Disclaimer: I own nada. And I have a highly irregular writing schedule. So…sorry about that. But I'm back, for now at least, and I have with me a piping hot new update, freshly laced with profanity and just maybe a hint at the villain! Anyways, thanks for the patience, and now back to the good stuff!
The halls of the consulate were a labyrinth, but the ghoul navigated them with practiced ease, leading his two guests along through its ruined opulence. Artwork hung covered in ash and dust, leaning and crooked from long years gone without cleaning. Offices were empty dark tombs, more than one filled with a skeletal occupant. Here and there the dust-streaked glass had cracked or fallen away, letting in beams of dirty sunlight or an intrepid vine or two.
Their guide called them to a halt before a small and unassuming looking door; the brass plate next to it read Maintenance. The Wanderer cocked a brow at Beauregard.
"Looks can be deceiving, my friend," came the ghoul's only answer, before producing a rusty looking key and unlocking the door with a flourish. They stepped inside, and the man had to admit that their newfound companion had been right.
The space may have at one point been a janitor's closet, but no longer. Halfway into the room, the floor gave way to nothingness, as did the ceiling. A makeshift elevator hung in the gap, a rickety looking construct of scrap metal, pulleys, and cable. The Wanderer gave a low whistle as he stepped towards the elevator. The hole extended up through each story of the building, a hastily constructed roof at its top, bits of sunlight peeking through the rivets. Downwards, in extended into blackness.
"How the hell did this happen?"
The ghoul gave rotten-toothed smile. "100 years worth of rot and one epic stroke of bad luck. A satellite destabilized in its obit, eventually fell out of it, and what didn't get burnt up in the atmosphere hit here. Took out the first two floors, and after that it was just like dominoes."
The man could only shake his head. "And I'd thought I'd seen everything. A satellite? No shit?""
"Cross my heart and hope to die," the ghoul cackled, swinging open a gate on the elevator basket and inviting them aboard with a flourish. The Wanderer stepped aboard, Mei clutching to his hand like a lifeline every step of the way. Her eyes had been fixed on the ghoul since they met him.
If Beauregard had noticed, he didn't say anything. Instead, he focused back onto the elevator, securing the gate shut before pressing his thumb to a worn plastic button. With a shudder and a groan, the whole construct lurched and began to ascend. The ghoul turned back to his guests.
"Yep, was at least a couple decades back. Some Mexican comms satellite just dropped outta the sky. Damn near turned me into a zombie pancake." He gave a wheezy laugh at this, removing his finger from the button as they reached their destination; the top floor.
The elevator's stop was just as rocky as its start, and when it finally stopped shaking, the trio exited into what looked to be a makeshift living space. Walls had been knocked down, individual offices joined into a great open common area. Desks had been lines up together into a long table that looked able to seat at least 20, a bank of stoves, ovens, and refrigerators lined up not far from it.
The Wanderer took it all in in a second. "Say, it just you living up here?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, curious.
The ghoul's exuberance at finding another American, infectious since they had met, began to dim a bit. " 'Fraid so," he answered, voice soft. "Was a time that this place was packed with half the ajagars in the city."
He noted the confusion on the Wanderer's face with a twinge of embarrassment. "Oh," he continued," right. Best we could figure, 'ajagar devata' basically came out in Hindi as 'zombie'. The name got shortened, and it stuck."
The man nodded in understanding. "Back home we just call you guys ghouls."
Beauregard took pause, scratching his chin. "Ghouls," he said, slowly, as if tasting the word. "I like it. "
"So what happened to everyone else?"
"Hmm? Oh, right." The ghoul gave a heavy rasping sigh. "It turns out immortality doesn't come without a cost, kid. Give it enough time, and all the radiation and toxins that leave us ghouls as pretty as we are rots your brain. You end up nothing better than an animal. Price of living forever."
Understanding clicked in the Wanderer's head. "Everyone else already went feral," he said, with sympathy.
Beauregard nodded sadly, his eyes downcast. "We had a pact," he said after a moment of contemplative silence. "Once the first few of us turned, and we understood what was going on, we all swore an oath. Swore that once one of us turned, the others would give 'em mercy. That's no way to live, scrounging around like a dog." Another sigh followed. "I buried the last of 'em five years ago."
The ghoul noticed at last Mei's intent stare, peeking out from behind her protector. The old soldier gave the Wanderer a curious glance. "She doesn't seem to much care for me," he commented, only half-jokingly.
The man sighed and gave his young charge a reassuring glance. "My apologies," the Gweilo answered him, offering a smile. "She's just not used to seeing ghouls. Weren't really any around, where she's from."
He decided to leave out the part of the story where the villagers would execute anyone that didn't quite look human. Would probably be for the best.
Beauregard nodded in understanding. "And where exactly would that be? And how'd you end up there?"
The man started to answer, only for the ghoul to cut him off once more. "Hold that thought," he called out, making a beeline for the refrigerator. "I got just what this story time needs! 200 year old whiskey! Stuff just gets better with age. Hell, I might even have a Nuka-Cola or two left for the kid somewhere!"
With a sigh, the Lone Wanderer resigned himself to waiting for their host. Crouching down, he laid a strong but gentle hand upon Mei's shoulder. "Don't worry," he told her, mentally shifting gears back into Chinese. "This guy is a friend, I think. We shouldn't have anything to worry about. "
Two seconds later, a nigh incomprehensible stream of profanity rent the air, capped off with a bellowed "Jesus-mother-fucking-Christ! Why is my booze warm!"
