A strong dirty hand picked up the battered pair of dice, the eyes distinguishable more by the indents on the roughly cube-shaped items than the paint. A breath reeking of years of booze and cigarettes blessed the unshapely objects before the hand released them mid-turn onto a piece of cardboard. The almost-spherical things swiftly made it across the board, threatening to steer into the sand, but due to the hand that gave them flight being skilled after years of doing this the dice turned around a hair's breadth from the sand and returned almost to the centre, losing speed and smoothly setting into position.
'Snake eyes!' An old man on the other side of the cardboard announced, chuckled, and spat on the sand. The hand collected the dice.
'Bullshit.' The man who threw the dice said, collecting the malformed objects.
There were more of these unkempt, dirty, stinking men around the cardboard and outside the small circle, their light rucksacks thrown on the sand signifying the presence of a camp.
'Five of them.' He thought.
One of the men was sat on the sand, leaning against a rock, sharpening his blade with a whetstone, talking to a rough muscular woman who was rummaging through her supply of bullets nearby, checking each one for something.
'Been a while since we had a decent raid.' The man stated, his voice deep and raspy, his tone confident and full of authority. 'Ain't strong enough for that really, ain't many of us left. I reckon it's just us and Shiv's crew.'
'There's Cutter too.' The woman stated, brash, as if contesting.
'Cutter's gone south, far south, tail between his legs like a scared pissin' dog shittin' 'imself over these rumours of mutants. He ain't no Khan no more.'
'Never was one, that piece of Brahmin shit.'
'They say he was there when those pissin' farmers took out Main Camp. Said he pissed his pants and ran right off 'cause he saw those weaklings shootin' at him. Left Boss behind and ran away.'
'No shit.' The woman said without interest.
'Yeah. He done us a favour though, fucked right off and took all the she-men with 'im.'
She threw him an angry glare.
'I was at Camp after the night, y'know.' He continued. 'Fucking bloody as fuck. And a grenade went off there by the looks of it. Lotsa dead folk.'
'Loot it?'
'Those pissin' dirt-diggers took all the drugs and chems, anything of value really.'
'Wish I was there.' She stated cockily. 'Woulda shown them.'
'Yeah, I bet.' The man chuckled. 'They killed lotsa good men that night.'
'Heard your brother was there.' The woman stated plainly.
'No shit that can't even take a beating is a brother o'mine. These folks right here, they're my brothers. As mean as a scorp and twice as deadly.'
'Never saw Camp after that night.'
'Aw, it was a right sorry sight, all those dead folks. In the end they couldn't take on a bunch of farmers, what a joke. See right here, here's the best o'the Khans, we're the survivors, them're just pissy motherfuckers.'
A shot rang out from the north and the man sharpening his knife flinched. Against his will his muscles relaxed and he lay his head against the rock, the eyes turning glassy, a red spot appearing on his chest.
'Fucker!' The woman exclaimed jumping up. Another shot rang out and a sharp pain erupted in her stomach. She covered it with his hand and saw blood.
'Shit.' Her knees started shaking. 'Shit, don't give up on me know you fuckers.' Pain shot out from her knees as they collided with the desert. 'This ain't fair, I want a chance, I want a fucking chance to fight those fuckers…' Her bones turned into gelatine and she fell on her side like a sack. 'I ain't even looked 'em in the face…' she thought as slumber took over her.
The old man was on his feet and behind a rock before the woman was even shot, a rifle in his hand, 'Move it, you shits! We're bein' attacked!' commanding the two younger ones.
A small cloud of sand erupted from the ground where one of these youngsters just stood as the two fell behind another rock together.
'It's coming from there!' One of the youngsters pointed to the north-northwest.'
'It's up there!' The old man pointed to the dune straight to the north. 'If those guys got any sense in 'em they'll be just beyond the crest seein' as there's barely a rock for cover here!'
'Awful quiet…' The other youngster observed. The man listened up. Indeed, their foes fired three times and stopped. The old man spat on the ground and peeked out of behind the rock, scanning the surroundings for covers these people might be using. There was nothing but sand around them.
'They got th'Sun in their eyes.' The old man observed. 'And we're in shade here between th'dunes. There's a rock here by 'ol Block, and another one on the west… Yeah, that's probably where they're goin'.'
The old man motioned with his head to the west and the two young men obediently pointed their pistols there.
'Now we wait for 'em to make their move.' The old man whispered, adjusting his position so the rock would be between him and the north-west, assuming the assailants were on their way beyond the crest of the dune to the next cover. The wide-eyed youngsters mimicked his behaviour. 'Come out, motherfuckers, I'm ready for 'ya.'
Another shot and one of the youngsters went down. The old man turned around. 'They're still to the north?' He thought as he witnessed another of his comrades go down. 'That's… insane!'
He quickly dove out of the assailants' line of fire, panting heavily after having brushed with death so closely.
'They took out four of us.' He counted. 'Two by surprise, two by… guile.' He spat. 'Shit, never thought they'd actually stay put.' He listened in to the silence of the wasteland, protected from the north by the rock, his eyes to the west. 'Shit, they can get me in 'em brackets in no time, I gotta find a way out o'this.'
