2287
"Damn thing keeps digging into my elbow." The Wanderer muttered as he adjusted his position once more. Fawkes was standing at his side, keeping a lookout whilst the Wanderer had the Reservist's Rifle's scope set on a certain abandoned building. It was in the center of an immense valley, similar to the pit that was Megaton, but with a solitary, disturbingly decent-looking office building.
"No signs of break in, any kind of combat. Hell, not even a goddamn Raider tag. Rads here are pretty high though." The Wanderer said to his personal green giant.
"PERHAPS SOMEBODY CONSTRUCTED THIS BUILDING AFTER THE WAR." Fawkes replied.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, but nobody has the kind of resources to do that. Except..." The Wanderer explained before hitting his forehead in a display of frustration and/or inspiration.
"The fucking Enclave. I thought we were just getting lucky with that sack of shit, now they're behind this entire thing. I shoulda known, goddamnit! Let's head in." The Wanderer exclaimed before standing with an air of profound vexation.
The Valley was steep, and Fawkes certainly had some amount of trouble moving downwards, what with his immense, grotesquely muscled legs lacking any kind of pinpoint agility.
The pair came to a stop at the bottom of the valley and they moved slowly toward the entrance of the building. A sixth sense honed by years of living in extraordinary danger was giving the Wanderer an uncomfortable sensation in his stomach. As they were moving forward, little did they know that Fawkes' grotesquely muscled legs had triggered a tripwire some time ago. They heard a low rumbling and somewhat eagerly ceased all sound and movement. The rumbling grow, eventually to deafening volume, and finally, an enormous, monstrous creature emerged from the building, completely demolishing the front side. It seemed to hold a streetlight in it's hands as some type of weapon, and looked at the duo with surprisingly small, sickeningly bloodshot eyes.
The Wanderer recognized the creature as the most dangerous, most frightening creature he had ever encountered since he departed from the Vault all those years ago.
It was a Super Mutant Behemoth.
"FAWKES, RUN!" The Wanderer yelled as he turned away, but out of fear, tripped over his own feet, as if this was some cliched horror film. He heard the hum of the Gatling Laser, and immeasurable panic struck him. The bolts were having almost no effect on the Behemoth, as Fawkes dodged every painfully slow strike from the streetlight.
"FAWKES, GET OUT OF THERE!" The Wanderer reiterated, but his companion was unable to hear The Wanderer's command, nay, plead, over the din over both the laser firing, and the roars of battle. Both his own and the Behemoth's. Fawkes was beginning to slow down, and the streetlight began to miss by increasingly marginal distances.
The Wanderer was now out of the valley, uneasily observing the contest, his thoughts now completely fried. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shimmer, then the clanking of a Fatman dropped onto the irradiated soil. He didn't have time to question this, the Fatman was loaded. He picked up the nuclear device and aimed it directly at the Behemoth.
Fawkes was getting hit now. Harder and harder each time. Then he was barely moving and the Gatling Laser was dead. The Behemoth was in the Wanderer's crosshairs, and his finger was on the trigger. He gritted his teeth and fired.
Time, sound, the world, nothing seemed to register with the Wanderer as he saw the Mini-Nuke cross its trajectory to its target. When it struck the Behemoth's chest, the blinding light occurred to him first. Then the ear-splitting cacophony of atoms dying. He was knocked off his feet and the wind in his lungs escaped him.
The Fatman was on the ground around 5 feet away from the Wanderer, but he only saw that in passing as he rushed down the slope of the crater. The Behemoth's immense body was charred, broken, and most certainly dead.
The Wanderer frantically searched the debris for his companion. Under an enormous chunk of concrete, he recognized the blue cloth distinct to that of a Vault jumpsuit, and nearby, a destroyed Gatling Laser.
The Wanderer dropped to his knees, and the Tesla Armor suddenly became much heavier than before. He heard a muted buzz and felt a hand on his shoulder. Reflexively, he turned and had a .44 Magnum under the man's chin. The Wanderer recognized the emblem of the Brotherhood of Steel on the man's Recon Armor.
"The...What the hell was that?!" The Wanderer yelled from underneath the helmet. He could see the stoic face of the man in the Recon Armor before he was kicked off, and he could hear the sound of the Magnum crack against a slab of debris.
"If you'd just listen to-" The stranger exclaimed before he was tackled by over 300 pounds of armored, Vault-Born rage.
"MY FUCKING FRIEND WAS HERE YOU CUNT!"
"I wanted to warn you, but-"
"Don't tell me, orders, right?! THAT'S ALL IT IS WITH YOU FUCKING PEOPLE!" The Wanderer furiously responded before he slammed his fist into the stranger's now manic countenance. A river of scarlet began to stream from the stranger's nose and mouth. The stranger pushed him off, and the Wanderer presented his exhaustion in not assaulting him another time.
"The...the Fatman..."
"I know, it was you..." The two shared silence as the stranger wiped the blood with his sleeve. The Wanderer removed his helmet. His light brown hair was rugged and damp.
"We'd known the Enclave was holding a Behemoth here. I was...under orders to ensure you would destroy it. You didn't disappoint." The stranger explained.
The Wanderer looked at the stranger with tired, dark green eyes. He had a look of shock and disgust.
"That's all I am to the Brotherhood? All Fawkes was? Someone to do your dirty laundry?" The Wanderer asked, barely audible. The stranger gave no answer but a sympathetic look. The Wanderer gave a chuckle and replaced his helmet. The stranger tried to get up, but winced instead. The barrel of the Combat Shotgun was aimed dead into his face, now irrevocably frightened, pleading, and above all, human. His head exploded like a ripe Mutfruit. He leaned down and looted the body. Force of habit. Barrel still smoking, The Wanderer strapped the shotgun to his back and saw Megaton in the distance. He didn't feel like walking, but his legs were moving anyway.