure enough, over one of the Little One's shoulders, was a belt of shells. He shook his head and turned his attention to the .45.
It was dripping wet.
He aimed high in the sky, and tested the trigger.
A series of wet clicks followed.
He loads another mag.
More clicks.
He felt like screaming in his stupidity, of course it wouldn't work, water and powder don't mix, and he was wearing all the ammo when he fell in.
"Sunofa…" he whispered, angrily staring down his now useless gun and ammo, one so powerful than any other, it made quick work of these Deathclaw's, better than a shotgun or laser rifle could, and here it was, dead like the Deathclaw's were.
He shook his head.
The Deathclaw had closed the distance slightly, still fumbling around with the cartridges with curious claws.
"Give it." he holds out a hand.
Its head went from him, to the belt, then to the shotgun on the ground, then back to him again.
He tosses the wet gun (and its ammo) to it like an offering. Quick as lightning, it chucked the belt at him, and began chewing the .45, oh his dad would be pissed if he had seen this action.
Such perfect craftsmanship, such clock working in a gun like that was almost entirely unreplaceable, and now Ryder had willingly thrown it to be chewed to bits.
At least he got his ammo back, he slung it over his wet form which already begun drying in Mojave heat.
He watched the Deathclaw awhile longer, it had curled its feet up to its chest, securing its toy in its chomps.
Its eyes were locked on him while its mouth worked on the inner springs.
Ryder moved his head to the sky, the sun had come up a quarter of the way of its daily journey, he guessed the hour was maybe nine.
Leaving the Deathclaw to its toy, he turns down the path out of the quarry, he hadn't had anything to eat, and would best get going, maybe get the Radscorpion's meat and cook it up.
But as he stood before the mangled corpse of said Scorpion, he felt like screaming in anger again.
He threw the knife, didn't he? He face palmed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a small figure, holding a gun. A moment after, it was the Deathclaw, not quite ten meters behind him.
Maybe it wanted the Radscorpion's meat? Fine.
He moved to the exit of the quarry, and heard its fangs chomping the gun behind him.
He turned, yep, there it was, still staring at him while chowing down in its meal of metal.
"Don't follow me." he ordered, moving along shortly afterwards.
But it did. He tried ignoring it, blocking out the mental image of it, and the sounds of his favourite weapon being torn down to its inner skeleton.
Ryder stopped at the quarry entrance, quickly turned his head back, it was right behind him, really close, too close for a sane person to want. Its chomps had moved on from the butt to the handle now.
"Go, go back to your…"
Now he felt like an asshole, its parents? They were dead, where would this thing go? No other's of its kind where around, a little baby, all alone.
Alone, with nothing but a human to accompany it. That and its toy to chew.
Ryder was feeling bad… for a Deathclaw? Maybe the Mojave really was affecting him, that, or the tats after effects.
Ryder sighed, shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, sighed again, and placed one hand over his helmed mouth, deep in thought.
The Deathclaw stared – and chewed – with interest.
"You want to come with?"
It said nothing, obviously.
"You gotta behave, alright?"
Still, it showed no response.
"Come on then, you're probably hungry too."
He walked, and it followed.
At least he had companionship; Deathclaw companionship, that was.
He wasn't the brightest man in the wastes.
