-Chapter One: Good Vibrations-

"Who's idea was it to get cornered in this shit-heap?" Grumbled Eddie as he snapped a cartridge back into his assault rifle. The four of them were practically trapped at the top of the Washington Monument. The ghoul; Eddie, was slumped beneath the single view window sporting a shot leg. The wind whistled in past the broken glass in response.

"Who's idea was it to take this fucked up mission?" Replied the veteran Ruben, chewing on the end of a cigarette and caked in blood.

"I guess that would be me. On both counts." Robert Mills stood up and raised the Brotherhood of Steel holotags so that the others could see. "The Brotherhood gives caps for these... And its not like this guy is gonna miss them." He gestured behind him where the body of the Brotherhood scout was slumped amusingly in a position not dissimilar to Eddies.

"So what happened to him?" Asked Chad, the youngest of the four, wild haired and pale faced, looking half like a corpse himself.

Mills was pushing forty with spots of grey in his razor cut hair. His eyes were red and drowsy and his stubble held a blue hue to it. Forty was old in the capital and he sounded old as he bent to pick up his own assault rifle, groaning as he swung it over his shoulder by the strap attached.

"He had the same idea we did. Took a few hot ones to the chest and dragged his ass up here to die alone."

"Fuck him. Brotherhood of Fear too." Said Ruben and the others nodded in agreement.

"Shit. My leg hurts." Moaned Eddie.

"Does it?" Inquired Mills.

"Whaddaya mean does it, Smoothie? I got fucking shot as I recall."

"News to me that walking corpses could even feel pain." Shrugged Mills.

Eddie gave a bark of laughter. "If I wasn't fucked and you weren't old as shit you'd pay for that, Smoothie."

"You're older than me as I recall."

"Yeah but you look worse."

Ruben laughed. "And that's coming from a walking corpse, Captain."

Mills took a step forward and the others rearranged their faces to look concentrated. "Are we ready to go back down?" He said.

Ruben spat out his cigarette and unslung his shotgun. "Ready."

"Yeah." Whispered Chad, hardly enthused, "Pearson might still be alive down there."

Eddie smirked. "He's fucked worse than I am. The muties are probably feeding on the fucker as we speak. I didn't think you were serious about that admission charge, Smoothie."

"What charge?"

"An arm and a leg."

The others laughed, briefly. "That's fucked up." Said Chad.

"I'm fucked up. Help me up."

Ruben and Chad helped the ghoul to his feet as Mills called the elevator. The Captain turned to address them again as the elevator doors opened. "Ruben you're first out. Blow the fuckers away if they're in the lobby. Me and the kid will follow. Eddie I only want you shooting if you have to; with the way your leg is you'll probably fall and shoot one of us."

Eddie didn't laugh this time, "I'll be fucking fine, Vanilla. Lets have a look at the weather then." He looked out the window at the grey National Mall below, a full three seconds before he was thrown backwards from the force of the bullets obliterating his decayed face. He landed with a horribly funny splat.

"What the fuck!" Gasped Chad, "I didn't hear no bullets!"

"Was that mini-gun fire?..." Whispered Ruben to himself.

"Mutant bastards!" Screamed Mills, "Grab his shit! Lets fucking go!"

The three of them hastened into the elevator and Mills slammed the ground floor button. The elevator gave no accommodation to their rage by taking its time to move, and when it finally did it shuddered and rocked its way downwards. There was an unannounced moment of silence for Eddie before they tried to forget him completely.

"This lift scares me, Cap." Said Chad, shaking his head.

"This shit ain't nothing but good vibrations kid. Wait till we get out there."

Another moment of silence before Ruben muttered, ponderously, "Fucking Pearson..." And the elevator creaked to a halt. They had to pry the doors apart this time and Ruben charged out. "We're good."

"Keep point. They're not as stupid as they look."

They moved past Abraham Washington's mutilated statue and Ruben put his hand on the door handle. He turned and gave a look to Mills. Mills nodded. Ruben opened the door and the three mercenaries stormed out into the evening.

Keeping their heads down, they jogged to the left; Chad keeping east on the compass. The mall was a scorched mass of desolation, ridden with dugouts, trenches and skeletons. The Super Mutants outnumbered the humans in this area two to one, but whoever killed Eddie had melted away into the trenches. It wasn't until they reached the court of the National History Museum that thunder struck.

"Yeeee..." It drooled. The mutant was a seven foot tower of muscly grey-green flesh. Its potato shaped head sat directly on its shoulders. It had tiny eyes and gritted, chipped grey teeth. Mills relished a fight with these things; sure, they were big and scary and if they got a hold of you then you were either dead or for dinner. But they were slow and predictable too- and this one confirmed it by taking the time to lift its rifle.