His mind raced frantically, thinking about all the possibilities. From his experience he could tell that the sharpshooter to the north will stay put, waiting for him to break cover. If their places were switched he'd command some people to shoot him from the west, where he wasn't covered. But then again, he would've done that from the get-go. Or after killing Block and Skinny by surprise. These folks were using some strange tactics, as if they were amateurs.
Then it occurred to him that maybe it was just one man.
'One kinda rifle fire, all from the same spot.' A smile slowly bloomed on his face. 'A lone bounty hunter, and an inexperienced one at that… He'll stay there and wait for me to break cover…' he shuffled and made himself comfortable, 'but this 'ol man's kinda good at settlin' down and waitin'. Maybe he'll get impatient and go west, and I'll be ready for 'im.0'
A shadow appeared over him and his smile froze. There was a man right beside him, a young one in black jeans and a black leather jacket, a colour-bleached green baseball cap on his head and a pair of shades on his eyes, a 10mm semi-auto in his hand.
'Did he just walk down from up there?' He thought, incredulous.
He saw it coming, the loud bang. He thought his brain would splatter from that shot but the man opted for shooting him in the gut. The old man's rifle was kicked out of his hand and darkness crept over the edges of his vision.
'Crazy!' He thought. 'Never woulda thought of it… people these days…'
'You're one of the Khans.' The young man stated, his voice a cold block of steel. 'Seems some of you are still kicking. Can't have that.'
The old man raised his heavy head with effort and looked the young man in the eye.
'So this is how it is, eh?' He thought, almost laughing. 'He was there, wasn't he? At Camp that night. I remember 'em, watching from the side with my bum leg… not like I'd tell folks about that.'
His whole body started shivering and it felt as if every cell of him was being pulled towards the black hole of pain in his gut.
'I remember you…' He said, slurring his words. 'Now I do… The man with th'grenade.'
He strained his eyes to see him clearly but failed, his vision broken beyond repair by his own failing body, not that it would matter much longer. 'You've come a long way, kid, all cold and… merciless. She toughed you up, eh? The wasteland?'
'I've had a long life.' The old man thought. 'Forty-five years, grey and balding. Time for someone else to take my place… So cold, my body's like his voice… This generation… will be more ruthless than us.'
The old man slowly closed his eyes, slacked his shoulders and exhaled for the last time, dragging it out, riding the line between life and death. He didn't feel pain anymore, but was weary, like all the seasons he'd seen have finally laid to rest on him, hanging heavily in the air above him. He drifted off to sleep, the sweet escape from reality, constantly moving forward without regard to humans or mercy.
The vault dweller holstered his gun and checked the fallen for anything he could salvage.
'Khans.' He thought. 'They're still around. Disgusting.'
He paid no heed to the fallen save for the stuff he could salvage from their bodies. The bloody scene disappeared from his mind as it disappeared from his sight as he kept moving, as if falling out of space and time. He kept walking without any regard to that whole scene having ever existed, despite the stench of blood and death the small depression exhumed, attracting scavengers to help it fall in step with the passage of time.
The Wasteland
2161-03-19 07:57 PM
The dead pig-rat-thing was roasting slowly on open fire. Steven added a couple more branches into the pit carefully, aware of the height of the flames.
'I'll put it out when it's done.' He said, without even seeing the person he was talking to behind him. 'We're in plains right now, anyone will be able to see this for miles.'
They'd left the hills and the sandy dunes and descended onto the barren, cracked plain that signified close proximity to the Hub. They would be there tomorrow. The sunset painted the whole landscape in a tragic, unhealthy red, reminding them that the world was an open wound. He turned around and looked at his comrade, staring at the setting sun impassively.
'You okay?'
She nodded her head slowly, a motion she seemed to have performed out of the blue, it being not related to his words.
'I ain't good at this.' He sat beside her, admiring the sunset. 'Just speak, get it off your chest.'
'It's not what I want to be doing.' She said, her voice coarse, as if she was close to tears. 'It hurts to live this way, it's not what I'm meant for. Killing… those raiders the other day… I… I can't get it out of my head.' She looked at him. 'How do you live with that?'
'My advice isn't good. I thought you spoke to Matt about it at some point.'
She looked away. 'Yeah, we did. He said it's good I feel guilty, that's a virtue but…' she cast her eyes down, 'it's not doing any good right now.'
'So he basically said that the fact that you're feeling bad is supposed to make you feel good?'
'You wouldn't understand.' She waved her hand dismissively.
'Yes.'
They sat in silence, watching the Sun slowly descend and the wind randomly build up and break down lazy clouds of sand. That moment, the world looked truly burned and Sophia felt dirty, covered in the puss and rotting flesh of the world, craving for a decent bath and a life that would never let her see this heartbreaking sight again, much less wallow in it.
'What happened to the strong, observant woman I left the vault with?' Steven suddenly asked, breaking the mournful silence.
