A/N: Finally, I've written a fic for a universe that isn't already five years old! Yay me! This will be a quite dark take on the events of Fallout 4. I've abridged, rearranged, and changed the canon events of the main story to fit my narrative needs; the basic plot will mostly remain, but details will be different as I require them to be, so this isn't just going to be a rewrite of the story. As I said, this is a dark story, so take note accordingly; there will be quite a bit of violence, and implied/threatened sexual assault. There is a graphic scene of violence with sexual undertones in this chapter, so if such things are disturbing for you to read, please take note and proceed accordingly.
Reviews are greatly appreciated! Please let me know what you think! I have a tentative outline for this story, and hope to proceed with it fairly regularly, as I have another full length fic I am in the middle of writing, but this story would not get itself out of my head until I wrote it, so... enjoy!
The sky was the color of bile, poisonous clouds roiling with angry urgency, bringing death on the wind. It was almost beautiful, in the way that shipwrecks and bloodstains were beautiful – the stark elegance of destruction, in all its certainty. Death came for all, the wind keened – not even the sky could escape its fate.
Jane leaned against the broken windowsill and vomited.
She should have anticipated this. She'd seen the bomb fall, and she knew what ruin it carried in its belly when it had erupted, sundering the world so thoroughly that the basic structure of life itself was split, disintegrated, transformed into something new and terrible. She knew what radiation did to the human body – heaven knew the Vault-Tec rep had sent them no shortage of literature and holotapes detailing the devastation that nuclear war would bring, and how, for the sake of her family, shouldn't she consider riding out the storm within the deep confines of a Vault-Tec vault, only emerging once the world was safe and ready for rebuilding?
For the sake of her family. Her husband was dead and her son was gone, and Vault-Tec had lied to her – lied to them all. They'd never intended to keep anyone safe. The residents had been guinea pigs, frozen in a macabre experiment in human cryogenics. And now she was alone, all alone in a ruined world with no idea where her son was, or how to find him. She retched again, choking out a sob as she spilled the remainder of her stomach's contents on the floor. For not the first time, she wished she'd just died with the rest of the vault residents. Died with Nate.
No. Shaun is still alive. Without me, he has no one. I have to find him. I have to stay strong.
She was holed up in a Red Rocket station, just on the outskirts of Boston – or what had been Boston, anyway. Amazingly enough, Codsworth, her old Mr. Handy, had still been functional when she'd staggered back to her neighborhood after emerging from the Vault, and from him, she gleaned that there was still some semblance of human society in the city. She had nothing – no money, no knowledge of this new wasteland of a world, and no idea who had taken Shaun, or where they had taken him. The city was as good a place to start as any. It was certainly better than sitting in the wreck of her old house, amid the tattered reminders of her old life, patiently waiting to die.
Her nausea abated for now, she found herself again watching the radiation storm in all its deadly beauty. Strange how something so destructive could be so graceful. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, wishing she had something to wash away the taste of bile from her mouth.
Not that it would be safe to consume, she thought bitterly. Was there anything left in this world that wasn't tainted by the poison that blanketed the land? How long could she even hope to survive in an irradiated wasteland? Would she even live long enough to find Shaun?
There were survivors, her mind absently supplied. People living in the city, so Codsworth had said. That meant people who lived above ground, outside the Vaults, and who presumably had been doing so for years. They weren't dead, though who knew what the fallout had done to them, to their bodies. Perhaps she wouldn't die, either. But then again, the rest of the world had had two hundred years to accustom itself to the radiation. She'd had about a day.
Well, I'm not going to die today. And that gives me a chance to find Shaun. I don't care how long it takes – as long as I'm alive, I'm going to look for him. Mama's coming, baby. Don't worry.
A metallic clattering echoed through the deserted gas station. Probably just the wind from the storm rattling the security blinds. She supposed she should find somewhere to rest, at least until the storm blew over. Perhaps the employee break room would offer some respite, a chair or a couch. Maybe there would even be something to eat there, though she found the idea of two-hundred-year old food unappealing at best. It didn't matter – beggars could hardly be choosers.
