Aim, fire, bash; aim, fire, crush; aim, fire, rend—
Searing pain, armor takes the brunt of it, but it still burns; must protect, obliterate every threat, must protect, blow them all to bits, must protect, kill everything.
A stimpak pierces his back, the familiar sting and the hissing sound of the cylinder emptying a comfort, a reassurance: she's alive, she has his back, he's kept her safe.
The pain recedes, only to be replaced by a new burn; though it, too, heals near-instantly.
The liar slaps a stealth-boy onto his wrist, making a break for the back of the room and aiming for the higher ground of the balcony that makes up the observation deck. This attempt to assist wins him no favors in Charon's mind, however, since he'd insisted on this catastrophe in the first place. Three fighters to clear out an entire complex packed to the brim with synths, every one armed with superior laser weaponry straight from the vaunted labs of the Institute? Insufficient.
Still, they press on.
The few pulse grenades in Shana's pack have been exhausted and she's down to three stimpaks; Charon is out of frags with only two pre-loaded ammo drums remaining. Shana has switched to her 111 Special because she can't get close enough for Widowmaker to be effective, but even with them fighting back-to-back as they often do, the sheer numbers the synths are bombarding them with are simply too overwhelming.
He feels her pack dragging down his back to his legs as she sinks to her knees, the pack shifting as she takes it off and slings it in front of her to dig through it. "Mine time!" she calls back to him, tapping his left ankle to indicate the intended direction of her minefield. It takes her twenty seconds to set it up, during which he blasts and tears apart no less than four synths that wander within range.
He feels her stand and tap his left thigh, the silent order to retreat behind the mines tugging sharply at his mind. He follows her through the only hole in the line, which she immediately fills with the plasma mine she's already prepared, handing him a cluster of frag grenades just a moment later, nodding to the archway they've just retreated through. He yanks the central pin, activating the cluster and chucking it cleanly through the gap, into the thickest of the enemy opposition.
The resulting explosion is satisfying, but that elation is short-lived, as the first of many synths begin to make their way through the entryway, obliviously stepping over their fallen brethren to reach them, synthesized voices calling out in a mockery of life.
Shana arms a trail of mines as they retreat backward down the hall, shoving her remaining frags into Charon's empty hip pouch, along with two stimpaks. He knows better than to argue with her, despite his instinct to shove one of them right back at her. He lays down cover fire as they move and she works, doing her part to cover their retreat.
By the time they finally round the corner at the end of the hall, and the explosions stop, even his keen hearing doesn't pick up any sounds of metallic feet treading the floor. He cautiously peeks around the corner, noting the last three intact mines and the trail of utter devastation beyond them. A final explosion from the main control room sounds before silence dominates their senses. He turns back to her and points to the mine in her hand, holding up three fingers and nodding toward the hall.
She confirms his count, putting the mine back into her bag and slipping into position, waiting and trusting his signal to advance.
He nods, rounding the corner first and waving her forward when he sees nothing in the hall has changed since he last saw it. In short order, the remaining mines are disarmed and stowed in her bag. They repeat their cautious clearing habits as they round into the control room, though they prove futile, if still necessary in the end, when they find the now visible liar giving them the 'all clear' signal from the balcony, followed by a thumbs-up.
Charon greatly wishes to rip those thumbs from the liar's hands, only keeping himself in check with the knowledge that Shana would likely object. He settles for curling his lip in a sneer and growling at the man, keeping a free-flowing rant of grumbled curses and desires to maim the liar going as they make their way past the blasted and scorched synth parts strewn about the room and up the stairs.
As they mount the stairs, he mutters aside to Shana quietly, "I would very much enjoy it if you would allow me to punch him—several times."
Shana snorts and giggles softly, trying to keep it down unsuccessfully. She grins up at him, before she's overcome with—mostly—silent laughter, bringing one hand up to cover her mouth, the other to grip his arm for support as she tries to keep herself from doubling over. It takes a few moments for her to compose herself, but when she does, she tries to eye him sternly, though the effect is ruined by the smile that refuses to completely die. "No, Charon. We need this guy, remember? Besides, he's proven useful so far. Give him a chance."
He sighs heavily, but nods and leads the way into the room in reluctant silence.
Deacon glances toward the General as she approaches, his animated, highly embellished recounting of their epic battle for the Switchboard pausing only long enough to offer a rare respectful nod before he continues.
He carefully avoids even peeping in Charon's general direction. If the ghoul scared him before, he's absolutely terrified of him now. The things he watched him do to those synths...
Deacon has absolutely no doubt that if the ghoul's opponents had actual organs and blood, he would relish disemboweling and spilling every last drop from them.
He does the best he can to suppress the full-body shudder that threatens to surface and mostly succeeds.
By the time the General and her now-reunited posse reach he and Desdemona, he's completed his tale.
