Modus Operandi 21
The three worn-out companions stood in front of a bank of electronics. A large green computer was set just above it. A sign had been painted in red, white, and black, with an arrow pointing into the next hallway. The sign said: Uptown
"I think this is it." The Wanderer said, activating the computer, "Just give me a moment to hack it."
"Did you learn how to do that in the vault?" Phantom asked.
"I learned a lot of stuff in the vault." The Wanderer said quietly, staring at the computer screen as if trying to solve a puzzle. It was slow going. Every minute or so, he would click another button, then mutter to himself. Once he actually shut the computer down and logged back in, starting the whole process from the beginning.
Eventually he turned to Sarah and Phantom, both of whom had taken seats. The raider was actually dozing off.
"I got in." the Wanderer said. Sarah got to her feet and gave Phantom a kick.
"This should do it…" the Wanderer raised his hand and brought it down on the 'Enter' key. Sarah grabbed his wrist at the last second.
"Wait…" she said quietly, "do we really want to do this? I mean…"
The Wanderer slapped the enter key. The lights on the monitor flickered slightly and then the entire thing shut down.
"Yes," said the Wanderer. He backed away a few steps and opened up on the entire system with his Chinese assault rifle. Then he directed both of his companions into the hallway and kicked a hole in the side of the machine, where his bullets had weakened the thin metal cover. He placed a frag grenade into the hole, just to insure that noone could possibly turn the lights back on.
"Lets get moving." He ordered, leading them quickly back the way they came. "This tunnel is going to be full of trogs in a few minutes. We need to be in the steel yard by then."
They broke into a run, down the stairs and through the cramped passageways until at last they reached the ladder. The pitter patter of trog feet echoed down the passageways behind them as they climbed the ladder. Sarah was the last out and she felt something grab at her foot as she clambered out. Its grip wasn't strong enough to keep, and it fell back into the darkness. The Wanderer dumped in a few grenades and then closed and locked the hatch.
"We make for the other side of the bridge. Don't stop for anything," he said, passing his Chinese assault rifle to Sarah, and trading his modified assault rifle for Phantom's sniper rifle.
"You see, there are six types of terrain," Leo explained. The Lyons' Pride was gathered in a circle around him, listening carefully. "Accessible ground upon which both sides may maneuver freely, entangled ground, temporizing ground upon which neither side would gain an advantage by attacking, narrow passages, precipitous heights, and positions a great distance from the enemy. You are caught defending the DC ruins within narrow passages, and on temporizing and entangling ground. None are ideal for defense. Sun Tzu says that in regards to Narrow passages, let them be strongly garrisoned and await the advent of the enemy, for they will not win a battle in a strongly garrisoned passageway. To defend entangled ground, you must not give an inch, for once the enemy has attacked, they may not retreat, and so for them disaster will ensue. To repel an enemy attack on temporizing ground, you must first goad your enemy into an attack. Retreat and entice him forward, then deliver your attack when he is exposed, and on the move instead of dug in. This should not be too difficult to do given my brothers' intelligence."
This was greeted with silence as the Pride tried to remember and digest it.
"You must have been heavily involved in a war, to know this much…" Glade said.
"No!" said Leo, "In fact I am a pacifist. I do not enjoy carrying firearms, and avoid hurting anything if I can, everything from the smallest boatfly, to the largest behemoth. I would rather run than fight."
"A pacifist?" Dusk asked stone-faced.
"Indeed." Said the Supermutant, "Would that we'd lay down our arms and reach out to each other with brotherly compassion, the world would be a better place…"
This statement was greeted with stunned silence. Colvin broke it with a statement. He said, "Well now I've seen everything."
Like the breaking of a damn, the green swarm flowed like water through the streets and over the rooftops of the Pitt. The population ran, slaves and slavers alike to escape the swarm. The slowest ones were caught and disappeared behind the ocean of green. The faster ones made it to the center of the Plaza in downtown, where they were slaughtered like rats, clambering over one another trying to escape. A haunting echo of the events twenty years before.
