Alas poor Velasco

Another sun scorched day racked the Mojave Wasteland and yet despite the pervasive heat of the area life still sped by at a blistering pace, or at least it did for most people, at the moment sat against a pillar in the shade of a crumbling section of overpass 'Scribe' Yorick Velasco had set himself down on the arid dust strewn ground and began to drink from one of the three scratched old canteens on his utility belt.

His years in exile from the bunker had been hard though worthwhile, if nothing else he had always wanted to see what life was like for the wastelanders, though he would have preferred to simply ask them. If nothing else he could see the bright side of the situation. But for over two hundred years now humanity had been making the best of a bad situation.

He gulped heartily at the lukewarm drink as though it were his last, which given the nature of this barren dustbowl was a remarkable possibility.

He lazily cast his eyes across the desert landscape before him, spending forty two years of his life in military complexes and bunkers with his insular compatriots had given him a somewhat curious fascination regarding the world beyond. Like his mother before him he would trade old sensor modules and other high-tech bric-a-brac for old-world books and bizarre oddities from all across the west coast whenever they stopped to trade.

And then the war came. The NCR wanted an old solar array to provide power in their war effort from what he could gather and it seemed as though his old home for whatever it's joy and it's faults was cut off to him from that point on. For a while he wasn't alone, Paladin Garibaldi had been assigned to guard him whilst he evaluated the use of some old-world nutrient synthesis systems when the lockdown was enacted. They had left and we're headed to a nearby town called Goodsprings when a legion scouting group crossed their path, they were outnumbered almost ten to one. Never stood a chance, they fought well but Garibaldi's power armour was quite resistant to their inferior weapons whilst football gear proved nearly non-existent to a pre-war rail gun.

But one lucky scout managed to strike him in his un armoured neck as he lay bleeding on the red stained earth. The Paladin had fought against crazed ghouls, super mutants and veteran rangers, all to end at the hands of some ex-tribal seemed so…wrong. Yorick had emerged from the rock he had cowered behind to see his guardian slump to his knees and then slowly tip over face forwards into the dusty orange ground.

He scrabbled to his feet and finished off the offending legionnaire before he performed the old funeral rites upon his now deceased comrade. It was a simple thing with only a few ancient words borrowed from the old-world military before he removed the dog tags from under his armour and drew a specially designed disintegrator charge from a pocket in his bright red robe and placed it over Garibaldi's now still heart, which it confirmed was no longer beating. A loud whine pierced the air before he simply dissipated into ash, no body to be recovered, no technology to be stolen. Nothing.

His melancholy musings we're cut short by an ear-splitting scream, he looked off into the distance before bringing the Brotherhood standard-issue digital binoculars around his neck to his dull green eyes. The automatic vision enhancers relayed in excellent clarity a horrific scene.

A caravan was being attacked by a Super Mutant, and one of the largest he'd ever seen at thirteen foot tall according to the object recognition program in his binoculars, it became obvious to him that the scream he'd heard was a caravan guard as he was crushed in it's vice like hands, blood escaping between it's massive fingers.

All the while the other guard stood between the mutant and some poor woman pinned to the floor by the body of their pack brahmin he was firing an old machine gun, normally a sufficiently formidable weapon though woefully ineffective upon this creatures thick hide and heavy armour which leaked small amounts of shockingly red blood from a few shots on it's massively over muscled shoulder.

It dropped the now somewhat more narrow man to the ground and blood still seeping from the olive under suit beneath the plates of his green combat armour. It was the Brotherhood's opinion that they should leave the 'savage' wastelanders to solve their own problems. He never did agree to that opinion.

He ran across the hills and dips of the parched landscape as fast as he could a shooting pain from his bad knee reminded him why this was a bad idea, for what little it mattered as he scrabbled up the last rise and then skidded down the last hill just in time to see the monstrosity knock the remaining guard to the ground by the trapped woman his impressive machine gun clattering away from his hands. The guard threw up his hands and begged for his life before the abomination bought the primitive and blunt bumper sword down on the poor man. Velasco turned away just in time to avoid the execution though he still heard crack of his armour followed by the sickening squelch of crushed innards intermixed with the crunch of bones snapping.