She smiled sadly, her gaze drifting to the desert floor, trying to explain, or maybe realise, what the answer was.
'That was me after seeing home. After seeing a couple of days of normal life. After I remembered who I was and what I could do. I was just confident because I remembered. But, just like in L.A., I have now forgotten it. And I really wanted to make it this time, to be a reliable companion and a fighter but… In the end, it got to me… again… this barbarian wasteland.'
'You can be strong. You are strong. You have the ability, you can be tough if you're not bringing yourself down. You just need to concentrate and let nothing sway you.'
'Easy for you to say.'
'We all have it inside us, you know. A creature that wants to survive. Some instinct that surfaces in times of need and helps us through the crises.'
'Yeah.' Her hand trembled slightly. 'I don't like that creature.'
'You can always just stop if you want.' Steven said, sighing with a slight hint of exasperation.
'And what would I do?' She replied, sounding tired, weak and helpless. 'Look around you, where can I find a place for myself around here? I'm a vault girl who can't just suddenly turn into a wastelander, to just do what it takes to survive out here and be able to live with it. The only place for me is the vault and even if I went back there and they didn't just throw me back out under with the same pretext, they'd just find another, because, ironically, Jacoren probably thinks I'm a wastelander now, a murdering bitch.'
'If you don't like your current situation, then change it.' Steven replied plainly.
'It's not that easy…'
'Anything you do changes things, you just have to do something. It might not turn out the way you want it to but there is a chance it will whereas doing nothing involves no chance of anything changing.'
'I'm too scared.' Sophia admitted, trying to sound plain.
'It changes nothing.'
'It changes me.'
Steven sighed, slightly irritated, 'I can't help you with that', stood up and paced back to the fire to roll the dead creature over, his back to hers. Sophia's gaze fell to the sand.
'Matt would know what to do…' She finally whispered.
'He wouldn't.' Steven replied, dead-pan. 'He's just like you, except he found some highly skilled people to help him out and fared better.'
She turned around and looked at the back of his head. 'You're made for this sort of a hellhole, you know!' She exclaimed angrily.
His movements froze for a few seconds and he turned his head around, a half-smile on his face. 'No, it's the other way around.'
They said nothing else and arrived in the Hub the next day, the silence of that evening dragging out well into the day.
The Wasteland
2161-03-20 07:13 AM
The lone figure approached the Hub at a cautious pace, strange thing in the wasteland where a town means better chances at surviving. The wind was dead, making the several lazy pillars of smoke that rose from the dark grey, almost black settlement hang in the sky without purpose, as if lost. The wasteland around the Hub was quiet, seemingly dead, and the town looked more like a ruin it was inside than a trading hub it was turned into.
Two pairs of Brahmin pulling two wagons, salvaged car trunks filled with goods and surrounded by small dots representing people, were lazily making their way from the main entrance north. Through his binoculars the vault dweller saw from the great distance what seemed like splattered blood on the side of the wagons, deducing they were the Crimson Caravans logos. He skirted around the caravan's trail, keeping a distance, and poking his eyes through the binoculars at the traders once every few minutes, his entire body tensing up with each glare, like an animal sensing a threat, his survival instincts kicking in more and more.
At a shorter distance he was able to recognise the smears as Crimson logos and the little ants as the Crimson guards. Tabitha and Tycho weren't in that caravan, though Matthew was able to make out some vaguely familiar faces, faded by time and more important events. He recalled, from that turbulent time he was thrashing around looking for a place for himself, a road, and the person he wanted to be, that he would be quite easily recognized, at least around the market. That was something he'd rather have avoided and that was why instead of walking in through the gate he continued his walk-around and entered one of the fields of withering mutated corn-like crops that sprawled around the town by a small path made there for reasons unknown. Mutant plants were a head taller than him and drowned Matthew in their humid embrace that filled his nose and head with the smell of living and decaying plant-life, a contrasting smell that he found undesirable. He continued along, the brushing of the dry leaves against his leather jacket almost disconcerting after days of listening to the silence of the wasteland and the wind, ready to jump into action should it bring with itself the faintest echo of a threat. He slowed down without realizing it and listened in, alert for trouble. Entering one of the safest settlements in the wasteland the vault dweller felt like delving into an unexplored cave, almost expecting to hear something like a gunshot or the squeal of a pig-rat any second.
And he did: heard a rustle in the field and instinctively ducked.
'Come on, Butch, we're done askin' nice!' An unexpectedly soothing calm voice came from maybe ten meters to his left, making adrenaline surge into his bloodstream. 'You're gonna tell us what we need to know and cooperate with us. Or else.'
'Please…' He heard the familiar, usually gruff and commanding voice of the Far Go Traders owner, only this time instead of throwing commands left and right it was quietly begging, making it sound like something dying.
'You have choice here, Butch.' The voice came again, almost friendly. 'You can be friends with me. I treat my friends fair and square. Or we can be enemies, and I have been known to loose my temper once in a while.'
A faint whimper was drowned out by Butch's frantic, pathetic yelling, 'okay, okay, I will, I will!' The voice came begging.