She had turned from the window and towards the rear of the station when she heard the distinct sound of a human voice. Her heart leapt in her chest – fellow survivors! Perhaps they could tell her where she could look for help – maybe they knew of a town, or where she could find supplies, or – though she dared not get her hopes up – where she could find information about Shaun.
Advancing towards the sound of the voice, she made her way around a corner where she found a back room with its door ajar. She saw a man, dressed in an odd assortment of leather and metal, leaning against the jamb and peering into the open room, muttering. He sounded as though he was talking to himself.
" – so he says to me, he says, 'Jake, lend me a hand!' Like he's real funny or some shit like that. And of course he's laughing his ass off, the fucking prick, like he's the first fucker to make that fucking joke. Fucking asshole." Jane saw now that the man standing in the doorway was missing his right arm below the elbow.
The man stopped talking abruptly and turned around as Jane's foot crunched against a piece of rubble. She was facing him now, and her idea to ask for help suddenly seemed extremely unwise. This man – Jake – did not look like the sort of man she would have ever asked for help, or spoken to for any reason, in her other life. He had a scrunched face that was covered with scars, and his clothing was a patchwork of leather straps and holsters. A vicious looking knife was sheathed casually at his hip, and everything about him felt dangerous and deadly. Upon seeing Jane's startled expression, he smiled. He was missing most of his teeth.
"Well, hello there, doll," he drawled. The way he looked at her made her want to retch all over again. She cursed herself for her stupidity – after everything that had happened in the Vault, after finding out that everyone else had died, she'd instinctively moved towards the sound of another human voice, and it hadn't even occurred to her that there might be plenty of people in this world who she should not seek out. Her heart began to hammer in her chest.
Fool. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Hello," she said, hoping her voice wasn't as tremulous as her thundering heartbeat. "I was just… just hoping someone could tell me where I could find people. In the city. I'm looking for someone, and I need to know where to start looking." That was it – just project confidence. Fake confidence had gotten her through law school and her early career as an attorney, standing nervous before stern-faced old judges – it would get her through this. Perhaps this man was harmless. She really had no idea what it took to survive in the wasteland – just because he looked rough didn't mean he was a bad man.
"Looking for people?" He grinned, and began to slowly advance towards her. Instinctively, she backed up, until she bumped up against the counter and could move no further. "Well, you found one. I'd be happy to help you out with any of your needs, sweetheart."
Whatever last-ditch optimism she'd felt died at once – no, this was definitely a bad man. An armed, dangerous bad man. Panic gnawed at the edge of her mind, and she began to wildly formulate plans to escape, each one unlikely than the rest.
"Oh, hey, none of that, now. I don't mean you no harm. No need to be scared, honey." He smiled wider, and, at last, stopped moving towards her. A tiny flame of hope rekindled in her heart.
"I don't – I don't need anything," she quickly assured him. "I just want to know how far to the nearest town. I'm just looking for people. That's all. I don't want anything that's yours, I promise. I'm not asking for money. Just directions."
"Oh, well, okay, sure," he replied, and the flicker of hope grew brighter – perhaps she had misjudged him. She didn't appreciate a strange man calling her 'doll' or 'sweetheart' or 'honey,' and she certainly hadn't liked the leer he'd given her, but perhaps he really didn't mean her harm. He was armed, but the wasteland was probably a dangerous place. Were there even laws or police here? Did the military still exist?
"Well, I can give you directions," he said. "Sure, yeah. You want to get into town? You'll be looking for Diamond City. It's just out thataway." He pointed over his right shoulder, in a direction that seemed vaguely southeast. "Anything you want, you can get there. Food, booze, chems, gear, you name it. And you look like the respectable sort, so they'll let you in." He grinned again, and she could only count four teeth in his jagged smile.
