Hey guys. Just had to edit the last chapter, a promise I had to keep. It's hopefully smooth sailing from here on out.
O
Amata looked around the land. She could barely describe it. It surpassed her knowledge of her entire life. She thought it would be a little better than this, though. After two hundred years, some flora would have to appear, right?
Wrong.
As she looked around for the umpteenth time, still barely belieing it. Arid, unforgiving, treacherous, and dead. Just death all around. It made her well up all her emotions she had felt in the Vault and view upon them as petty notions compared to what the Wasteland had seen. You'd think Amata, of all people, would cry and try to do something. Something to help a little kid, or an old man.
A superficial notion to lessen her guilt of her Vault life.
But she felt nothing. Just as empty as the miles around her. How could she feel? When she was with me, she could distract herself. But now, flanked by two Enclave soldiers, she could do nothing to ebb the Wasteland's pain.
"God..." She whispered, as if it were a great beast that was calmly letting them go by, and if awoken, would swallow them whole, "I can't believe this. Who could survive out here?"
The soldier on her left decided it wasn't retorical. "Only a brave soul. A brave and really fucking stubborn soul."
Amata sighed. "Well, Al was definetly one of those."
They continued, all three in armor. One was wearing armor that had nodes on it, sprouting from it like fungus, transferring power in green sparks. He held a similar weapon, dark in the metal, but with green tubes and lights on it. She thought she saw the armor's sparks jump to the weapon every so often.
She hated the helmet, so instead of that, she was allowed an Officer's hat. She didn't tuck her hair under, and it was still comfortable. It shielded her face from the glaring sun, giving her some needed shade. She'd only been outside of the Vault once. And it still wasn't any easier. No wonder Al always wears his hat and shades! She thought. She smiled for a half moment then it subsided, remembering that he may be terrified in his place.
She was thankful, however, for the suit's air-conditioning. The last time she was out and about, in her security armor, she theorized that you couldn't get that wet in a pre-war ocean. Now, it was bearable, even though the suit was abit heavy. She knew it could be much worse, if the joint servos weren't working. She'd listened to rumors of Enclave troops running out of power, and their armor locking down.
They have a word for troops in lockdown without a team: Guai Bait.
O
Hollow looked at my unconscious body, having propped me up on a chair. He, through his gold visor, tried to make sense of what happened to me. Every week since I was inside, they'd taken me in for the question. Why was I working for people who tortured me. Maybe I was under pain of death? Hollow shook his head. That'd never stopped me from doing what I want when people said they'd kill me.
Perhaps they had threatened to let Talon Company have their way with me, or some raiders. Hollow made a disbelieving face behind his gilded eyes. No way could I be coerced from some petty thing like that. I didn't care about what happened to me. I know exactly how much punishment my body can take. Hollow looked up at one of his cieling lights, head cocked slightly.
It was tough thinking. But, unfortunately, Hollow isn't exactly the smartest when it comes to psyology. He can tell you exactly the way a mark will move, where he'll turn his head, and what his buddies will do when he takes the shot, but beyond that? Nada.
Hollow sighed, a barely audible noise. And it still hurt him. What happened before he became an enigmatic Soldier of Fortune was he worked for slavers. he refused to do a job one day, and they beat him almost to death and forced him to drink bleach and amonia, leaving his throat scarred and ravished. He can't utter a sound without a sharp, agonizing reminder of his sins.
He's lost in thought, but his mind forces him to focus when he hears a noise coming from my direction. He snaps his gaze up, arms still crossed. He leans forward innoticably, unsexressably intent on learning how I'm faring.
"Uhn..." I groan, shifitng left and right, my head lolling to one side or the other. My eyes flutter open, my mouth hanging down a little. "Where...Where am I?"
Hollow almost spoke to me, but he knew it'd hurt. He chose his preffered method of conveying his wisdom to the wastes. He leaned over, uncorssing his arms and picked up a clipboard and pencil, and scribbled down a few words. The noise of the board agaisnt the pencil was faint but reminded me of...something. A time...I don't know. I forced my eyes open as Hollow turned it around.
A Safe Place.
That's what it said. Hollow was the most taciturn man I know. He didn't say anything unless it was vitally important, and even when he was wriitng he didn't wirte much. But it sort of gave me some relief. If this black-clad giant wanted me dead, then I'd be dead. Maybe he was freinds with Mrs. Ananda, and this was a safehouse. That was probably it.
"Okay...I'm fine. You can get me a gun and I'll get on with my mission." I stated, still in an amount of pain. I eyed him gratefully, but he shook his head. "Why not?"
He crossed out the words he just wrote, them being on the top of the page, and scribbled another sentence.
You're not well. They've tricked you.
I made a skeptical face at that. "Why would thye lie to me? THey're my friends!" THe man shook his head no. "Look, I need to get people to Paradise Falls to get rehabilitated. It's very important that I do this!"