Matthew inched his way towards the voices and was able to make out four crude figures in the field among the plants, no doubt one of them was Butch, and the other three – his assailants. From context, Matthew assumed one of them had a hostage.
He contemplated helping Butch out but then thought it over again. He could kill one of them by surprise, maybe two, but if one of them had a gun pointing at his hostage the other two would be aiming at Butch, which meant their weapons were ready and they were prepared to react. His chances of success were low.
'You wouldn't lie to me, would you Butch?'
'No, no, I promise, I'll cooperate with you, Mr Markowitz, Sir!'
Ever so slowly the thinly veiled threats and reassuring faded out of eligibility and Matthew slowly straightened up and continued towards the Old Town which would surely be beyond this field. Another avoided conflict, another avoided bullet, that was the rational thing to do… but why was a part of him trying to justify it, wasn't it a given?
A shot rang through the field, making the vault dweller flinch but moving nothing, changing nothing, a distant shot and someone's life over.
'Could have been me.' Matthew thought, trying to extinguish that ascending feeling of shame. 'I avoided it. I did everything to avoid it. They didn't. It's not my problem. I mustn't be dragged down.' The feeling ebbed. 'I'm responsible for myself, I'll fail alone and avoid death alone, there's just me and no one else.'
He slowly continued towards the settlement.
'This is me, walking down my path.' He stated to himself with that guilt finally extinguished. 'That had nothing to do with me.'
The Wasteland
2161-03-20 06:04 PM
'So… this is the thriving hub of commerce?' Sophia asked incredulously, with a hint of sadness. 'Looks just as miserable as Adytum.'
Indeed the Market of the Hub was a filthy place, half-abandoned, with the only people still wandering its streets looking paranoid. This is not how everyone they'd met described it, and, unbeknownst to them, not how it was a mere couple of weeks ago.
'Seems they had a fire-fight recently.' Steven stated, looking at the wavy line of dots on the wall of the local trader's store.
'Dry blood over there.' Sophia said quietly.
'I'm having second thoughts about getting any information here.'
'Let's just find a place to sleep.'
An African-American woman was walking up the street in a confident, fast stride, the look on her face challenging any who would look upon her.
'Ask her for directions?' Sophia asked meekly. Steven nodded.
'Sorry.' He said, motioning to the woman. She stopped and put her hands on her sides, not that far away from the .44 in its holster tied to the belt loop of the trench-coat.
'Yeah?' She asked, as if disagreeing.
'We're… looking for a place to stay?'
'Over there.' She said strongly, motioning to an old building with the Maltese Falcon sign on top of it. 'The owner's dead, you can hole up in there for the night, though you may find yourself on the wrong end of a shotgun should anyone come to claim it in the night and decide to collect tax. But it's pretty clean. Otherwise you can squat in the ruins south of the Bank, but it won't improve your chances of not being stabbed in the night much.'
'Truly a desert oasis…' Sophia remarked under her breath. The woman snapped her head at her and gave her an icy pointed glare that made the young woman take a step back.
'We have fallen on hard times.' The woman stated, leaving no room for argument or debate. 'And we're tryin' to pull our shit together; if you wanna complain about there not being a red carpet as a welcome I can take you to a place you'll find a lot more things to complain about and take your inner bitch out for a walk.'
Sophia wanted to say sorry, but not even so much as a whimper came out of her mouth.
'Any way we could help?' Steven asked, seemingly unphased. 'We're looking for work.'
Her gaze drifted to him and adopted a hint of curiosity.
'No.' She said with somewhat less intimidation. 'Money's short, just like trust. I suggest you rest up and go.'
'Is there anyone we could ask a couple of questions to? About some of the settlements around.'
'Yeah, any damn person working with the caravans. No one's gonna give you a minute of their day though with all the shit that's hit the fan, so good luck.'
She looked about ready to walk on by but Steven spoke up again, 'Are you working with the caravans?'
Sophia silently prayed the woman would ignore her rock-headed companion and walk on by. She was unlucky though.
'Yeah.' The woman replied, even more amused. 'But I can't help you. I'm new.'
She looked Steven up and down.
'Tell 'ya what, come by Crimson Caravans tomorrow, maybe I can get someone to help you.'
'Will do. Thank you.'
The woman nodded and gave a half-smile before walking away in that same tough-woman stride.
'Are you insane?' Sophia asked when she was out of the earshot, still whispering in fear. 'Why did you push her like that?'
'I was only talking…' Steven replied, genuinely confused.
'She had no patience for us and you were pushing it! I honestly thought she was going to take us out just for kicks!'
'I did nothing to cause such a response.' He replied calmly. 'It's getting late. Shall we go?'
The Wasteland
2161-03-20 12:06 AM
The room was as cramped as ever, filled with objects giving off a stench of mould and decay, and the air itself filled with the stench of another kind of decay – a ghoul. The air was made that much more heavy and choking with the Brahmin fat candle lighting it up. The owner, Harold the Ghoul, was sat on his bed, and his guest, the vault dweller, was sat on the bench by the door again, a bottle of Scotch between them.