Diamond City? "Is that near Boston?" she asked. That was the direction he'd pointed, but she recalled no town named Diamond City in the suburbs.
"I don't know no place called Boston, but Diamond City's your best bet, honey. Course, there's also Goodneighbor, but that might be a little rougher than you're looking for. Though I don't know, you look like you could handle a good time." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and it took all of Jane's control to keep her face neutral. She could not afford to antagonize a thuggish looking vagabond with a knife on his hip, and so far, he'd been helpful, if very creepy. "Now, if you want a real good time, you should head on into the Combat Zone. I'd be happy to introduce you to some of my friends."
"Thanks," she said, hoping she sounded much friendlier than she felt. "Diamond City. Got it. Thank you for your help." With a brisk nod, she started to back away from the counter, edging herself towards the door. The storm had quieted down, though the sky was still an eerie shade of sickly yellow. It was very likely unsafe outside – but it was certainly unsafe inside, and right now, she'd take her chances with the radiation.
"Hey." His voice was a rough bark, all friendly pretense stripped away, and her heart skipped a beat. "Where are you going?"
"Diamond City, like you said," she said quickly, forcing a smile to her face as she continued to edge towards the door. "It's going to be dark soon, so I'd better get on my way. Thank you again! You were very helpful!" She forced a cheer she didn't feel, and hoped he would leave it at that.
He didn't. "Helpful?" His smile was gone, replaced by a sullen glower. "Lady, ain't nobody out here 'helpful.' You got one of them jumpsuits on – you just came up from a Vault? I seen some Vault dwellers before. They don't usually last long. You wanna know why?"
The unmistakable threat in his voice sent daggers of cold fear into her gut.
"Because they don't understand how things work up here," he continued, not waiting for her response. He advanced towards her, and she retreated, this time not caring that whether or not she seemed unfriendly. If she could just get to the door –
"See, out here, there ain't no 'helpful.' There ain't no 'nice.' There's every man for himself. It's kill or be killed. They don't teach you that in the Vaults, do they?" He smiled again, but there was no pretense of kindness to it now. "Out here, if someone gives you something, they expect to get something in return. You get my meaning? Maybe you have some caps on you? Some chems? I ain't out here for my health. And I sure as shit ain't just helping you out for free, lady."
Caps? Chems? He wanted payment? She didn't have any chemicals, and she certainly didn't have any 'caps,' whatever those were. "I'm sorry," she said, not stopping her backward movement towards the door. "I don't have any money or anything. I can't pay you. I'm sorry, I wouldn't have asked if I'd known."
"Oh, so you just took me for a chump, that it? Some dumb sap you could bat your pretty eyes at and take me for a ride?" He shook his head. "Naw, lady, if you ain't got caps or chems, you can pay me another way." He grinned again, and the unspoken threat that had provided the undercurrent of menace to their entire conversation became tangible and real, and the fear that she'd valiantly held at bay seized her. He seemed to sense the change in her demeanor, and he grinned wider. Desperately, she leapt towards the door, but he'd anticipated her sudden movement, and lunged forward. She slammed against the door, pushing it open and shoving her body through the opening, but something tugged at her leg, pulled it out from under her, and she fell hard to the ground, the side of her head banging against the door. With a growl of triumph, Jake, his hand wrapped like an iron vise around her ankle, jerked hard, and pulled her back into the gas station.
"You think you can get away from me, you little bitch?" He tugged at her leg again, and she gasped as her back needled in pain, and she realized he was dragging her across a carpet of broken glass and rubble. Maintaining his tight grip on her ankle, he leaned up and forward, pinning her other leg beneath his weight, until his face was leering into hers. His ugly scarred face split into a toothless smile again, and he was close enough that she could smell his fetid, dank breath.
"You're a real pretty one. Prettier than any wastelander broad," he leered appreciatively, making no attempt to disguise his intentions as his eyes roved across her body, still clad in the somewhat form-fitting Vault-Tec jumpsuit. "I'm gonna really enjoy having you." She gagged as his putrid breath reached her nose, and she turned her head, fixing her eyes on his arm-stump supporting his weight on the floor.
