She is running out of Vault 87; much as she had fled Vault 101, there are only dark shadows and clawing uncertainties down here for her now. Her footsteps echo down the empty halls, a staccato rhythm in syncopation with her own heartbeat, never loud enough to drown out the screaming uncertainty now in her mind...

Too late, she realizes Dogmeat is growling. Charon slows his footfalls behind her, and then..

A white flash. She's down, hitting the floor with a sick thud. Enclave forces in power armor are closing in….

Dogmeat must have escaped. Or perhaps he's concussed too, and unable to defend her. Charon...? She does not know if he is similarly incapacitated, or perhaps ran away. Either way, she is alone.

Abandoned.

That's her last thought before slipping into the warm darkness.

"So. You're awake. Let's keep this nice and simple. You're going to tell me the code for that purifier, and you're going to tell me now.

She recognizes the voice, even filtered through the mush of her headache. It is a distinctive, oily voice with a Southern drawl. As she blinks her eyes open, she recognizes him. A familiar, hated face, a man with fleshy features and slicked down grey hair, as if covering a bald spot.

"This is some kind of mistake. You've got the wrong person," she croaks, mouth dry and foul. He must have the wrong person. The person... the person she'd thought she was had been Charon's friend. This must be all some immense mistake.

"You really think I'm that stupid? I know you were there. I saw you." Threats, meaningless, empty—because of the knowledge in her head. She knows that much. Maybe if she plays along a bit, she'll see what happens. But there is no way she is going to cooperate with him; not with the man responsible for her father dying right in front of her.

"Why do you want this code so badly?" she asks, feeling her lips crack with the effort of speech.

He speaks slowly, arrogantly, as if lecturing a stupid child. It does little for her mood. "You know why. We can't start the purifier without it. The longer the purifier isn't running, the more people suffer. Now I'm running out of patience, son. I want that code, and I want it now."

Jinx fights to restrain a peal of completely inappropriate laughter, but it knifes up her throat, escaping in a hacking fit. She knows her hairstyle is hardly ladylike, but really? 'Son'? She's not even wearing the bulky power armor anymore—but at least she's in her skivvies, thank goodness for small mercies—and even if she barely fits an A-cup, she's still a girl, dammit…

This will make a funny story to tell… well, not Charon. Maybe Butch, if she ever gets to see him again. Or Nova; Nova would laugh right along.

Autumn does not find her coughs amusing though, so she wheezes her way towards a reply.

"The code is 7-0-4." The lie comes easily from her cracked lips. Fourth of July— Independence Day. Is today Charon's independence, free of her and the contract? Is he celebrating her death even now?

"Very well. We'll just verify that."

He speaks to a speaker device, entering the code, attempting to confirm it—and with grim satisfaction Jinx hears that they lost 'another' man. At least one more Enclave soldier is dead because of her, even if she didn't get to pull the trigger.

"Why must you make things difficult? Maybe I should start shooting. How much blood do you think you can afford to lose before you tell me what I want to know?"

Briefly, Jinx considers the calculations. From her father's medical books ('Father, father—everything comes down to daddy issues, doesn't it?' a mocking voice whispers in her head, but she can't listen to her demons right now) she knows a person could lose approximately one-third, perhaps up to forty percent of their blood volume before death. The average body contains between eight and ten pints of blood, and she is on the small side, so perhaps she could lose—

"Colonel, I have need of you!" The plummy voice on the intercom interrupts her impromptu calculations and calls away the guard dog. He abandons her with a growl, leaving her with the disconcerting voice on the speaker.

"Alone at last! I do apologize for Colonel Autumn's attitude. He has been under a great deal of stress. I'm sure you know who I am; surely you have heard my radio broadcasts?" Jinx does not reply, which is just as well; the voice does not bother waiting for a response. "I must have a word with you, my dear. I am sure we have a few things to discuss. Your possessions are in the locker, and I will unlock the way. I will unlock your restraints as well. I'll be waiting for you in my office. Please don't tarry."