The screams and gunfire could be heard for miles, and to the few safe listeners, they lasted for what seemed like hours.
They could be heard in the train yard, where the Wanderer and Phantom were packing the railcart with supplies. Sarah was standing a little ways behind them, listening to the noise. Tears were streaming openly down her face as memories, both past and present, collided within her. She said, "That's the second time I've watched that city burn."
"Sarah?" the Lone Wanderer walked up and placed a hand on her shoulder, "We need to move. Any survivors are going to be coming over that bridge in a few hours, after the trogs have calmed down, and I want us to be long gone."
"God Damn it!" she almost screamed at him, "Can you stop being a robot for once and show some fucking humanity? We just slaughtered and entire civilization and you don't seem to give a shit!"
"It's Ashur's fault." The Wanderer said, listening to the noise dispassionately.
"You pushed the button! And you didn't even hesitate!"
"He forced my hand." the Wanderer countered, "I told him exactly what would happen if he didn't agree to my terms."
"What were they?" Sarah demanded, trying to understand why, once again, the city across the river was being torched. What could be so important as to require it again?
"Remember my standing orders?"
"Defend the wasteland's interests at any cost to the outsiders…" Sarah parroted sarcastically, "I'm sure the wasteland could handle a few raiders…"
"It's not just the raiders themselves," The Wanderer said, "This city was keeping the wasteland slave trade going. And it wasn't just the human costs either. I've wandered the entire wasteland from Rivet City to Raven Rock, and from the Dunwich building to the Republic of Dave. Believe me, there is a finite supply of food, of medical supplies, of all the basic necessities for human existence. Radaway, for instance, is not going to be around forever. Now with the purifier, the need for that'll decrease over time. But Ashur was sending raider forage parties to take what little could have sustained us in the meantime. The Pitt was sucking the wasteland dry of food, water, medicine, and people. What little is left is easy prey for the supermutants. This had to happen. I didn't want it to end with the Pitt being scourged again-"
"Then why do it?" Sarah demanded, "I'm sure there were better options! I know you used a threat, do you always have to be a hardass?"
"It's them or us!" the Wanderer defended, getting visibly annoyed, "And yes, I do always have to be a hardass, Sarah! Out there in the wastes, there's just me! No citadel, no army of 'Wanderers' I can call on for help. I've got no family left. No friends. Just a bunch people who owe me favors. It's always favors! I operate on favors; give one here, take one there and try to balance things out. Make a deal, break a deal and always be prepared to carry a threat through to its conclusion if I have to! It doesn't excuse my actions and it doesn't justify them, but it gives me credibility, which is far more useful."
"Some actions need justification." Sarah said angrily.
"I gave you my reasons," the Wanderer, "I'm sorry if they aren't good enough, but…" he shrugged and looked at the ground, "they're all I have. Now can we please get out of here?"
They sat on the cart, watching the small dwindling speck of light fade into the blackness. Phantom had cured up on one of the blankets and was taking a nap. Sarah looked across the cart at the Lone Wanderer. His unreadable eyes found her own. She sighed, "Your shield is up again."
He frowned, "my shield?"
"Yeah. That stupid wall you always put up when you're dealing with the rest of the world. You said you had no friends and it's a small wonder…"
This comment seemed to confuse him more than anger him. "What do you mean 'small wonder'?"
Sarah thought for a moment, "you aren't too good at being friendly and personable. I guess…"
"I spend almost all my time around people and creatures that are trying to kill me. What do you expect?"
"I expect you to open up sometimes." she told him. "I expect you to talk, occasionally."
He stayed silent, watching her with a puzzled frown.
"Tell you what," she said, "I'll start. Do you enjoy it?"
"Enjoy what?"
"This whole…thing you've created. This Wasteland cleansing badass? Being the Lone Wanderer? Don't you want any more out of life than that?"