An idea half-formed in the midst of frantic, fearful thoughts, and, mustering her strength, she leaned back, willing herself to look him in the eyes. "It's okay, I won't fight," she said, her voice shaking, hoping he read her tremulous tone as fear alone. "Just don't hurt me. I won't fight, I promise."
"Aww, too bad, I like it when girls have some spirit," he said, and she focused on breathing shallowly through her mouth, trying to think of everything except his foul breath. "But you're a good girl, ain't you? A real good girl." His eyes flickered half-closed and he leaned in close, as if to kiss her – and she jerked her hand up and jammed her thumb into his eye as hard as she could.
Jake roared in pain and jerked back, and he released her leg as his only hand flew instinctively to his maimed eye. He screamed in agony and wallowed on the ground, and Jane scooted over and out from under him, and she froze, time itself seeming to slow down as she came up to a crouch. She was halfway between the door and him – she could make a break for it now, leap to her feet, sprint out the door, and run – anywhere, away from him. But where would she go, and how would she avoid him? He might be half-blinded, but he would be angry, and he would not let her go. Her eyes caught sight of the savage knife, sheathed at his hip. She could go for it – but maybe he would catch her, and if he caught her, and she didn't succeed in taking the knife from him, he would kill her for sure. After no doubt spending a good deal of time making her wish she were dead. And what would she do with the knife? Overpower him? Kill him? She had to decide – now. She saw him move his hand, now covered in blood. His left eye was a bloody mess, his face a rictus of fury.
"You fucking cunt," he growled, and she leapt away, heading for the door – she'd missed her window of opportunity, and all she could hope now was that he was blind enough, and in pain enough, to misjudge the distance between them. She'd made it just out the door when a heavy, crushing weight crashed into her and sent her sprawling to the ground.
"Fuckin' whore!" He pinned her to the ground beneath a sharp knee, and she yelped in pain as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up out of the dirt. Twisting savagely, he flipped her over, and if she had thought he'd looked angry before, it was nothing compared to the rage that filled his face now. His eye was swollen shut, and blood oozed from the socket down his cheek, the rivulets following the grooves of his scars. He shoved her head down against the ground, hard, and Jane grunted as her skull made hard contact with the concrete. Releasing her hair, he brought his hand swiftly down to his hip and unsheathed the knife.
"You're gonna pay for my eye, you fucking little slut. You're gonna pay me in more ways than you know how, and when I'm done I'm going to slit your fucking throat and leave you out here for the dogs." He brought the knife up and pressed it against her neck, the steel cold against her overheated skin, and his knees pressed painfully against her belly.
"You better lay back and be still this time," he rasped. "If you fight me, I'll just kill you and fuck your corpse. Your choice." Pressing the knife against her throat for emphasis, he lowered his hand, the knife making its way back towards the sheath as he shifted his weight, pressing his arm stump against her neck, choking off her breath. She gasped as he pushed the full weight of his arm into her throat, stars appearing at the fringes of her vision as the knife went back into the sheath and his hand moved over to his belt, where he began to deftly work the catch.
She had to act now. There was no possibility he wasn't going to kill her; all that remained was how much she had to suffer before he did. An implacable knot of rage hardened in her heart, burning with white-hot fury before calcifying into an icy cold steel. She was not going to be a victim to this monster, not if she could fight back. Not as long as she drew breath.
His belt fell open, and he shifted backwards, his stump moving from her throat to balance himself as he busied his good hand with the clasp of his pants. It was the window Jane needed. Throwing herself forward, she slammed her forehead into the bridge of his nose, hearing a satisfying wet crunch as it collapsed beneath her skull. She brought her arms up and shoved him hard, and, his scream an incoherent gurgle of pain, he toppled backwards, off balance.