He shook his head no, then took his pencil and tapped his newer words three times. I was getting annoyed at this. "What do you want?" I yelled at him, then apologized for that. It was rude to yell at people. He didn't react, only rolled his head.
Then he flipped the paper over. He looked at me straight in the eyes, and then I heard that noise again, that even, cardbaord-y scratching. I averted my eyes first, something that, if I was in a right state of mind, I'd never do. He turned the board, and I saw it.
You're not the real you.
My eyes widened, and I froze up. My dream's words came back to me. I wasn't being true to me. If this guy knew the true me, then I think I should trust him.
O
Amata and her group found Megaton. But, rather than waltz in and have a meet-n'-greet, they gave it as wide a berth as the Black Plague.
"We're not really welcomed there. Dirty propaganda from 'Three Dog'," the Enclave trooper spat as if the very name was a poison, "Made us look like terrorists, eager to cut someone up just for the fun of it. We're trying to remake America, but no one seems to realize that the ends justify the means."
Amata hummed a response. One thing I told her when I returned was that the ends rarely, if ever, justify the means. Even if one could obtain world peace by wiping out the human race, nuking the planet doesn't justify it.
So they were heading north, towards Arefu. It was silent. Amata had suspicions of the Enclave, not just because I did, which helped, but because they were obviously lying to the sheltered Vaultie. It angered her to be treated like a sheltered infant. She thought she understood the hardships, the pains of living in a nuclear apocalypse, but she didn't. At least she's getting an easy transition for her second go. I didn't get an easy ride no matter what I did. She's getting armed gaurds who have formal military training, and a good sense of impending danger.
And you know what I had? I had my wits, my smarts, and my hat.
She's also wearing advanced power armor . I had a slightly armored jumpsuit. Didn't even cover the chest. Then I bumped up to leather armor, and used a lever-action rifle and a double-barreled shotgun, a combat knife, and a .32. It was better, but not good enough. I could get into cover faster, but if they took me by suprise, I was fucked. So I moved up to metal armor, outfitted with an R91 "Backtalker", a sniper rifle, my .44, and, once again, a combat knife. It gave me the kind of portection I wanted, but I learned the hard way that you can't commando roll out of the blast radius of a grenade whilst in a scrap metal suit. But before I found my trusty suit of combat armor, I moved up to power armor. I figured that I'd never need to dodge if I was a tank. By that point I was deadset against the Enclave, and fond of their weapons, so I used a laser rifle, a minigun, and a ripper, and a 10mm SMG.
I upgraded to their Tesla armor, and swapped my laser rifle for a plasma rifle. I like the recoil on it, it helps me pace my shots. And helps me relate back to lead-spitters. I was back to a...calmer state of mind, so I was back to two rifles, a combat knife and my .44. I was hellbent on revenge, and I almost lost myself. Sarah helped make sure I didn't self-destruct, or worse in my eyes, harm innocents.
That was my worst worry. People getting hurt around me. It's why I worked alone. It's why only so few people can only say they know me on a personal level.
But I'm not important right now. What is important is what happened to the Enclave soldier on Amata's right flank. As they walked north, one of them mentioned how Paradise Falls used to be a slave trading outpost. The main HQ of it all. But I cleared it out. I hoped that it'd become a refuge for wastelanders to congregate and thrive, but no, a new batch just had to come in and take over. Of all the bullshit that goes on...whatever.
About fifteen seconds after he said that, Amata realized that I wasn't being held there or my safety, but, as in a game of chess, to pin down the most threatening piece to futher the offensive. Three seconds after that, the Tesla armored soldier had his throat cut open by a .308 round fired from a football filed's length away. Even though it lost momentum, the shot was so precise that it tore through the plastic covering his neck and tore out through the back of his neck, keeping his spinal cord intact.
So he felt everything. His blood draining, the bullet, the entrance and exit wounds.
Hollow shrugged. He supposed that was merciful. For what the Enclave deserves, Hollow could've done much, much more painful. Maybe a shot to the gut, then legs. No. Kneecaps. Both of them. Completely crippled. It's like lockdown, but worse. And you remember what the call lockdowned soldiers, right? Guai Bait.
I might not have done the same. I have the courage to say so. I know, that after I let Col. Autumn go, it was the greatest feelings of relief to forgive. It's what my dad would've wanted. But I know that I may not be able to forgive again. And that scares me. Because if I hurt someone that shouldn't be hurt, then how could I forgive myself?
The still combat-capable Enclave soldier raised his rifle and crouched, searching the northern rocks for the sniper. He actually passed over Hollow's spot twice, but due to the advanced Chinese tech in the stealth suit, they'd never find him. But he could see them. This time he went straight for the kill. He took a shot at the head, and even though it didn't kill him, it hurt like hell. He fell back, a hand to his forehead. There's a weak point undeneath the breastplate of Enclave armor, and at the angle Hollow had, he simply shot a round into the man's stomach.