The creature was running, almost bounding towards the woman at a frightening pace. Velasco drew the extensively modified plasma defender from his hip and fired nine shots at the abomination's massive chest four of which struck it in the shoulder and two glanced it's back. The superheated plasma seared it's flesh and armour, nearly fusing one to the other. For the first time in centuries the creatures nerves we're alight with pain. It dropped it's massive weapon which thumped the floor as it scrabbled at the sizzling wound, each time it's sausage-like fingers prodded the blackened crater a stabbing pain rain through it's body. It cocked it's head almost quizzically as a rush of overcharged hormones shot through it's blood stream and the warm fug overtook the pain, for a scant few seconds the cocktail of chemicals caused her to pause for a moment, she remembered faintly cowering beneath the earth in a cave of steel as a flaming mushroom consumed the sky. Just as soon as the memory came it passed and the creature was flooded with rage and confusion it's memory once again lost in a corner of it's mutagen addled mind.

It had stopped a foot short of trampling the poor woman before it turned and roared at him revealing the oversized and far too numerous yellow teeth that bulged from it's gums. It charged at him, manically flailing it's tree trunk arms. Though scribes we're as close to civilians as was possible in the Brotherhood they we're still taught the basics of self defence. He rolled as nimbly as his old bones allowed dodging a gigantic fist that left a dent in the hard ground the size of a dinner plate. "Smaaaash!" it bellowed in it's inhumanly deep voice.

It rose both fists into the air aiming to bring both down in him it's chest puffed out like a maddened silverback with it's too long arms reaching to the sky. He quickly levelled the plasma pistol and fired the remaining seven plasma bolts at the beast. It's heavy metal chest piece melted to slag searing away skin and muscle but not penetrating it's thick torso. It ounce more bellowed in pain, it's already restrained lips pulled back further in fear. She was rushed by more chemicals that swam through her post-human brain. She was flooded by the memory of three voices speaking in turn at her though she didn't recall how she got there.

The voices grew louder and louder to an almost deafening volume until they suddenly stopped. It's grossly altered pituitary replaced the memory of the past with the rage of the present. Yorick had begun to replace the empty energy cell when a massive hand grabbed at him.

In the confusion his weapon and it's ammo we're dropped to the floor by now more than six foot bellow him. Swiftly clasping him between it's enormous hands it began to squeeze, though more slowly this time, the conflicting chemicals in it's brain causing it to become distracted somehow.

April saw the creature stagger into view it seemed almost confused as though it didn't know why it was trying to crush her aged saviour though it was quite clear that it meant to kill him.

From beneath the bulk of the brahmin she tried to wriggle just enough to get to her dead guard's light machine gun trying to avoid looking at the deep line of gore that nearly bisected him. She snaked her long delicate fingers around the riffle-butt before dragging it's considerable bulk towards her.

Yorick could feel his life draining away as he struggled to breathe and the corners of his vision grew dark and blurred. He realised that he was going to die. He realised also that he would have died pointlessly far from any one he held dear, his carcass most likely to be this monstrosity's next meal or simply an attraction for the local wildlife to peck clean. If he was lucky someone would discover his dog tags, which would most likely be all that was left after his armour and supplies we're taken from his corpse and someone would know that a Brotherhood scribe named Yorick Velasco died at this spot though no one who found him was likely have known him well instead they'd most likely gather dust on a shelf of knick-knacks and oddities in a bighorner's shack.

April saw the man's arms start to weaken in their struggle against the grip of the giant. She hurried to heft the weapon onto the impromptu mount of the brahmin's now unmoving flank.

A series of short sharp thunder cracks pierced the air as April emptied the remainder of the clip into the monster's back and Yorick felt the grip of the creature tighten in pain for a moment before releasing him completely he dropped to the floor, bracing himself with his hands. He ran from under the rapidly growing shadow of the colossus with just enough time to scoop up his prized weapon and it's power cell on his way out.

It slumped forwards the last rush of chemicals bought what was left of her to the forefront she was trapped in a big heavy body, she was flooded by memories of he long life all the horrors she had performed and yet this one part had retreated vaguely realising the terror it's malformed body had reeked until now. An overriding sense of loss and regret filled her mind, more clear in these last few minutes than it had been for many more decades.

In her unnatural, almost guttural gurgle she rasped one last word as the all to humanly red blood seeped from her mouth. "Thanks." and then after nearly two hundred years of hatred and berserker fury she could finally rest. She died without the Master's song to guide her as she had been promised, instead she died with her own song, a lullaby her mother had sung to her in infancy. She recognised this voice and as her heart grew still she knew she would go in peace.

Fortunately for Yorick his ribs we're apparently quite sturdy and seemed un broken though his sides felt somewhat tender as he prodded them gingerly.

Replacing the plasma defender in it's holster he wandered over to the brahmin and the struggling girl. Her smooth pale face was unmarked by scarring or grime, odd for someone in the caravanning industry, although her scant garments hardly seemed practical for that profession anyway.

