Location: Outside Croup manor
Status of relationship: flirting- once-
Warnings: Possible minor spoilers, cursing and gore.
Heart Rending
"Get off of me!"
Hancock swiveled his shot gun around with enough time to see a putrid ghoul leap on Macha, knocking her to the ground. Her weapon went flying as the deranged irradiated human lunged at her face, teeth gnashing at her exposed neck. She struggled in the mud, back peddling in an attempt to get away, her feet finding no purchase in the soaked earth. The ghoul forced his rotting teeth closer to her face.
Reaching into his frock, Hancock produced an inhaler of Jet. With a quick jerk of his arm, he brought the drug to his lipless mouth and breathed deep. Time slowed to a crawl. The edges of the world both blurred and sharpened at once, colors running together.
"Hey!" He yelled at her assailant. "Over hereeeeeeeeeeee!" His voice distorted in his ears, dragging out parallel to time. The shot had to be perfect. He had to be perfect. If not, the ghoul was too close to her. If he missed... he didn't want to think about it. So he didn't. He just acted. Grains of sand fell from the hourglass as the barrel of the shot gun lined up with the ghoul's cranium. Tick. He closed one eye, focused on his target. Rain drops blurred in front of his eye, refracting the light. Tock. He coiled his finger around the curve of the trigger; metal cool and comforting. Drew in a breath. Held it. Tick. His finger pressed the trigger achingly slow. Macha screamed in frustration as the ghoul clawed at her. Tock. The round exited the barrel before Hancock, spiraling a graceful waltz of death in the air. Promising an end. Tick. There was a satisfying rainfall of goo as the ghoul's head exploded, showering Macha with bits of brain matter and skull as his slug hit home.
"Yeah!" He boasted as time restored itself. "Well.. they tried. If you can call that trying."
His victory gloating was cut short when he noticed her angrily kicking the body off of her. She stumbled to her feet, ripping her pack off and digging for something.
"Fucking disgusting things." She hissed wiping the bodily fluids off her face with an old oven mitt she had grabbed earlier. "I fucking hate ghouls."
She muttered as she turned her face skyward and let the deluge of rain was away the rest of the remains.
Hancock felt his spine straighten and his grip on his weapon tighten at her words. Of course she hated ghouls. They were monsters. Most people in the wasteland did. Why should she be any different? He just thought.. he didn't know what he had thought. Maybe that they were connecting in some way. There had been times he had thought she was even teasing him. Maybe even flirting. What an IDIOT he was. He was only as good as he was useful. It didn't matter. She was helping the people of the Commonwealth. That's what mattered. She was making a difference in the cesspool of a world and taking a stand. He would stick with her as long as she continued to help, her opinions of him be damned. He felt hollow then, without understand why. And tired. He needed a chem break soon. Something stronger than Jet. Something to stop him from thinking too much.
"Hey," He shouted above the din of the rain. It made an eerie tinny noise as the fat droplets bounced off the roofs of the car shells that littered the area."Lets move on and clear it out."
He motioned to the looming husk of Croup Manor. The old mansion sat at the top of the hill, a corpse of building, burnt out and exposed to the elements. They had only killed the ghouls that rushed them from first floor and ghouls traveled in packs. He doubted that was all of them. "The settlers are waiting."
She acknowledged him with a slight start, as if she had forgotten he was there.
"Um.. Yeah. Sure. Let's go." A shadow flitted across her face and she hesitated as if she wanted to say something. Seeming to think better of it, she retrieved her weapon and shouldered her backpack.
Shit. She had messed up. She shouldn't have said that. Why did she say that? She didn't mean HIM. She meant, the other ghouls. The not cool, laid-back ones with excellent -if not outdated- fashion sense. Macha mentally berated herself, not knowing what to do know. Did she say sorry? Or just ignore it and pretend it hadn't happened? He didn't seem upset. He just stood there, watching her with those impassive dark eyes. Unreadable. She opened her mouth to apologize and then snapped it shut. Pandora's box closing before more horrors could tumble out.
"Um.. Yeah. Sure. Let's go." Was all she could muster. He was right. Time was wasting and the settlers were waiting. At least the manor would offer some shelter from the downpour.
More ghouls awaited them in the manor. They lurked behind locked doors and desiccated furniture. Ghosts roaming their former haunts. Undead tributes to the victims of the war, mocking human life as they stumbled from room to room.