He would die quickly from the internal bleeding after that point. Amata, however, was hiding behind a rock. She was completely petrified. Where did he come from? Who was he? How did he do that? The best marksman she knew was me, and I, to her knowledge was stuck in Paradise Falls "For my own protection." Man, if only Amata wasn't so damn trusting...
Hollow saw that this last one was scared. His first, primal instinct was to go in for a kill. His hand unconsciously slid towards his knife. As he felt the hard, familiar, comforting, handle of his blade, he shuddered and pasued. He looked down, ashamed, angry at himself. He vowed never to kill in anger again. Never to kill without cause.
Memories flooded him. The people, the dozens of people he had brought to slavery. Their faces looked to him in fear, anger, disgust. He cared nothing for them. No. He was angry at them. Angry for being weak. The weak didn't deserve to live under their own devices. The strong must either destory the weakness, or control it. There is no making the weak into the strong. You were born strong, or you were born weak.
Then the little boy, who stood up to him to protect his mother. How the boy reminded him of a younger time. Beneath his brilliant gold visor, a tear welled in his eye.
He stood up, and made his decision. He started following a "What would Al do" rule. And what I'd do is taken him prisoner, interrogate. He balanced himself as he slid down th hill, the sand cascading past his foot like a pre-war boat. At he reached the bottom, he ran, slowing himself. He shouldered his rifle from his back, ready for some Enclave trick.
As he rounded the rock, he saw Amata shuddering, crying, scared. He kicked a rock at her leg, and she looked up, scared. She held up her hands, surrendering.
"Please, don't kill me!" She pleaded, blubbering. She took off her helmet and gave Hollow the best defensless look she could muster.
Hollow simply stood there. He motioned with his sniper's rifle to stand up. She did, and she got the real deal of how massive he was. She put her hands behind her head. Lips quivering, she asked him one question.
"Are...are you the devil?" She was almost afraid of the answer. Hollow cocked his head and lowered his rifle a little bit. He thought for a moment, then shook his head.
"Are you...g-going to kill me?" She gulped. Her knees buckled, but didn't give. He shook his head again. She felt almost relieved.
He spoke. His voice was strained, almost a whisper, not like a Ghoul's, but like someone who hasn't spoken in a millenia. "But..." He looked almsot in pain. But he was. The slavers made sure that he was reminded of his betrayel to them everytime he spoke. "...I won't be your hero."
O
After hours of walking, or what it seemed to be out of fear of being shot in the back, Amata's legs wrapped and burning in pain. The andrenaline that flooded her was long since gone, now replaced by a timeless dread of the torture ahead. She wished that she had mad eit seem like she was going to attack the big man. Maybe he would've killed her. That would've been better than this waiting and walking.
He stepped ahead and unlocked a padlocked door. He held the door open for her. She almost said "Thank you" out of instinct, but stopped herself. She slowl stepped into the space. It was darker than the vault during a power outage. She wanted to turn her pipboy light on, but remembered the man with a .308 with a crack shot. Hollow stepped in front of her, and tapped his left arm.
It took her a moment to figure out what he was doing in the black, but she figured it out. She was witty like that. Countless hours of sherades made sure of that. She turned it on, and took a step back as she saw the extent of traps there was.
The floor was covered with them. Bear traps, mines hidden under clutter, tripwires connected to grenades and shotguns, you think of it, it was there. The way Hollow's hideout was set up was at first pulse mines and bear traps to scare off mild scavengers. Then frag mines and the tripwires with blunt objects to hurt off raiders. Next, plasma mines with shotguns to kill. If all else failed, then bottlecap mines and the grenade traps.
But the only time when he needed to replace them was when a Deathclaw managed to squeeze its way through. It was a little northwest of the sanctuary, so not many people came by. Only Hollow and I, and we fortified it to hold out against anything. We had food, ammo, clothes, armor, tools, and water here. I'm pretty sure that the last time I was here, before my brainwashing, I left a porn magazine lying on my cot just to mess with Hollow, throw him off his game.
Amata stepped cautisoly around the traps, guided by Hollow. She stepped into the room on the left, and Hollow pointed at the matress on the floor. There were two other cots, on opposite sides of the room. She almost laid down, but remembered her power armor. She grabbed her jumpsuit out of the storage compartment. She turned to Hollow.
"Mind if I have a little privacy?" She asked timidly. She knew she was in no position to be making reuqests, but he still turnd around. Once she had stripped down and redressed, she laid down on the matress, and Hollow sat on his cot. He reached over to grab his clipboard and scribbled: Get rest. You'll need it, Amata.
As Amata fell asleep her last thought was how in God's name he knew her name.
O A/N
You guys are gonna fucking hate me for this. The thing is, I've had this chapter for a while, and just forgot to upload it. I really feel like an idiot on that fuck-up. Sorry.