Ruben dropped to one knee and fired his shotgun. Despite barely flinching the mutant took most of the spray in its torso. Its right arm got hit too but the rifle remained firmly clasped in its huge fists. Chad and Captain Mills followed up with half a dozen short bursts of automatic fire directed towards the thing's head. This time it did flinch, and it lost a whole ear too. Ruben rose, took two steps forward, and fire directly into the mutant's face. It dropped hard. Ruben closed off the fight unnecessarily by pointing out the obvious: "He's dead."

That was another disadvantage of fighting mutants; they took a lot of fire-power to go down.

"Reload. Keep moving."

Mills could see Willow in the doorway to the museum. She was the ghoul sentry and a friend of Eddies. He made to call out but she calmly pointed behind him and he turned to see two mutants rising from the dugouts. One of them was small, for a mutant, barely beating six feet, but the size of the mini-gun he was practically straddling made up for it. The other was grinning maniacally and resting a missile launcher on its shoulder.

There was an almost tangible moment of silence in the air, like every life force had taken a simultaneous breath and the air had frozen the wind in its tracks. Then the missile was on route to them. With no time to react and no flicker of recognition in Mills' mind, some force, some hand of God, pushed him to the ground. The missile soared over him, lowering itself every instant. It hit the ground eight feet from them and exploded. Mills' eardrums popped and something heavy landed on top of him. He opened his eyes and wrinkled his brow in confusion at the sight of Pearson's corpse on top of him. Pearson's glasses were cracked and askew and a trickle of blood crept from his mouth.

"Ruben..." Murmured Mills. Then he passed out.

…

Mills came to on a flimsy hospital bed. Nurse Graves was wheeling him into the Chop shop. He was in Underworld, an exhibit in the National History Museum that was home to a community of ghouls. Presently the place was rife with chaos; some of the ghouls seemed to be unhappy with Mills' presence, whilst others were helping Graves clear a path. She set him in a corner and disappeared. Suddenly it was quiet and Mills was alone.

It felt like it had happened ages ago. They lost Karl somewhere in the trenches. Pearson had scouted ahead and radioed through to calmly announce he had lost an arm and a leg from a grenade explosion. They retreated to the Washington Monument. Eddie got sniped. Then shit really did hit the fan. It was only after recounting this that Mills realised the job was a dud.

"Fucking Pearson..."

The Chop Shop's doors crashed open and another bed came wheeling through. It was Doctor Barrows steering it and Mills could tell from the look on the Doctor's nose-less, charred looking face that what was on the bed was worse looking than the ghoul himself. He placed the bed next to Mills and immediately the captain turned away; the heaving mass next to him was literally steaming and the smell of burned flesh was almost too much too bear.

"Quickly now, Nurse." Came the raspy voice of Barrows, "My, how humans do bleed."

...

They tried to save him. But with what limited resources available, Chad was pretty much dead already. It was a full day before Mills even knew it was Chad on that bed and not Ruben. "You sure Ruben didn't-"

"There were no other survivors I'm afraid."

Mills was still in the Chop Shop. Doctor Barrows sat beside him scribbling on a clipboard. Nurse Graves, relatively young for a ghoul, sat at the terminal typing up Chad's demise.

"My whole fucking team is dead then."

"Maybe mercenary work isn't for you- the bleeding and the dying would certainly pertain to such an assumption. You could always remain here and be a human guinea pig for an experiment or two. We really do need some live human subjects."

"The only reason I'm in this shipwreck is because one of my guys was from here. He's dead now and he shouldn't be- even if he was a rotten scumbag. The sooner I leave the better. And I don't think your friends out there are enjoying my company much."

"You have a slight fracture in your right tibia that will take some time to heal. Travelling would only prolong or even complicate the healing process. And I think my...friends are worried about this." Barrows held up the Brotherhood of Steel holotags, "Willow showed them to Quinn and you know how it goes..."

"I got them off some dead scout. The Brotherhood pays caps for returning them."

"I understand, of course- but you know what people are like. Its the human condition! Ah... did I say human?"

"How long will my leg take to heal?"

"It varies, but a fracture like yours typically mends in three to four months."

Mills slumped even further into the bed. "Where's the bullet?"

It was his third time. He surreptitiously patted the pocket on his combats to check the other two bullets were still there. Then he laughed; it truly was the hand of God that had pushed him to the ground. And God carried a mini-gun. Barrows handed the bullet over.

"I don't suppose any of these walking corpses fancy a merc job?" Asked Mills.

"You might want to talk to Ahzrukhal in the Ninth Circle."

"I guess I should thank you for saving my leg."

"Well, only if you mean it. If I could ask you a personal question... What do you mean to do once you are well enough to leave?"

Mills thought for a second, but then with a fiery conviction he looked the ugly shitbag in the face and said, "I'm gonna find the people that set my team up, find out why and then kill every last one of them."

The Doctor blinked, "...You might want to talk to Ahzrukhal in the Ninth Circle."

Thanks for reading; please, feel free to review, good or bad- any and all feedback is appreciated.