Macha put them down, keeping her mouth shut. Silently and efficiently, they moved room to room, clearing the house. Still, she was surprised when master bedroom door swung open and the glowing one grabbed at her.
"Shit!" She cursed as she shot it point blank in the face. She could feel the radiation emitted from its glowing form. It rolled over her, making her feel sick and hot, like a fever boiling her inside out. A miasma of pestilence and slow blistering death. It fell back, staggered by the force of her weapon's discharge.
She retreated a few steps fleeing its irradiated grasp. "Hancock, take point!"
He could withstand the radiation. She on the other hand, would be literal toast.
"On it!" He flanked the creature, unloading shells into its backside. Together they played a morose game of keep away, unloading enough bullets into the ghoul to enrage and causing it to give chase. Only to have the other open fire on it's exposed flank. Finally, after the expenditure of numerous rounds, the thing lay in a twitching glowing pile eating away at the bedroom floorboards.
A glint of metal from the light of her pip boy caught Macha's eye. "Is that.. a key?"
"Looks like it." Hancock said pushing back the cuff of his coat and reaching inside the glowing one's abdomen to retrieve it. He shook it off, send green glowing bits splattering the dingy walls. He grinned.
"Wanna see where it goes?"
"Looks like we missed dinner." His attempt at levity earned him an unsure eyebrow raise from Macha as she reloaded. He internally sighed as he surveyed the basement of Croup Manor. Ghouls littered the floor, their innards mixing with the stagnant water that filled the small room.
"Guess that's a good thing, seeing as how we were the ones on the menu." She muttered as she finished reloading and started her usual pattern of picking up any piece of junk that wasn't nailed down. He watched her with odd fascination, trying to figure out why she always did this. Typewriter. Desk fan. Coffee cup. None of the miscellaneous knick knacks were safe. All were shoved into the perpetual void that was her backpack.
"Mini nuke over here." He pointed out, trying to be helpful.
"Thanks."
It was the only response he got as the nuke was jammed into the pack. He flinched a bit as she forcefully crammed the mini nuclear device into her near capacity bag, cursing as she stuffed it in. Throwing the straps over her shoulder, she stepped over the fallen form of Theodore Croup and tapped away on his personal terminal.
The minutes ticked by as she raided the computer, rooting out anything of value. Anything useful. Tap tap tap. Her fingers flew across the keys and Hancock found himself wishing the noise would stop. It was too quiet in here. Alone in this water logged room with her. He was just about to break the uncomfortable tension with a bad joke when a soft "Oh" came from her.
She looked at the body of Theodore, her hands folded in her lap. Some emotion was etched behind her eyes, now soft and melancholy, as stood up and put the chair back against the desk. Like it mattered, the chair being in the appropriate position in a room full of the dead.
"They were his family." She said softly, still gazing at Theodore. "After the bombs, they changed and so did he. Except, he retained his mind. He was... he tried... to help them. Tried to teach them and bring back.. some of their.. humanity. It didn't work."
She nodded to the gaping bullet wound in Theodore's head. "I guess, after a few hundred years, he gave up."
Well, shit. What did he say now. His joke? That seemed in poor taste even for him. His mind raced as he tried to find something to talk about or to point out. Maybe she had missed a clip board or a hot plate, or something he could draw her attention to and have her shove it in that damn pack of hers.
"I'm sorry." She said suddenly. Her head snapped up so she could look him directly in the eyes. "About the ghouls. About what I said.. And.. this is gonna sound stupid, but I forgot. I forgot you were a..."
He cleared his throat, now even more unsure what to say or do. She forgot he was a ghoul. Or more so, she forgot to see him AS a ghoul. If that was the case, then what did she see him as? A man? A friend? Maybe.. something else entirely? "It's cool."
It's cool. Did he really just say that in response to what had been an off handed compliment by her? Brilliant John. A fucking gentleman and a scholar, you are sir. Just like the real Hancock.
"I didn't mean you." She continued in a hurry, trying to explain. Desperate to have him understand. "You've... you're.. not like them. I don't hate you. Just the spazy, flailing, bitey ones. Which .. you are not. Obviously."
"Hey now, don't misjudge me yet." He quipped before his brain had enough sense to shut his mouth down. "You haven't seen me dance. It's not far off. Just a little less bitey."
