Recruiting Jericho is not something I regret, although I can't say our experiences together were pleasant. This I attribute to three reasons:
One, I was unaccustomed to life in the Wastes and spent the majority of my travels with Jericho discovering horrors previously unknown to me. I associate him with those discoveries. Two, his less-than-stellar personality quickly became grating. Over time, I feared and hated him more than I trusted him.
Lastly, he left me to die.
But let's rewind to a point before I even left Megaton with Jericho – a lot happened in that day of preparation, including what I consider to be the second mistake I would torture myself endlessly for. Coincidentally, it, too, occurred in Moriarty's Saloon.
I ventured in, hoping to find and thank Gob again before I departed. I did find him, naturally, behind the counter; he ignored me.
"Gob?" I repeated, a crease forming in my brow as I surveyed his work, a spotless glass he continued to focus polishing, pointedly avoiding me. He stood hunched over, his face tilted at a bizarre (and surely uncomfortable) angle. I was confused. I was hurt.
"I... just wanted to thank you again for-"
"Sweetie, what are you buggin' Gob for? Haven't you done enough?" A honeyed voice came from across the bar, and my head swiveled to pinpoint its owner: Nova, the prostitute. We'd spoken briefly, and I'd decided I disliked her the moment she denied me the information I sought, all because of Moriarty. I had no idea what sort of leash Gob and Nova (and half of Megaton) were tethered with, what sort of power the Irishman held. He was not an Overseer; he wasn't even the sheriff. I couldn't comprehend why so many people considered him important.
"I haven't done anything at all," I countered. Nova's scoff gave me pause, and uncertainly, I glanced back at the cowering ghoul. ...Had I done something?
"You got what you wanted, princess," The redhead drawled, puffing a cloud of smoke in my direction. Distractedly, I diffused some of the wispy tendrils with my fingers and fixed Nova with a hard stare. "May as well stop wasting time here. Go find your daddy," she went on. "I doubt Gob will mind – he can expect to get shit-kicked by Moriarty into at least the next year. Maybe if you leave now, Moriarty will forget a little sooner, huh?"
I felt my heart drop into my stomach, then squeeze through the rest of my gastrointestinal tract until it became lodged near my gut. It also felt like someone had taken a steel bat and slammed it against the base of my skull – dark spots peppered my vision, announcing the onset of a migraine and possibly a blackout.
I wasn't stupid. Naïve most definitely, but not stupid; I understood perfectly Nova's meaning and why Gob refused to even look at me. I could see the swelling in his face - hard to discern without the skin, but through a trained medical eye, I recognized inflamed orbital muscle and buccal tissue damage. I'd done something selfish and terrible. I'd done morethan enough.
It shames me to recall how the ghoul pleaded me to ask Moriarty directly, and how I dismissed that notion and bullied my dad's whereabouts from him with teary eyes and trembling lips. I never meantfor Gob to be punished. I told this to Nova, feeling small and guilty and wretched.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered. Apologizing seemed pointless. I wanted to promise I could fix it, but I knew I couldn't – not right now, anyway. Possibly not ever. So I turned and headed for the door, clinging to my Tunnel Snake jacket as if I might extract a drop of comfort or reassurance from it. It still smelled like Butch, like smoke and sweat. My vault suit was filthy, but Moira had helped me plate it with reinforcing material, to defend against the elements and any dangers I might encounter. Might translated into "most certainly," but I appreciated her efforts to quell my growing trepidation. Unfortunately, the armored suit could not protect me from what happened next.
My hand was on the doorknob, turning – so close. Just five seconds more and I would have stepped out and unknowingly avoided the upcoming catastrophe. But fate had other plans, and I glimpsed Mr. Burke beckon me in the periphery of my vision. I froze.
"My my, you're eager to leave town, aren't you, little girl. I don't blame you."
Nineteen years old, I argued silently, wasn't little. However, standing at a staggering five foot one, I had no room to contradict him. Instead I frowned at the man in his fancy clothes and his suede hat, saying nothing. He gestured for me to join him, his hand waving impatiently, and finally I consented by shuffling closer to his chair, where he sat reclining like a god, surrounded by an aura so palpably arrogant I could grip it in my fist and squeeze - his fancy suit, beguiling smile and thin veneer of etiquette repulsed me. I could see through his facade without knowing his reputation among Megaton. He reminded me of a better mannered Almodovar. I never liked our Overseer.
"Cat got your tongue, girlie?" I declined to respond. I think my silence unnerved him, but he maintained his chillingly perfect composure. "No matter. I have a proposition for you - because you, like me, do not have any particular ties to this... dump." He paused, in case I might finally give any indication to actually comprehending what he was telling me. I didn't.
"And there are some who would like to see this town, this... eyesore, removed off the map. A clean-sweep, if you will. We can do that, you and I."
I was at a loss. What could I have said to him without feeling utterly ridiculous? "No, no I'm terribly sorry, I don't fancy a massacre today-" or maybe "Oh, why not? All these kind people ever did was feed and shelter me anyway!" There were no words available to convey exactly what I thought of Burke's proposition. It shocked me and sickened me and I'm not even sure I took him seriously at first. His beady eyes pinned me down, but when he glanced over at Gob, banging at his radio, the spell broke and I turned tail and ran.
The dry wind of the wasteland hit my face. Dust stung my cheeks. It was just a prank, right? I wasn't so sure. I did the only responsible thing to do - I went straight to authority and related the news.
"You're kidding me. Bastard had a sneaky look to him - knew I didn't like him." I nodded at Lucas in agreement. We were standing near Moira's shop. "Here, come with me, kid. Watch justice be served."
I wish I'd just waited behind.
No - I wish I'd handled the situation the way I would have now. It was a while before I had the confidence to operate independently and to make decisions on my own. I didn't consider myself an adult then. I was just a kid, but unlike the other wasteland children, I thought I deserved to be treated like one.
I think you know what happened.
I'll tell you anyway.
I watched Lucas Simms die. One minute he stood, protecting the town and doing what nobody else was brave to do - and then he was leading Burke away - and then he was a lifeless heap on the floor, drenched in his blood and my screams. It's funny, you know. I've killed and help killed a lot of people since Lucas was murdered, but I feel guiltier about his death, as if I had been the one to pull the trigger.
Burke pulled the trigger. I told myself that for hours, for days, for weeks. I still tell myself that. What do you believe? Did I kill him, or did Burke?
It doesn't matter. He's dead. Jericho and I left the same evening.