This time, she did not hesitate to lunge for the knife in its sheath, but he was ready for her, and his hand snaked out and grasped her wrist just as she'd wrapped her hand around the handle. He twisted hard, and pain lanced through her arm, but her grip was sure and she knew that to let go now meant certain death.
"Bitch!" He screamed, his voice slurred as blood streamed from the ruins of his destroyed nose. They grappled for the knife, his strength slowly overwhelming her as he twisted her wrist harder and harder, but still she wouldn't let go. He tackled her, sending them both to the ground, the knife in her hand, her wrist in his grip.
She gasped raggedly as his superior strength forced her hand, holding the knife, ever more gradually towards her own throat. She was motivated by her hatred and her rage, but he was still a violent young man in his prime, and he too was powered by pain and fury. She realized, with sickening certainty, that he would eventually win this battle, unless she had one last, final throw before it was all over.
He forced her hand closer and closer, and the knife hovered just over her head. Hot blood from Jake's wrecked face dripped steadily against her forehead as he seethed above her, spittle flying from his panting mouth. She had to act now. Shifting her position, she pushed against his grip with all of her strength – and drove a knee straight up and into his crotch.
An animal roar erupted from him as he instinctively crumpled inwards, the pain in his nether regions sending him into a spasm. A sharp stinging drew across her face, followed shortly by white-hot pain – Jake's arm had flailed when she'd kneed him in the balls, and the knife had sliced down her cheek. She felt her own blood leaking down her face and neck, and she gasped as the pain intensified, sending a blaze of fire down the gash in her face – but she felt the pressure on her wrist abate. It was her only chance, and it was all she needed.
Shoving her free hand into his face, she jerked her wrist free from his grasp, and, grabbing his hair with her free hand to hold his head up, she shoved the knife deep into the side of his neck. His howl of pain ceased abruptly, turning into a strangled, choking gurgle, and his severed artery send a hot spray of blood into the air, splattering across her face. With a cry of rage, she shoved the knife harder and harder into him, her eyes meeting his with satisfaction as his one good eye registered first anger, then pain, then fear, then terrified resignation. Leaning against him, she twisted her wrist savagely, sending a fresh gout of blood streaming from his throat.
"Fuck you," she gritted out, staring hard into his eyes. "You fucking lowlife piece of shit. I hope you burn in hell." With a final, snarled shove, she pushed him over, yanking the knife from his throat as his lifeless body collapsed to the ground.
Adrenaline pounded through her veins as she stared in disbelief at the bloody, maimed corpse of the thug below her.
Holy shit. I just killed a man. She looked down at herself properly for the first time since the fight had begun, and realized she was covered in blood. At least most of it isn't mine. Wait, where had that thought come from?
Her eyes glanced to the knife still held loosely in her hand. Her hand and wrist were slick with blood, and the knife was stained red from tip to handle. A vague throbbing fire along her face reminded her that she'd been cut, and instinctively, her other hand reached up to touch the wound, and she gasped with pain. She should probably find a mirror – maybe in the gas station? Wouldn't there be a bathroom there? She looked down at herself again, and shuddered to think what she must look like – covered in blood, a vicious slice across her face. Idly, she wondered if she would have a scar. Her eyes wandered down to Jake's body, his scarred face forever frozen in agony. She wondered how he'd gotten his scars.
I killed a man. Rationally, she knew that she should be feeling something – horror, disgust, sadness, regret – something that reassured her that she had done an awful thing, that she had only acted out of necessity, that taking a human life was a serious and terrible burden that she could accept only with solemn remorse. But she felt none of those things. Instead, she only felt a heady sense of exhilaration – as though she'd performed a death-defying stunt and lived to tell the tale, against all odds. She felt satisfied, and excited.
Who the hell am I? She was a lawyer, for God's sake, not some psychotic killer! She had never done more than swat a fly in her old life! Who was this person who held a bloody knife in her hand and felt a thrill as she stood over the body of the man she'd just killed in hand to hand combat?