A half smile graced her lips, sneaking to her eyes and he could tell she was having a hard time deciding if it was appropriate to laugh. She lost the battle with herself and a small squeak of laughter found it's way through her tight pressed lips. He was smiling now too. Smiling at her smiling. In the ankle deep water, surrounded by floating corpses.
As if she sudden remembered their whereabouts to, she cleared her throat and her half smile faded.
"Does it.. bother you?" She questioned, surveying the carnage. The death of what was technically his kind. "Killing the ghouls? Because, I can get someone else to join me on these kind of missions if you would prefer. Maybe Piper.. or Dogmeat."
In an odd way he was touched. Touched that she cared enough to consider his feelings to ask. Lots of people in the Commonwealth didn't consider anything but their own needs. It was.. refreshing. "Nah. We hurt people that need hurting. Doesn't matter what or who they are. Just something we gotta do.
In truth, he had never even thought of it. Never compared himself to the ghouls that peppered the land. Even when he had taken the drug, knew what it would do, he never once compared himself to the poor slobs running around the wasteland, foaming at the mouth.
"Cool." She said nodding absently.
"Cool."
They stood there a bit longer, each painfully aware of the awkward silence that stretched out before them before they decided to speak simultaneously.
"Well, I'm going to see to the perimeter-"
"I'd better start fixing these holes before-"
Each fell into awkward chuckle and it was Macha that finally ended things by detouring around him through the basement door: her leaving with a heavy pack, he with a lighter heart.
It hadn't stopped raining for two days while they set up the settlement. They slept in shifts, rotating guard duty, while the other scrapped metal, wood and anything that would surrender useful parts. On the eve of the second night, he found her ruthlessly attacking a typewriter with a screwdriver, attempting to pull off the back panel.
"Still not giving up the goods, eh?" John peered over her shoulder, examining the many scratches and dents her assault had created.
She sighed in exasperation, wiping a grease smeared hand across her brow. "Not yet." She changed the pitch over her voice, sounding much like the melodramatic evil doers on that Silver Shroud broadcast Kent ran in Goodneighbor. "But we haff ways of making him talk!"
Hancock chuckled at her impression. Things between them for that last few days had settled into a nice, uncomplicated rhythm while preparing for the new settlers to arrive. Work until exhausted, toss a can of Pork n' beans into the cooking station till tepid, and get a few hours sleep until it was time to do it again. Defenses had gone up, power was running, clean water available from the pump. All and all, not bad for two days work, but it left no room for awkwardness. No time or energy to dwell on such things.
"Grrrrrraaaaaaaaaahhh!" She growled in frustration as the screwdriver tip broke off. She pushed the broken screwdriver away from her, grumbling. "I just need a few more gears to build a turret. This shouldn't be this hard. That's it!"
She picked up the typewriter and shook it, speaking to the inanimate object as if it understood her wrath. "If you don't fucking cooperate, I swear I'm going to toss you out back with a frag grenade attached to you."
"Which would destroy the part you need and any purpose of doing that." Hancock pointed out.
"It would make me feel better." She grumbled, digging through her tool box. "That's purpose enough."
"You seem a bit on edge. Try this." He handed her a bottle off buffout. "Take a break. Relax. It's not going anywhere."
She frowned at the bottle. "Can't you become addicted to this stuff?"
"Yeah, sure. But a bit won't hurt. It's a steroid. It will increase your reflexes and strength-"
"I know what it is." She cut him off as she examined the container. She mulled something over. "I was a lawyer before the war. I used to prosecute people who would make this on the streets. Criminals. They would make it and sell it to kids. It would cause cardiac arrest most times. Their hearts just couldn't take it and would give out."
She grew silent for a bit, looking off into the distance. Not seeing him; not seeing anything really. Lost to both the past and the present; belonging to neither. "Fuck lotta good it did. Throwing them in jail. They died when the bombs came. And the kids I thought I saved died too. And Nate and... Death doesn't care if you are good or bad. It just.. is."
Macha shook herself out of the daze and stood from the table, placing the bottle of Buffout on the table. She was running, he knew. Like he had run so many times. Running from the past, running from herself.
"There's a church not far from here. At the end of the peninsula. They probably have a typewriter or two for bookkeeping. I'm going try there first, see what I can find."