'Markowitz?' The old ghoul wheezed. 'Could tell you a lot about it but I don't reckon it will matter much in the long run. Just another asshole trying to get a hold of power. He's up against worse than him.'
'What exactly's been going down since I left?' Matthew asked with little interest.
'Well, Daren and Decker dyin' and Rhonda Hightower disappearin' left behind a lot of empty space and people've been rushin' to fill it up: traders and criminals alike, expandin' their businesses or tryin' to rebuild the Underground… Hard to tell which 'uns which really, everyone's been… hirin' thugs, intimidatin', extortin'… Fights even broke out on the streets…'
'Naturally.' Matthew shrugged, impassive. 'It's all predictable, within the basic laws of society.' And then he added, 'still sucks, though.'
'Been pretty rough on the people, yeah.'
'Though I don't think this area's seen any trouble.'
Harold let out a wheezing laugh. 'You'd think? First we've been gettin' people who had everything taken away from them flockin' in, fightin' over space… then we had that fight at the Thieves Guild next door and a couple more fights in the surroundin' buildings. There are a couple o'shops set up here that ain't runnin' a perfectly legal business, if you know what I mean, and they've seen people tryin' to involve them in their fights, like Jacob for one, he's a gun merchant, and everyone's been tryin' to get him on their side. He's too tough for 'em though, enough firepower to go after the Devil 'imself, and no relatives in the Hub, the man has no weakness but a shell to his shop.'
Jacob had no one, of course he was strong. Butch has someone… had, probably.
'It's a mess alright, would probably be best if Jacob's arms remained out of their reach…' Matthew pondered aloud, treating it like a game.
'Yeah, the caravans have been the only ones lookin' for peace… Well, 'cept for the Water Merchants people, they've been at everyone's throats lately. And they've got all the water, if they decide to refuse anyone from it, all hell will break lose, you mark my words. Someone's gonna be out for their blood, then someone else'll be out for their blood once the battle's over… Seen it happen before, too. How do you think that squat south of the Market is so crappy when buildin's around it are pretty well off?'
Matthew nodded noncommittally, numb to the troubles of the others.
'Far Go's been tryin' to keep the peace 'round here but they ain't got enough power to stand for long. Crimson's got their back and they're armed, trained and strong. Really the last hope for a peaceful end to this and they've been doin' their best despite their efforts hurtin' their wallet.'
Harold looked at Matthew's face looking for an expression, a hint of an expression, something to tell him he actually remembered.
'You had… probably still have… good friends in Crimson, right?'
Matthew looked at him, almost drowsily. 'Had, I guess. It's all over.'
'Y'had a fight? Ain't heard nothin' 'bout it.'
'No… We've just grown apart. At least I did. I don't know if they've ever really been with me the whole time.'
'After all the four… three of 'ya have been through?'
He felt it, a ting of guilt, maybe longing inside him, and that other thing in the shadows underneath it, the weight, the burn… the fear. The feeling of inadequacy, guilt of leading people to death, helplessness… All these things he's been trying to cope with while they were all together. No. No, he can't…
'That's how life goes.' Was his sombre reply. 'People grow apart.'
'They need you, Matthew, they really do.'
'And what good can I do?'
'You might not think it… but your presence there would be a reassurance to all people on their side and these underground types pretty much fear you. You might not know it but you have a reputation here, kinda like a…'
'Don't.' Matthew interrupted him harshly, staring intently at the stack of old magazines on the floor, as if trying to incinerate them, and making a pretty good effort.
But Matthew was needed here. It was only natural that he'd come to his friends' aid at their time of need, he only needed… some pushing. Harold didn't really want to bring that out but Matthew was really needed here.
'Besides, it can be a way for you to make up for your wrongs… in more ways than one.'
It took a second for Matthew to discover the hidden message in that and his head snapped back as he did, his eyes regarding Harold with a flurry emotion… anger, fear, shame, regret… his gaze drifted off the ghoul again and the old-timer saw it all get swallowed up, all of these emotions visible so clearly in the young man's eyes disappeared, like he somehow submerged them in dark waters inside him.
…That was not good.
'I suppose…' Matt finally replied, coarse. 'I'll think about it, okay?'
'No need to ask me.' The ghoul attempted a smile. 'It's all up to you, young'un.'
Matthew sighed, troubled and tired, his gaze still averting the ghoul.
'You tired? You can sleep right here, not like I need to sleep much anyway and I feel like goin' on a stroll.'
Matthew nodded slowly and the ghoul nodded firmly back. 'Right then.' He stood up from the bed not without effort and the man rose from the bench, seemingly a lot more tired than when he came in.
''Night.' Harold said.
Matthew looked the ghoul in the eye as he brushed by him, and the old ghoul took the chance to look in his eyes and see what he was thinking.
His eyes were ice, cold and bitter frost struggling to break free from whatever iceberg he was molten into and ride the current as far away as possible.