Then he noticed it. The slave collar most likely Legion born, though their women we're often far more brutalised than she seemed to be and her clothes also didn't seem to be the usual patchwork of rags. He squatted and strained to lift the creature off of her enough that she could wiggle free. She pulled herself out from under the mutant cow but didn't attempt to stand. Yorick had heard reports of legion slaves having their legs damaged repeatedly to prevent their escape. It was moments like this when the term 'savages' was less of an insult and more of a fact so far as he was concerned.

His keen sense of survival told him to simply say his goodbyes and wander away to let her fend for herself as he often did but his feeling of morality told him that since she would probably wind up scorpion chow in a week to simply remain passive was in his mind tantamount to murder, he'd killed before but only in the defence of himself or others and that let him sleep safe at night but to let a little girl die alone was not something he needed on his conscience

Panting as he stood up and stretched with his hands on his lower back he looked at her and let a warm smile cross his mouth as he spoke. "So… who are you?" he said between heavy breaths. "A-April…s-sir." she said as she looked up with widened, terrified eyes. "Hello April, I'm Yorick." He said as he extended a gloved hand to pull her up. She looked at him in confusion before she realised the intention. "Th-Thank you sir." She replied as she got up with a grunt. She stood with a slight stoop and grimaced slightly as she shifted her weight. "You okay?" he said as he reached out to steady her, though she flinched reflexively. "Fine." she lied with a wince on her face.

"Riiiight." Yorick stated voicing his disbelief. "Well the first thing we need to do is get that collar off." She blinked in disbelief her mouth hung open for a moment before she whispered "You can do that s-sir." her eyes darting about as though she were expecting the Frumentarii to jump out of the shadows, which admittedly was always technically possible, after all a former Brotherhood scribe would make an excellent prize if they ever found him. "We'll need to get somewhere quiet but yes I can get it off." he said reassuringly. She looked down and away for a minute in a shocked silence, she turned her head away as a few tears slipped down her checks. She had given up on being free the day she saw her only friend's corpse left at the side of the path they we're being marched along, just like six before her on that arduous journey to place whose name she'd never bothered to learn. "Tha-thank you sir." April said as her voice croaked with emotion.

"You don't mind if I take some of their supplies?" He asked as he crouched over the deceased brahmin. She nodded slightly still struggling to process an abandoned dream coming to a brilliant reality and he started plucking the tasteless rations from the large saddle bags before he fit them snugly into the large pockets on his utility belt he had designated for rations and the like. He removed what other valuables he could discern from the jumble, five stim-packs, a dose of rad-way, some excess ammo he hoped to sell on, five hundred caps and lastly a single grenade which he slipped into his thigh pocket, just in case. Realising that there was no way he could roll the brahmin over and that the supplies would probably have been crushed he turned to April and said "We need to go now, okay." in as soft a tone as his gravelly voice allowed for. She eagerly nodded her head. "Yes…P-Please sir." She said she attempted to distance herself from the memory of her captors' gruesome deaths.

She tried to follow after him though somewhat slower with a bad hobble and a slight wince. He noticed her short sharp gasps of pain after eight paces. He turned back around and reached out a hand. "I'm s-sorry I…I don't have anything to p-pay you." she said looking up with her big shimmering brown eyes. "No, no it's just that you like your struggling to walk, I wanted to help keep you steady." Once again she stood in a shocked silence, charity was rare in the wasteland and rarer still in the Legion, the overseers most certainly didn't waste resources on the 'filth' and every other slave would sell your hide for the promise of a few more crumbs in their gruel. "It's…I… thank you. Thank y-you sir "

Though April seemed to be roughly six foot four to Yorick's five foot ten due to the stoop in her step he was forced to hunch slightly to let her rest against his shoulders she leaned against him allowing him to support some of her weight. He was forced to resist the urge to giggle childishly as her long chestnut hair tickled against his jaw and ears.

They retraced Yorick's steps, though much more slowly due to Aprils weak legs and the lack of adrenaline in their systems, he would amble ahead of her up a hillside and every time he heard a disappointed whimper before he turned around to help pull her up. Eventually they ambled to the overpass Yorick had been sitting under previously, panting and sweating in the midday sun they moved into the shade of the over pass and he patted at the ancient park bench in the shade of the decrepit fragment of a long passed civilization.

As she sat down he took a few delicate looking, dentist-like lock picking tools from a pocket on his jumpsuit. He removed his elbow high fingerless leather gloves and tucked them into his belt. "Okay just hold still and this'll be over soon." he said as he leaned forward. She stuck her chin up and stared at the 'ceiling' as she heard began to hear metal clicking and beeping. His nimble fingers handled the tools expertly, his mind quickly focussed on the triaxial tumblers with a two part magneto lock, one by one each security precaution was bypassed without setting off the anti-tampering systems he'd tampered with. With a confirmatory beep the clamps released. He delicately slipped the terrible technology off of her neck revealing her long delicate and noticeably paler, almost porcelain skin that hadn't felt the sun since childhood.