Macha threw a last longing look at the buffout on the dining room table. Tempting her to return and surrender to the bliss it could offer. The feeling of power and control in a world where she had none. The fantasy of saving Nate and her son. She had relieved the memory so many times in so many ways. Tweaking the memory to suit her needs. One time, she broke through the glass of her cryo chamber and knocked the scarred man out. Another, she and Nate never went to that damned Vault. Instead they died together, huddled near Shaun's crib. A good, clean death. One they chose on their own terms. Not shot while helpless by some murdering scum.
She shuddered as a cold rain drop fell onto her neck from the leaky roof. Before the War, she had never really imbibed except a few times in college. Never thought about doing any chems. Hardly even cursed. It wasn't proper. Wasn't ladylike or professional or fitting a new mom. But then again, she had never fired a weapon either. Never killed a man. Never used the rain to wash the rotting insides of another off her face. So many nevers and never agains.
But now, she wasn't that person anymore. Not exactly. That Macha had died in the Vault two hundred years ago. And this Macha was scared and tired and had killed; would kill again. She was stuck somewhere between the two. Limbo. She couldn't do chems. Drinking was one thing that helped dull the pain and blur the memories, but chems? That was for the weak. And she couldn't be weak. Couldn't allow herself to fall prey to weakness. She HAD to find Shaun. He was all she had left. All that was left of Pre-War Macha.
"Thanks, but I don't need it." She replied handing him the bottle. He pocketed with a shrug, never judging, always accepting in that way that only he could be.
"Coming?" She asked Hancock.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever you need."
Macha turned her back to the chems and walked into the rain.
"Up ahead."
Hancock understood her gesture more than her words with the rain pouring off his hat and threatening to enter his ear canals. This was one of those times he missed ear lobes. At least they offered some protection from the rivulets of rain trying to sneak their way into all his nooks and crannies.
He motioned for her to continue ahead as he adjusted his hat; turning it sideways so the rain ran off the turned up part of the brim instead of into his ears. Shit. Except now his nose was exposed and the rain was invading that too. God dammit, he hated the rain. The church wasn't far, its gaping entrance both full of promise and danger in the downpour. He was trying to adjust his hat when the ground in front of Macha exploded.
Bits of dirt and rocks became shrapnel, hurtling through the rain as the Mirelurk Queen rose from the depths. Massive, nearly as tall as the church she nested by, the Queen roared with ear splitting defiance at those that invaded her territory.
Macha screamed something intelligible at him, opening fire on the great beast. The queen lurched back and sent a gob of spittle flying towards Macha's figure. He heard her scream as the acid tore through Macha's protective clothing and began to eat away at her flesh.
"Hold on, Macha! I'm coming"
The shots from her laser pistol came in rapid session, flaring bright red in the night. He reached for his lighter as he watched the shots bounce harmlessly off of the queen's exoskeleton. Shielding the lighter from the rain, he lit a Molotov cocktail and hurtled it with deadly precision at the queen. She screeched in rage as the earth before her erupted in flames, her many legs flailing as she reeled backwards.
Macha was still yelling. Shouting something in the rain while back peddling, shooting the now advancing queen and lobbing all her grenades at it.
"IniKe!"
"What?!" John shouted as he approached the queen, unloading his shotgun into her sides. The grenades had made his hearing worse, dulled now buy the rain and the explosions. He barley dodged as one tremendous claw swiped down, nearly knocking his head from his shoulders.
"Mnnkeeee! Fft NNN!" She was pointing to something on the ground, closer to him than to her.
He still didn't understand her frantic gesturing. Hancock was so intent on trying to decipher her movements, he didn't see the Queen's tail until he was sailing through the air. He landed with a thud onto the hood of a rusted out car.
With a groan, he sat up in just enough time to see the Mirelurk extend its claw and grab Macha by the waste. Macha's dire warnings were cut short when the queen slammed her into the ground. Hancock watched his companiongo limp as the queen tossed her body into the tide pool she rose from. He screamed as she landed face first in the water, unresponsive. But then he saw it, what Macha had been trying to tell him. To the right of the queen, covered in mud and dirt but peeking out of the top of her pack. Mini nuke. The one she had got from the basement. It all clicked into place. Fft NNNN! Fat man. The one he had been lugging around for her since they found it in an abandoned army truck.