As the man lied down and the ghoul left a simple thought crossed his mind, 'He's not coming back.' It was a fact.
The bed he found empty when he returned at five in the morning confirmed that.
The Wasteland
2161-03-20 11:44 AM
The woman in the trench coat led the two vault dwellers through a hallway in the Crimson Caravans HQ almost lazily, showing just how relaxed she was here when compared to yesterday. She was even smiling a bit but Sophia knew better than to assume she's no longer a threat. Even the mental image of her angry glare from yesterday gave her the shivers.
The small room the woman took them into was occupied by a tired but confident-looking young woman who introduced herself as Keri Romara. They sat down, the woman and her friend on the bed and Sophia on a chair by a small table, Steven opting to lean against the wall idly.
'Keri… and I'm Tabitha by the way… doesn't go out on trips so much because she's the owner's daughter, but she'd heard all of the rumours about all the places around and she's smart enough to tell fact from fiction.'
'What do you want to hear about?' Keri asked evenly.
'Well… We're on a quest, sort of…' Sophia started uncertainly. 'We've been… tasked… to see if we can't destroy the super mutants…'
The woman, Tabitha, smirked, obviously finding the notion amusing. Sophia couldn't lose the feeling she knew this woman from somewhere.
'A noble goal…' Tabitha laughed cynically, 'and don't take it wrong, that'd do a lot of good but… really now, just two people? We've been hard-pushed to defend ourselves against these mutants and we had way more people than just you two.'
'We're trying to get some information about them first.' Steven said, seeing Sophia taken aback and unable to speak. Shit. 'Any idea where they're coming from?'
'No. Sorry.' Tabitha said plainly. 'They've been elusive. Either invisible or ripping anyone trying to find them into pieces.'
'You haven't really been trying that hard, have you?' Steven asked, making Sophia tense visibly. 'I mean, with all the trouble you said you've been having?'
'True.' Keri replied evenly, like a bartering businesswoman. 'But I think we wouldn't be that effective against them. We didn't prove effective against them earlier when we went for an all-out hunt for them, before shit hit the fan. We were just able to kill off some of the mutants in the immediate area with major losses.'
'Yeah, was a good team too.' Tabitha seconded. 'Three good fighters from the caravans, Keri here, a Desert Ranger, the… Hero of Shady Sands and... Ian.' She said the last name quietly.
Sophia's eyes went wide. 'Matthew?' She remembered now, the conversation with Matt… of course, that's who this woman was…
Tabitha's eyes narrowed. 'You know him?'
Sophia's jaw slacked, unable to find a convincing answer, and Steven thankfully spoke up before the situation became too awkward. 'Sophia here loves tales about heroes. We've been in Shady, heard about the Hero… and Ian too. Sorry.'
'Yeah…' Sophia muttered, her heart in her throat, 'You… you're Tabitha, you went… along with him on that Khan mission, didn't you?'
Mistaking her nervous mutterings for being shocked and humbled Tabitha simply nodded, already disliking this newcomer. 'Yeah, long time ago. Feels like in a past life…' Her gaze adopted a curious emotion, bitter defiance, covering… Sophia looked harder at it… sadness. Deep sadness underneath. It barely even registered to her, but that moment her mind, numbed and, after having been idle due to all she'd seen after returning to the wasteland, started up again, like an engine that hasn't been used since the bombs.
'They say the Hero… Matthew… Killed at least a dozen raiders!' Sophia smiled, suddenly experiencing a rush of courage and doing the enamoured fan role.
Tabitha gave her an angry glare that almost put a stop to all that.
'Don't believe everything anyone says.' Tabitha said bitterly, her gaze and tone threatening. 'It's not like he did it alone.'
Keri looked at her friend with a concerned look, and Sophia didn't fail to notice it. Intriguing.
'As much fun as you might be having, Sophia,' Steven suddenly interrupted, 'we came here for other reasons.'
'Yeah, sorry…' She did the scolded child act.
'Anyway,' Steven continued, 'we'd heard a few rumours and we're interested about your opinions of them.'
'Alright…' Keri nodded. 'Can't see any harm in helping such a cause.'
'We've heard about their activities in the Boneyard.' Steven started. 'Seen them myself over there some time ago.'
'Couldn't say.' Keri shrugged. 'None of our caravans ever encountered them out there… at least until the situation escalated over here.'
'Though some of the caravaners that returned said going over there was a break from being afraid of the mutants.' Tabitha noted.
Steven nodded. 'Then perhaps it isn't their base. And the geography suggests the Hub is closer to their centre of activities than the Boneyard… But it doesn't mean they have no presence there…'
'Did you see them in the ruins or outside?' Tabitha asked.
'Near the edge, from a tall building at a distance, walking towards downtown.'
'The mutants don't come even close to the town over here.' Keri noted. 'Though there's really not many differences between the wasteland and most of the Boneyard, they're both uncivilized areas.'
'Except the ruins are being scavenged, easier to sneak up on people and capture them that way.' Tabitha noticed.
'Capture?' The vault dwellers asked simultaneously.