He stepped back to give her a little bit of room as she tapped her dainty fingers to her newly bare neck. She looked him straight in his dull green eyes her own wide as saucepans with a few tears of joy trickling down her soft cheeks. She went to speak but words escaped her she swiftly closed her mouth with a wide smile before she leapt at Yorick her eyes wide as she caught him in a surprise embrace, unprepared for the gesture he toppled over backwards onto the hard rock of the Mojave with her pressed on top of him their arms wrapped around each other. "Buy me a drink first." He said with a chuckle as he gently shifted her off his chest and set her to his side. "Um…wh-what s-sir." she replied with her head cocked in confusion. Yorick remembered that mating rituals in the legion we're less a matter of an after-hours drink and a quick tryst in a storage closet as he was accustomed to and more a matter of restraints, pain and whipping, not the fun kind either.

He stood first and helped to pull her off the ground and steadied her as she tried to find her balance like a baby deer. "S-so where'd you l-learn to do that, sir." she said as she bent over and dusted her self down and he nervously averted his gaze. He was caught off guard by the question and weighed his options on whether to lie to her or not, he'd already saved her life and given her freedom she was unlikely to run off and sell him out even if she could. "The Brotherhood of Steel." he replied. "I th-thought th-they all wo-wore that scary armour." she remarked curiously. "Well I'm what you call a scribe, we maintain and study the last and most beautiful vestiges of the old world as keepers of knowledge that tore the world apart." He stated with prideful smile as he remembered his colleagues faces the day he rediscovered the hyper-capacitor he'd installed in his pistol. "So th-that's why you don't d-dress like them."

He nodded and glumly reflected how little he resembled a scribe either, as it happens long heavy robes are not ideal desert survival gear, and as such he burnt it to cinders at his first opportunity replaced it with an armoured rob-co jumpsuit he'd and bedecked with a number of pouches , multi pocketed arm straps, a bandolier and utility belt to carry all he needed close at hand. Indeed his only real reminder of his ties was the field equipment bracer, a compact radio, Geiger counter and watch combination he'd built out of recovered pip-boy components and even then he often hid it beneath his glove remain inconspicuous.

He mused at how much he had changed and wondered if his fellows would even recognise him as anything other than a 'savage' before he remembered that he still had to be moving if he expected to make it to Novac before nightfall, especially with his new companion. "We've got to get moving, I need to be in town before sunset." "Ca-can I come with you." She said timidly as she nervously twiddled her fingers and thumbs. "Of course, that's why I said we." he replied warmly as he stuck his hand out. Truthfully he had no intention of leaving, it was unlikely she knew how to survive on her own.

With that they set off on their way to Novac her arm once again hanging over his shoulder for stability.

Yorick hoped to sell or trade what he could to local merchants before moving on to the Crimson Caravan's headquarters near the strip to sell what ever else he had no need for, and now hopefully consult the Followers of the Apocalypse for a way to repair the damage to April's legs or at the very least find her somewhere more permanent than right next to him. He didn't particularly know just why he was helping her, he preferred to think it was more than just attraction and loneliness, but he knew at the back of his mind that was a part of it. He frowned at the thought, was that all he'd been reduced to, a lonely hermit who'll risk his life for the company of a slave and some survival gear.

That thought only deepened his frown, he always held himself as 'above' the belief that wastelanders were inferior and yet here he was disapproving of a nice young girl who had lived such a hard life.

"So any family?" He asked as they trundled along the arrow straight highway that ounce bustled with the iron chariots of the old-world, now reduced to burnt out rust ridden husks littering the streets for the most part. She looked remorseful for a few seconds before she looked straight forwards and replied sombrely. "S-Six children." she said with her voice almost a whisper as she thought back to each of the times she'd seen their tiny faces for the first time, followed all too swiftly by them being snatched up by her legion overseers, even though they weren't the names the legion would give them she named each of them with the ancestral names of what was once her tribe, Wilkin, Tamnra, Syltie, Char, Frank and Brinn in that order, the sons we're most likely well on their way to becoming fully fledged legionnaires whilst the daughters we're most likely anonymous slaves to some Legion officer or another.

"Oh I…I'm so sorry." he said with genuine shame over asking the question, though in his mind he mentally recoiled, on the collar he'd removed he noticed two 'X's and an I painted onto it, there we're times he really did regret being so quick with numbers.