The queen turned on him as he popped the top off his last bottle of buffout and downed the pills in one gulp. He was moving before the glob of acidic spit came into view, dodging as it disintegrated into the car behind him. He ran, red coat tails flying in the rain and wind. Red death coming for the queen. He was mother fucking John Hancock and this bitch was going down.
He tumbled past another claw and slid on his knees to the pack, fat man already out and awaiting ammo. He battered the mini nuke into the chamber as the queen reared above him, chitinous claws gleaming in the rain to crush, maim, and maw. At this close range, he had a clear shot at her face and underbelly. He was also likely to blow himself up but beggars cant be choosers.
Hancock depressed the trigger and let the mini nuke fly. There was a terrible moment of silence where he thought the white light he saw was his body dying, but then he realized that was bullshit. If heaven existed, he certainly wasn't going there. Instead, the white light turned green and showered him with black crisp skin and entrails. Yup. Definitely not heaven.
He lay there panting for a moment, trying to distinguish his surrounding from the spots in his eyes when he recalled Macha. Macha unconscious or possibly dead. Macha face down in the water. The irradiated water.
"No, no, no , no." He chanted over and over again as he crawled to her prone form. Grabbing her by the shirt, he used his chemically enhanced strength to pull her from the water and roll her over. Her lips were pale blue, her face ashen, auburn hair plastered to her face.
"Macha!" He cried hoarsely, shaking her. After no response, he put his water saturated ear to her nose, her mouth, her chest. She wasn't breathing. She wasn't anything.
Cursing, Hancock tore away the dented chest plate, claw marks evident along the breast. Exposing her body he started CPR, compressing her chest and pressing his lipless mouth to hers in a futile attempt to get her to start breathing, the rain choking him. Nothing. No response. Again. Do it again. And again.
"Macha! Come on! Breathe dammit!" He was pleading now, much like she was just minutes ago with the typewriter. When she was alive, just a short time ago. Pleading with an inanimate object to work. Funny, kind, brilliant, and tragic Macha. Beautiful, daring, accepting Macha. Desperate for a solution that a grenade wouldn't solve.
Grenade! Like he had eaten an entire stash of Mentats, the idea was there. A crazy hopeless idea. His kind of idea. He couldn't use a grenade, but he had something with just as much impact. John fished out a syringe of Psycho and held it over her chest. Had to be right. Just right.
Praying to no god in particular, John drove the long needle directly into Macha's heart and depressed the plunger, flooding her heart with the powerful stimulant.
"Come on.. workkkk. This has to work." Seconds became minutes, hours, days; dragging by like the atmosphere had suddenly turned to Jet and even the world had stopped turning.
The she was gasping.. gagging, clawing at her chest. And it was John's heart that exploded in time with hers, lighting up as if he had been the one to take the hit of psycho straight to his heart. And he watched her, guarded her; protected her at her weakest, all the while feeling like his own heart may stop any moment. Like she would slip away again if he moved wrong or breathed too deep. Or worse, this was just a Jet dream and she really was dead and he would awake and her half smile would be gone forever.
John gave her some room and helped her on her side as she vomited up sea water. She lay there for a while, too dazed to understand what had happened as the rain poured down indifferently. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, her eyes focused on him.
"Han- c-cock?" She questioned weakly.
"Yeah?" He asked scooting close to her. He had removed his coat and draped it over her body while she lay on her side puking up irritated ocean water. It had been a futile gesture, neither keeping her warm nor shielding her from the rain at this point, but he felt better for doing it. At least it was something he could do, rather than just sit here and watch her evacuate her lungs.
"Is it d-dead?" She choked out, lips still blue and now shaking from the cold.
"Yeah. It's dead."
"Oh. G-good." She paused, looking confused. "I... I don't remember how we k-killed it."
"It's not important now, Macha. Let's just get you inside and out of the rain."
He went to help her up, but she held out a hand, stopping him.
"Hancock. Why... w-why is there a s-six inch needle sticking out of my c-chest?"
Macha stared at the flames not really seeing the fire. They were back at Croup Manor now, safe. Well, as safe as one could be in this world. For now. Until the next threat arose and the next monster reared it's ugly head and tried to kill her for no other reason than she existed. But she didn't want to... could not think about that now.