When the General confirms every ounce of the grandiose tale he's given Desdemona, even tacking on a subtle enhancement of her own, he can't help the smirk he quietly tosses her way. Hot damn, a woman after his own heart, all around.
As she returns his sly simper, his hope for the Railroad—and by extension, the Commonwealth—soars.
Notebook entry, November third, 2287:
Well, that was a clusterfuck.
We'd gone in having a small idea what we were getting into, but nothing had prepared us for the horde of synths that greeted us in the previously abandoned bunker. Explosives saved the day, but only just, and I am left with mixed feelings on the Railroad, as a whole.
Desdemona and Carrington are both unmitigated hardasses. It makes sense for Desdemona; she's the leader, she has to make the hard decisions. But Carrington? Maybe he's just jaded. But if that were the case, all of the agents would be every bit as weary. Maybe he's just salty about Des getting the leadership instead of him. Long time to hold a grudge. He does seem loyal though, despite whatever resentment he might hold.
Glory's all badass, just like Fahrenheit. I should introduce the two. They'd either end up killing or fucking each other. Maybe both. Hmm... scratch that, probably safer for the rest of the 'Wealth to keep those two atom bombs separated.
Drummer Boy tries really hard to fill a lot of shoes. I feel a bit sorry for the guy, but he definitely does a good job, with what scattered, sparse resources he has.
P.A.M. is... really something. I'll have to dig into that enigma later.
Speaking of robots and computers, I did a bit of digging on the consoles around H.Q. when I could get a moment alone with them, found some interesting bits, but they keep their records surprisingly clean, despite initial appearances.
Tinker Tom is a complete nutter. I really like him. He's just the right mix of brilliance and eccentricity and paranoia that I'd expect to find in an organization like this. And he truly is brilliant.
...I talked with him about Nick's situation a bit. He wants me to bring him in to see what he can do.
I'll bring it up with Nicky when we get home if he's around. I hope he is. I'd like to bring him along on the trip to the Glowing Sea we've got planned if we can get Kellogg out of his head. Really, I should've done it ages ago, but I've been putting it off, for him. It's him Kellogg possessed; it should be him that gets to help me make use of the information that put him in that state.
Deacon though... now there's an intriguing nut to crack if I've ever seen one. I have a sneaking suspicion that he was mentioned more than once on the records, though under another name. If I'm correct... well, let's just say, I'm not going to stop calling him Johnny anytime soon. I just might be adding a 'D' initial onto the end sometime later, see his reaction to that.
Apparently, he's joining the ranks of my companions. At least, that's what he insists on.
Not really sure how I feel about it, yet.
Sure, I swap out the people traveling with me sometimes, but there's my companions, and there's my pack, and I'm not entirely certain he'll ever make it into the pack. Maybe he will. Could surprise us all.
Charon hates him. Cannot stand the sight of him. It's hilarious. He grumbles more than I've ever heard him before about Deacon traveling with us, and when I catch some of the things he's grumbling it's everything I can do to avoid busting out laughing. Sometimes I just can't help it and I end up looking even crazier than usual, but I pretty much don't care by that point. Too funny.
John's ambivalent, but he definitely doesn't trust him; nor should he, in my opinion.
Mac doesn't openly oppose him, but I've caught him eying the guy with something between annoyance and curiosity. Not sure what to make of that and I haven't had time or gumption to ask him yet.
Deacon gave me this little folded slip of paper that supposedly has his 'recall code' inside it. He claims he's a synth. I have my doubts, but he does rather enjoy Fancy Lads. Not that this in itself is any kind of damning evidence of any sort, but I know for a fact that synths love sweets, and especially have a particular fondness for those little snack cakes. But he's always lying. He was lying about something when he handed me the paper, though I'm not sure whether it was regarding the paper itself, or him being a synth.
I haven't read it yet, either way. Don't plan to.
I can tell when he's lying, but he couches the lies in truths and spreads them out throughout the tales he tells, so it's really, truly difficult to pick out the precise point that he's falsifying.
When he's not spinning stories, he's gathering information; picking up tidbits that are not only useful to the Railroad but to us as well. Naturally, he keeps things to himself when it's something the Railroad alone needs to know. I've caught him more than once slipping off to a dead drop with a ciphered message.
The frequency of his disguise swapping is frankly hilarious, but it is occasionally extremely useful.
In combat, he's a lot less hardy than the rest of my crew, but he knows his way around a rifle and really likes using stealth boys. And explosives, surprisingly. He rather enjoys traps and alarms of all sorts and has an excellent mind for strategy.
He's good at what he does, I'll give him that.
Still, it'll be a while before I get a proper bead on him.
Charon's just as stumped as I am; though he can tell when the man lies just as easily, it's pinpointing the lie that we're losing our focus on.
We'll figure it out.