The Wanderer forced a smile. "Well, not too much to worry about."
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"I really ain't in the mood to give you a lesson on your family history, son."
Jonas leveled his sternest glare at the old caravaner, and Mikken relented at last.
"Shit," he sighed, shaking his head. "I'll give you the short version." Popping at least half the joints in his body, Mikken stretched and laid out one of the beds the Brotherhood had provided them with.
"Way back when," he started, idly scratching the scruff at his chin, "your daddy was just a Vaultie like you. 'Cept this was back when your grandpa was running the show, and not your mom. Vault was sealed up tighter than Moriarty's wallet. Then shit hit fan…"
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Jonas sat in stunned silence as he processed what he had just heard; the story of his father. The exploits of the Lone Wanderer, in their purest, unembellished, bloodiest truth. And as much as his mind was reeling, he didn't doubt a word of it. They had been there for nearly and hour, and he had barely said a word, mouth hanging agape for the better part of it.
"Mikken," he started, voice shaking. "First of all, how the hell do you know all this?"
The old caravaner gave a toothy grin. "Well, my boy, me and your daddy crossed paths a few times back in the day," he gave a cheeky smile at the next part, "and alcohol has a habit of turning folks into fast friends. We each did quite a bit of sharing and soul-searching that night. Though I'm afraid a lot of the stories are a bit…fuzzy." The old man gave a sheepish smile. "Though I could say that about a lot of nights back when I was in my prime."
Jonas felt his eye twitch ever so slightly, rage simmering just beneath the surface. "Let me get this straight," he started, between clenched teeth. "You were drinking buddies – drinking buddies! – with my father, knew his whole damn life story, and never bothered to tell me! Why the fuck not!"
He was shouting now; he knew that, but there wasn't a single ounce of him that cared. Not now. Not in the face of this.
Mikken calmly sat up and met the young man's venom filled glare with his own level stare. "Kid, cool your shit. Soon as your mother found out I knew him, she wanted to have me thrown out of the Vault. Believe me, it took every last drop of charm, begging, and bargaining I have to get her to let me stay."
Jonas moved to speak but Mikken shut him down in a heartbeat with a hard glare and a scowl.
"Shut up and listen for a minute, Jonas. You're pissed off. Pissed beyond words. All your life you've been wondering about your dad, wondering what kind of man could leave behind his son. And all the while you'd looked up to the Wanderer, a hero. A hometown hero who'd done so much, for so many. Your hero. And now you find out that those two men, your greatest hero and most hated villain, are one and the same, and you're crushed. How am I doing so far?"
Rage bubbled out from the deepest part of the youth's being. "You have no idea-"
"Oh I know exactly what I'm talking about, kid," Mikken snapped, his weathered eyes boring into his young companion's soul. "You think you're the only one in the world with daddy issues? Families get broken every damn day out here, Jonas. Your pops ain't the one at fault here, though. Your mother never gave him a chance to be a dad. He never even knew you were born."
Mikken's words hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest. "My mom…but why?" he whispered, his mouth handing open dumbly.
The old caravaner gave a heavy sigh, and kindness crept back into his voice. "Don't blamer her either, kid. She was young, alone, and scared. Thought she'd have plenty of time to tell your dad. So she stonewalled him until she thought she was ready. Only-"
It was Jonas's turn to cut him off now. "Only he moved on, and then he disappeared," the boy rasped, despondent, collapsing onto his bed as he stared up at the ceiling.
"It's a bitter pill to swallow," Mikken said as he rose to his feet and walked over to his companion's bed. "But can I offer an old man's advice?"
He took Jonas's silence as an affirmative answer.
"Family is what you make it, kid, but shared blood is a damn good point to start with. You just stumbled into a new sister and step-mother. And they just happen to be the most powerful woman in the Capitol Wasteland ad her daughter, respectively. Now if I were you, I'd say they're worth trying to get to know better and get on better terms with. Wouldn't you?"
Jonas was silent for a long time, before finally rising and facing his friend and mentor. He sighed. "Well, when you put it like that, I guess I can give the bitch a second-chance."
The caravaner gave a slight frown. Well, it was a start.
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Man and ghoul were both deep into their cups by the time the Wanderer finally began to let slip his tale, as Mei sat silent and sullen in the corner, sipping her Nuka-Cola slowly.
"Well, Captain," the man began, eyes only partially out of focus. "I suppose I still owe you a story or two, eh?"
The ghoul gave a rasping laugh. "Call me Bo, kid. Everyone does. Or did at least. And I am hankering to hear just how you ended up so far from home. Er, where exactly is home?"
With gusto, the Wanderer gulped down the last of his whiskey before pouring himself another, the warm fire of the liquor just starting to tickle his belly and mind.
"Washington D.C, or what's left of it," he answered at last, swirling the ice in his glass. Night had fallen over Mumbai, the screeches of the urban jungle's denizens lilting in through the windows.
Bo nodded in understanding. "I'm an Atlanta boy myself," he countered, pausing only to take a hearty swig from his own tumbler of whiskey. "Been up to the capital a few times though. Always liked it."
The Wanderer nodded, before giving a harsh and hollow laugh. "We were really starting to make something of it there. Clean water, no more mutant attacks. Trade was up. All for nothing."
"What happened?"
The man from the Vault was silent as the grave, his eyes roiling pits of fury until at long last he spat a single word from his lips.
"Zimmer."
End Chapter. Thanks for your patience everybody. Hope you enjoyed it. More of the Wanderer's lost years will be revealed in the coming chapters. Let me know what you think.