She tapped out a little tune on her ceramic coffee mug as she stared into the fire. Yankee doodle. It seemed appropriate since she was helping the Minutemen. Because that is what good neighbors did. They helped. But her mug didn't contain the tea or coffee that it would have in the past. Instead, she was finishing up a bottle of rum that had been stashed in a decrepit bureau. Aged to perfection. Two hundred years. Just like her. And she wasn't sure if she was a good neighbor anymore. She wasn't sure about anything. She wasn't even sure if this was rum. It didn't taste like rum. It didn't taste like anything, but then nothing much did anymore. She was numb, too numb from the cold, hunger, loss and depression. She nodded when Preston asked her for help, smiled when she was supposed to. Helped because she didn't know what else to do but she knew she had to keep moving. She couldn't 'relax' as Hancock suggested, because if she did.. she might never... never...
She wrapped the ratty blanket closer around her shoulders and suppressed a shudder. Her drenched clothes were laid out on the bathtub, drying as much as was possible with the continuous leaks from the ceiling. Her armor had saved her life, the queen's claws crushing it instead of her spine and intestines. Her stomach was monochrome masterpiece of purple bruise. Several stimpacks and rad aways later, and she could at least breathe without her broken ribs hurting as much. Hancock had practically carried her back.
He had told her what had happen. She had died. She had died and he brought her back. Twice now, he had saved her. This drugged up gangster who though he could change the world. Once, she had thought he was stupid. Like her fantasy about breaking the glass of the cryo chamber and saving Nate and Shaun. Because one person couldn't possibly make a difference. Because it didn't matter what you did. There was always someone stronger, faster, better, that wanted what you had and would take it from you simply because they could. But, he had made a difference today. Had saved her. Twice. Something she wasn't sure she wanted to thank him for. Not because he was a ghoul or because she was a bitch, but because where she had been was warm and safe and carefree and he had ripped her from that back to this world. This world where everything was the opposite. It was childish, but a part of her hated him a little for it. But another part was grateful. So damn grateful at another chance of life, even if it was hard and hurt. She couldn't go. She had to find Shaun and he had given her that chance.
"Hey." His soft voice snapped her from her thoughts as he knelt besides her. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine." Was what she said, when she felt anything but fine. How could she tell him any part of what she felt? This Rubik cube of emotions all jumbled inside her. He wouldn't understand. Hell, she barely understood herself.
He nodded as if he had heard her thoughts and understood them anyways. Like he knew her. She felt an irrational flash of anger at this, but buried it in her mug of not-rum.
"I'm gonna go stand watch. Just get some rest. Holler if you need anything."
She hesitated a moment, debating on whether or not to ask why he saved her. She didn't belong here. He didn't owe her anything. She was a human, he was a ghoul. They had nothing in common save survival. And even then, she was proving more of a liability than asset. So why? She closed her mind to the thought and simply stated, "Thanks. For everything."
He grinned. That strange lipless grin that made him look more human than ghoul. Almost.. handsome in some odd way. Like he was sharing a secret, and you were the only person in the whole damn universe who he told. Like you were some kind of special.
"Of course. Now get some rest. You don't have to worry about a thing with me watching over you."
But Macha didn't want him to go. She didn't want to sleep. The dreams came when she slept, invading her mind and making her relive those terrible moments over and over again. Nate frozen. Pounding on the glass. Blood splattering. His body going limp. Shaun crying and crying and the helplessness and anger and despair that had frozen her in place as sure as the cryogenic chamber had. And her heart, her heart breaking; scattering like star dust in the void.
"Hancock?" She whispered softly. He paused at the door and turned to her. "John."
"Yeah."
"Do you have...something. F-for the pain?"
His face softened for a moment and reached into his coat and handed her a bottle. Daytripper, the label proclaimed in bright cheery letters.
"Just... go easy the first time." he warned her, a knowing look in his eyes.
"Of course. It's...it's just for the pain." Her hands were shaking as she unscrewed the lid and dropped two white oblong pills into her palm.
He watched her as she swallowed the pills, as the colors of the fire become more vivid and danced before her eyes. His black gaze never faltered as the shadows that had seemed so terrifying morphed into humorous characters that laughed and played just for her entertainment. He was there to catch the cup as it fell from her numb fingers. There to drape the blanket over her naked flesh as she giggled at something only she could see. There to wipe a tear from her cheek as she fell into a deep dreamless sleep. John Hancock was there to watch Macha die twice in one day. Once at the hands of the Mirelurk queen, and once at her own hands, killing the old Pre-war Macha so new Macha- wasteland Macha- could survive.