"I learned a lot of hard lessons when I walked out of the vault." the Wanderer told her, "One of the first and most important of them was that life isn't about what you want. it's about what you can deal with. And I can deal with more than most, so I get shouldered with more than most ever do."
"You could stop."
He laughed, "And then what? Watch the raiders and the supermutants tear apart my father's work. Everything he sacrificed so much for? Watch you and the rest of the brotherhood slowly get killed off trying to do it all by yourselves. No, I don't enjoy any of it. I don't enjoy doing this, or being this, but someone has to. And I'm not going to let my dad's work go to waste."
"So it does bother you. What's the worst part?"
He stared hollowly into the tunnel behind them, "The part scares me more than anything else is what'll happen if I succeed."
Sarah stared. The revelation had completely blindsided her. "What do you mean succeed won't that be good?"
The Wanderer stared down into the tunnel. "I don't want to talk anymore."
"Too bad," Sarah replied, almost being smug, "you brought it up. What scares you about the wasteland being clean, free and healthy?"
The Lone Wanderer didn't answer.
"Why would you say that if you didn't want to talk about it?" She asked, crossing her arms, "you know what I think?"
"What?" he snapped.
"I think you do want to talk about it, but you don't know how. And even if you did, no one out here is friendly enough to give you the chance." Sarah knew she had hit her mark. She could almost see the cracks appearing in his stoic armour. "So what is it about success that scares you?"
"Stop it…" he said quietly, but in his tone, she recognized the same pleading which she had plied Ashur with during her short stay in Haven. To much ground had been explored, and Sarah found that she couldn't' go back now if she wanted to. She didn't want to anyway.
She said, "Let's explore the idea, shall we? The wasteland is free of slavers, raiders, supermutants, the talon company… we have clean, fresh water. And out of clean fresh water has come clean, fresh, radiation free crops. No more need to scavenge for food…we have a centralized government, order and prosperity…and where are you?" her face fell as the realization hit her, "…you aren't there."
"Where in the civilized world is there a place for the Lone Wanderer from vault 101?" the Wanderer asked quietly, "can you imagine me as some kind of politician?"
"No." Sarah admitted, "not with the way you negotiate."
"I'm a weapon." he said. To her own shock and surprise, Sarah saw that his expression was one of pain and loss deeper than any she'd seen in the Brotherhood. He wasn't crying, but it was a close-run thing. "I'm a tool. A fucking mop is only used when there's a mess on the floor. I'm a human version of liberty prime, and I act the part because I can't even remember how to act any other part. The wasteland drags me out when I'm needed but what happens when I'm not? I don't have any friends or family …no reason to exist…I'm trying to make the wasteland a better place. Back in the vault, there was never any danger of getting shot at! People were allowed to live and learn and laugh and grow without having to look over their shoulders. That's what my father wanted for it."
"If you lose, you're dead. If you win, you're obsolete," Sarah nodded, watching him closely. He was cracking. The feral blue eyes were very nearly gone, and she began to see, underneath the red bandana, the weapons, behind the feral blue eyes and the silent stoic attitude, a scared young man.
"Y'know," he said, "what'll probably happen is that I'll move west. I'll keep getting pushed back, solving the problems on the outskirts until one day some lucky fucker gets a lucky fucking shot. The wasteland'll swallow me up, bones and all. I'll bleed out in the middle of some sun-scorched desert without a friendly soul around and noone'll even have known my name."
"What is your name?" Sarah asked, aware that the question only emphasized his point.
"It's Jason," The Wanderer said bitterly, "Jason Howlett. Thank you for asking. You're now the only person in the wastes who knows."
Sarah stared at the newly christened Jason. The name didn't fit him at all. She expected something more badass or exotic, like Dante, Damien, Marcus, or Magnus. Lance, even, Perhaps an angelic name like Gabriel, Gideon, or Michael…but not Jason. It seemed too…normal.