'Yeah.' Tabitha said impassively. 'Found a dead mutant with a recording of a report to its superiors, it was clear in it that they were aiming to capture people.'
The vault dwellers needed a few seconds to chew this information.
'We've also heard they had quite a presence inside Necropolis…' Sophia offered.
'They have no interest in ghouls.' Tabitha said, her gaze somewhere far away. 'Except maybe maiming them.'
Necropolis was where her lover, Ian was killed, Sophia recalled. That's the reason for that look. But then again… there was something in the way she said it that suggested there was more than just her grieving for her lover behind that look.
'So an outpost.' Steven deduced. 'Finally, we've heard the Brotherhood of Steel might have something to do with it.'
'Impossible.' Keri dead-panned. 'One of our traders saw these mutants fight with the Brotherhood. They covet technology, nothing to do with mutants.'
'What do you know about them?' Sophia asked.
'Not much. They are very insular and trade low-tech equipment for some food. I heard they hoard technology to keep them away from others, but why exactly, I don't know.'
'But if they're high-tech, they should be able to help?'
'You can't get in. They don't even let traders inside the bunker, make them sleep in the wasteland.'
'We've got a way.'
Keri's interest was piqued.
'I've been through there once, apparently, they allow new recruits, but only if they do something for them. They said a small group of them split off and went to the Glow and they want to find out what happened to them.'
Keri frowned, 'I wouldn't suggest doing that. It's probably a way to get rid of pesky people trying to join.'
'Thought so too. But we have to try.'
Sophia couldn't help but notice how much alike Keri and Steven were.
'We can give you the location, but it's very far away and radioactive.'
'Heard as much.' Steven nodded. 'We'll prepare accordingly.'
Tabitha looked at Steven in a strange way, like she was somewhat amused. 'Do you have the caps for it?'
The two vault dwellers looked at each other. 'Not really, that's why asked about a job.'
'Money's tight right now what with us being afraid to send good men away on caravan runs while it's so dangerous back here.' Tabitha dead-panned. 'But there's one thing you could help with, and I think you're gonna get paid.'
'Think?' Steven asked, rather bluntly. That elicited a smile form Tabitha.
'Butch, the leader of Far Go traders, was harassed by one of the people causing the ruckus around here. They killed his daughter.' Tabitha said. A shiver suddenly ran through Sophia. 'He's in shock and wouldn't tell us where it was. We need someone to find the girl so she could be buried properly.'
'I see.' Steven nodded. 'If nothing else we'll at least help you by not making you stretch your forces even more.'
Tabitha laughed, 'that's sly. Okay. If you can find her.'
Sophia looked at the woman. How could she be laughing, she's talking about a dead girl, damn it!
'Butch returned to his office from the Old Town way.' Keri said. 'Stands to reason it took place somewhere around there.'
'Shots going off in there is no news,' Tabitha added, 'asking around won't do any good, probably.'
Steven nodded. 'We'll look into it. Thank you.'
'Thank you,' Tabitha smiled, standing up and extending her hand. Steven shook it, making anger flare through Sophia. 'The Hub has a way of getting a lot of kindness from strangers.'
Steven nodded. Sophia stood up. 'Thank you very much. We'll hopefully return with good news.'
Tabitha nodded, no smile on her face this time. Bitch.
The two left the office and started towards the east, seeing no sense in pushing back getting to work.
'That woman seemed quite into you.' Sophia noted, a tinge of anger in her voice. 'Figures, though. She's friends with that Keri woman who's completely cold, and the two of you are very much alike. Guess you can always fuck her and steal shit from her room if bad comes to worse.'
Steven rolled his eyes, looking irritated. Knowing him, Sophia deduced she made him furious, so they continued in silence.
The Wasteland
2161-03-21 01:27 PM
The ruins surrounding the Hub were brittle carcasses of cheap buildings that barely withstood the test of time, only sections of them surviving. One particular ruin of what was probably once a two-story suburban residential, the biggest part of it still standing was the corner of first and second story, the wall surviving a meter to the left from the corner and about three to the right, a section of the second story floor hanging precariously above the garbage below. Matthew looked over it all and turned around. Within two minutes he'd piled a couple of old tables and chairs and climbed up, hugging the wall as the floor crumbled under his feet as he jumped up. He stayed still for a couple of seconds, making sure he wasn't falling down, then he inched his way to the second story window and sat on the sill, drawing his hunting rifle and looking out east through the scope.
A pretty large farmhouse built of scrap stood a couple hundred meters away, the fields sprawling even further east. With the noon's Sun blocked by his baseball cap Matthew slowly followed the small path to the farm with the crosshair of the rifle's scope and found there in the yard a small boy, maybe nine years old. The crosshair stayed on him and followed him as he ran happily to his father, upon whose head the crosshair was focused now.