The person you need to be to survive in this world, a voice whispered to her, dark and assured. Forget everything about who you were before the War. Forget who you used to be. This is what the world is, now. Those people killed Nate and stole your baby. If you want him back, you need to play by their rules.
Shaking, she wondered where that voice had come from, and she slowly made her way back to the gas station, discomfited by her reaction to Jake's death. There was indeed a bathroom, as she'd anticipated, and the blood-spattered face that greeted her in the mirror was a stranger's. Her wavy brown hair hung just below her chin, and was tousled and matted with blood. Her face and neck were covered in blood, and she turned the spigot at the sink experimentally, surprised when muddy-brown water erupted from the faucet. It was probably irradiated, but she supposed she would have to get used to that now. She grimaced in pain as she splashed the cool water over her face, rinsing away the blood in pink rivers down the drain and revealing the vicious looking two inch wound that marred her left cheek. Hazel eyes blinked at her in the mirror, and she thought idly that she should probably try to find a first aid kit, to put something on the cut before it got infected. Wouldn't it just be her luck to die of gangrene in a nuclear wasteland?
She made her way methodically back through the station until she reached the open door where Jake had been chattering to himself. Though she knew he'd been alone – if he'd had any accomplices, they surely would have shown themselves by now – she retained a tight grip on her knife as she emerged into the room, scanning each corner before being satisfied that she was indeed alone. To her relief, there was a small cot in the corner covered with a ratty, moth-eaten blanket. It was not inviting, but it would do. She supposed rotten two-hundred-year old ruins of civilization were another thing she'd have to get used to.
There was a locker next to the cot, and, curious, she opened it up. She was surprised but pleased to find a simple, workmanlike set of denim clothes, the kind a mechanic might have worn back when the Red Rocket had actually been a thriving business. Amazing that the clothes had survived two hundred years. They looked a bit big, but anything would be better than her sticky, bloodsoaked Vault-Tec jumpsuit. She stripped out of the jumpsuit with swift efficiency, gingerly shoving the bloody outfit into a waste can beside the door. She looked down at her body, clad now only in her undergarments, and was pleased to see that there was no obvious sign of blood or injury.
A sudden wave of tiredness hit her; after the adrenaline rush of the fight, her energy reserves were depleted, and the sight of the cot, even in all its tattered grime, was undeniably appealing. Sighing, she closed the office door shut and turned the lock. Hopefully that would keep out any other thugs like Jake. If not… she decided to stash the knife under her pillow, just in case.
She had just sat down on the edge of the cot when a glint of something caught her eye at the bottom of the locker. She reached over and felt the cool glass neck of a bottle, and realized that there was a half-full bottle of brown liquor. She held the bottle in her hands disbelievingly – somehow, she'd just assumed that the first thing to go after the apocalypse would be the liquor.
She unscrewed the bottle, and the spicy smell of whiskey hit her nose. A sharp pang of grief knifed through her – Nate had loved whiskey, and liked to unwind with a tumbler of his favorite Irish whiskey every night. She'd been more of a wine person, when she drank, but she'd always enjoyed the smell of Nate's nightcap. It reminded her of him, and of home.
A hot, raw sob choked from her throat, and, without thinking, she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a deep pull. The whiskey burned like fire down her throat and she coughed, sputtering at the intense heat. She couldn't believe Nate had actually liked this stuff.
She lowered the bottle and looked at it, the amber liquid pooling invitingly at the bottom. The smell of it teased her and brought to mind a cascade of memories; Nate in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper; Nate at their wedding, more than a little drunk, while his army buddies got him increasingly inebriated with toast after toast; Nate pouring a celebratory glass the night she'd told him that she was pregnant; Nate inviting their neighbors in for a nightcap the night they'd brought Shaun home from the hospital…
She put the bottle to her lips and took another swallow, this one long, slow, and sure. This time, she didn't cough or sputter, and, when the bottle was finally empty, she dropped it from insensate fingers and drifted into an uninterrupted and dreamless sleep.