"When I die," the Lone Wanderer said, "when the wasteland swallows me up, it'll be the Lone Wanderer who dies. Jason Howlett never existed in the first place."
"You're a member of the Brotherhood, though!" Sarah argued. "We'd care if you got killed."
"Really?" Jason stretched his shirt down to reveal a well-muscled chest. "Notice anything missing?"
"Hair?" Sarah asked, trying not to smile.
The Wanderer's- no, Jason's jaw dropped. He sighed and stared at the wall, an amused look plastering itself on his reluctant features. Sarah realized it was the first time shed ever seen the man smile. Sure, he often did the 'battlefield smile' after performing a particularly difficult shot, or finishing the fight to find that he'd come through yet another battle unscathed, but a smile of genuine amusement at a harmless joke was something foreign to him.
And right then it was changing from an expression of genuine amusement, to one of genuine sadness. "A dogtag," He said, "I was last at the citadel a few weeks ago. You weren't there, but I shot two bottles out of the air."
"I've heard the story," Sarah said, "Dusk hates you for that, you know."
"She can get in line," He said absently, "Anyway I was last at the citadel a few weeks ago. Then I left."
"And?" Sarah asked.
"And what?" Jason shrugged, the steel wall behind his eyes seemed to have faded, "You guys went about your business. Three days passed. And you guys went about your business. Weeks passed, and not even Three-Dog commented that I was gone. He just re-ran old broadcasts. You've got the entire brotherhood of steel out looking for you. The Lyons' Pride, Gallows, your dad, all the rest, I doubt they're ever truly going to stop."
"We have a three-day rule," Sarah said, "After that, we have to stop searching."
"That's three days more than anyone's ever bothered to look for me." Jason said. Normally that comment would have annoyed Sarah. It would have sounded whiny, but under the circumstances, it hit her where it hurt.
"Well that's because you're the…" Sarah stopped, fully aware that her words were only going to exacerbate things. But she found she had to continue regardless. Nothing could be resolved until the depths of the problem had been fully explored. "…The Messiah. The Wasteland Savior…Last Best Hope for Humanity. You are an unkillable, unstoppable wasteland cleansing machine. And you know what, the Brotherhood believes it!" as she spoke, the man seemed to almost physically shrink, drawing himself inwards, as if afraid of the titles, "You're the one person in the wasteland who doesn't need help. The one person we don't have to worry about. All the rules about living in the wasteland: always travel in groups. Be heavily armed. Everyone's lost someone…those don't apply to you. You go to places where human beings can't go, and you always come back."
"I have lost someone," his voice was soft and frail.
Sarah had to wrack her brains to remember who, and then felt ashamed when the answer surfaced: His father.
She had no idea how she'd react if her own father were killed. It was impossibility, though some of Ashur's threats had made her dwell on the scenario. Her father had always been there, and would always be there. The idea of him not being there was as unfathomable as the surface of the moon. The Wanderer had probably felt the same way about his own father.
The Wanderer had gathered himself inwards, his arms around his knees. He wasn't looking at her, but was focused on the ground.
Sarah quietly rose, walked across the cart, and sat beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders. She laid her head against his own, "I know your name now, Jason."
Okay, so I wasn't entirely content with the last chapter. It got across a lot of vital ideas I am still determined to get into this story, but the wanderer as I write him is a lot more subtle, and a lot harder to crack than that. Especially when he showed no signs of guilt beforehand. He wouldn'tjust pour his guts out like that, so I decided to do a rewrite and stretch it out a little longer…I think I like the result better than the original. As for the age issue, I've decided to ignore it completely.
From a reader relatability perspective, it may not have been a good idea to give him a name, but for the LW/Sarah Romance, it was a major breakthrough which needed to happen. I'll still refer to him as The Wanderer, because it's honestly better that way. Besides, I'm hoping that romance-wise, it'll pay off later in the story.