Rubbing her wrists, Jinx allows herself a quick swig from one of her carefully hoarded rations of purified water. Just enough to wet her throat and lips, though she vows to take advantage of her 'host's' hospitality and grab as much water as she can. Surely an advanced technological fortress such as this should have plenty of clean water. She dresses quickly, already missing the familiar help of Charon buckling her in, reaching that last armor lock that she always has difficulty with…

Well, she can always suit up on her own again. Or go back to wearing Talon combat gear.

With that cheerful thought, she leaves her small cell.

However, after being accosted by a guard, Jinx quickly realizes who the real authority is. And she already royally pissed him off.

She does not mean it to become a murderous rampage, not really—but on her own in a hostile facility, most of the guards firing at her on sight, even the scientists running around with laser pistols… her reflexes kick in. She might not be as good a shot as Charon, but she can easily hack terminals and computers, disabling robots and turning turret systems against their owners. Her plasma rifle (thank you, Harkness, for the lovely gift) is in significantly better condition than most of the soldiers' she runs into, and truth be told… it is somewhat cathartic. Even when she hisses and nearly screams, feeling the flesh singe under the heavy metal armor. Even when she forces a jab of Med-X into herself (and here, she remembers Charon lecturing her on the dangers of addiction, telling her to lay off the Mentats… the Mentats that make everything so clear and crisp, she bet she would never have mistaken their contract for 'friendship' if she was still chewing Mentats), huddled against a bed in an out of the way set of sleeping quarters, it feels better than that shock of Charon insisting that he is nobody's errand boy, because she had never meant to treat him that way…

And then a disgruntling encounter with Anna Holt… and much against her wishes, Jinx lets her go. And loots Col Autumn's room too, slashing the bed and throwing ripped containers of snack cakes and Cram everywhere. Pouring Nuka Cola and water over the resulting mess. Just to piss him off. She'd like to say it was part of a bigger plan, to keep him upset and off-balance— but truth be told, it's personal now. Both for killing her father, and for forcing her to... what? Realize Charon had never been a friend?

She can't blame Autumn for that, much as she'd like to. That was solely her own stupid trusting fault.

The rest of the escape passes in a mad haze; she really should be more shocked to discover President Eve is only a computer, really should be throwing away that little vial of FEV as soon as she gets the chance, and really should be caring more about the layout of Raven Rock, reporting whatever scant information she can to the Brotherhood... but Jinx is flying free, soaring off her disappointment and childish desire for vengeance. To hurt the world as badly as she feels hurt.

When she finally emerges into the sunlight, blinking—so like her own frantic escape from Vault 101—she finds an unfamiliar but welcome sight.

Fawkes. Who'd have thought it?

He is blasting away with a Gatling laser, the red energy beams sizzling away at more Enclave troops. She taps her helmet, calling out to let him know it's her, and not another Enclave goon in Tesla armor.

"Fawkes!"

"My friend! I've found you at last!" he calls, grinning ear to ear. Even with the strangeness of his green features, it is a beautiful sight. Friendship. He is the first in the Wasteland to announce it, and go seeking to help her, and not the other way around?

Charon is nowhere to be found. Not that she was expecting him.

"I knew you had survived, and I had hoped to assist in your rescue to repay my debt to you," the super mutant explains, oblivious to her churning emotions. Not that much is visible through her 'borrowed' Tesla helmet.

"Looks like you've got a new toy, huh?" she finally asks, dimly aware she needs to keep up one end of the conversation.

"Yes… and a most fascinating one at that. This technology is amazing. Imagine the evil that can be eliminated with such tools!" She nearly blinks back tears at his words. He is still idealistic, as only a good person can be in this crazy world. To see a weapon, and think of the bad things that could be destroyed with it... not for personal gain or defense, but to eliminate evil as a goal in itself?

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Hopefully he'll mistake the choked sound for disbelief.

"I heard of your capture, and a little cleverness allowed me to follow your captors. I only wish I could have arrived sooner to aid in your rescue. As I owe you my freedom, I felt it was only fair that I return the favor. After all..." Here, his voice catches, bluster and cheer unable to mask the hollowness of his words. "I know no-one else in this world."

There is no need to think over the implicit offer. She has known too much loneliness.

"I could always use a hand. Would you like to follow me?"

"My friend, I would be honored to follow a hero such as yourself. Shall we go?"

Easy as that. Simple as breathing, difficult as living.

She has a friend. Not an employee.