Matthew put down the rifle and took another general view of the area. There were a few guards posted around the yard, but none of them seemed interested in watching the edge of the ruins where a potential assassin could hide, like right now. He got off the windowsill and crouched on the narrow strip of the floor, placing his rifle upon the sill. He looked through the scope. The father was throwing an old baseball to the child who was trying to hit it with an old and splintered-looking bat. The kid was good at it, and it irritated the vault dweller, as every time the swinging bat of the child connected with the ball the father would jump up and run to catch the ball. He inhaled deeply, exhaled, his aim always on the father. Another throw. The man in the scope made a comforting grimace. The child missed. Excellent. The man stood up straight and crossed his hands on his chest, a faint smile on his face, seemingly harmless. That was all he needed. A second to make sure he'd aimed it right, compensated for the wind… Bang. A hole in the temple. Matthew landed on the rubble-covered floor of the first story the same time his target, now dead, hit the ground, and started fervently towards the Old Town, certain no pursuer would be able to catch up with him in the ruined district, with remains of buildings providing him constant cover.
He entered the Old Town and immediately jumped into a narrow alley, exiting behind an old warehouse. A man in combat armour stood there by the back entrance. Matthew gave him his sniper rifle without a word and quickly returned to the main street of the district, his pace slowing down to casual, his expression relaxed, somewhat tired, fitting with the dirty rags he put on just for this and the filthy cigarette he drew and lit up. Just another man down on his luck for in the eyes of any beholder.
The Old Town looked like a refugee camp, with so many people camped out in the streets, cooking meagre dinner over open fire, filthy, scared children trying to find something to play despite being stiff, affected by whatever circumstance drew their families out of their homes. Their parents eyed every passer-by with a gaze filled with mixed emotion: fear, desperation, hope, humility, and, for the most part, submission. It would have broken his heart a while back. Right now, all these people were cautionary tales, a display of what he could become if he slacked off, if he didn't do his best. It served to remind, or maybe convince him, that he made the right trade by shutting himself in.
The child.
He, or rather, the thought of him, the boy whom he just made witness the murder of his own father, was threatening to bring it all down. He felt regret, a monster inside him, thrashing to break free, break the vault dweller.
He swallowed it down.
Mercenaries in dark grey composite combat armour with a hazy "MZ" in the centre of a circle painted on their chests came into the Old Town's main street at a quick pace, obviously pissed, their heads darting left and right, looking for someone. Matthew took a drag from his cigarette and leaned against a wall of an old building just inside the alleyway. He turned his head left, and, on the other side of the dark litter-covered narrow alley he saw the makeshift wooden fence and a field of mutated corn beyond. The wind was softly caressing the stalks, as if someone invisible and incorporeal was moving just on top of the mutated crops. A spirit. A spirit of whoever he witnessed getting killed that day? That someone he could've saved?
'Hey!' He turned his head slowly and saw one of the armoured men in front of him. Shit. 'You got a smoke?'
A smoke? Matthew nodded slowly. Thank god, maybe it's just a coincidence, play it cool.
He drew the old and crumbled pack from his pocket slowly, reckoning he already appeared to the man to be a phlegmatic halfwit.
'Here ye go.' He said quietly, seemingly off in his own universe.
'Thanks.' The man said, producing a cigarette from the pack. 'Say, you haven't seen anyone come through here with some sort of scoped rifle?'
Matthew looked the man in the eye. No way was he going to slip up.
'Seen all sorts of people. Maybe seen your guy, wouldn't know. There's all sorts of people passing by these days.'
The man lit the cigarette and chuckled. 'Well, the whole town's up in a turmoil.'
'And everybody's coming here with all sorts a'guns looking for one Joe or another.' He shrugged. 'Don't matter to me if they leave me alone.'
The man laughed. 'I get the hint. Gotta protect your own piece of rubble, eh?' The man teased. Matthew sighed and looked away.
'I reckon we all do.'
'Got that right.' The man gave a half-hearted wave. 'Well I'll see you.'
'Yeah.'
The man walked away. Matthew followed him with his eyes for a while and turned his head back to the corn field, considering going in there.
'Huh,' he thought to himself, 'no sigh of relief.'
Indeed. He dodged a bullet there and for a second he was afraid the man had come to kill him for assassinating his boss. He just had a brush with death and he couldn't even manage a sigh of relief?
'Guess it gets boring when it's on a daily basis.' He thought bitterly and returned his attention to the crop field.
He threw the butt of the cigarette into the sand and stood up properly. Still time to kill before the sunset…
'Are you being serious?!' A woman's voice was suddenly heard above the rest. Matthew took a look.
It was Tabitha, approached by the two men in grey armour.
'Go harass someone else, you freaks!' She shoved her way past the two men, headed east, roughly at his direction.
'Shit.' He dove into the alley and jumped the fence into the corn field as if he was chased by the devil. Once inside, he crouched, as if she would be doing her best to find him.
She came into view on the other side of the alley at the moment the two men caught up with her. Shouts and curses were exchanged. Then Tabitha drew her combat shotgun, blew the face off of one of the men, swung her rifle and knocked the other man's gun from his hands, and gave him the same 12-gauge treatment in the face.
Matthew smiled. She didn't change.
He turned around suddenly, as if feeling someone behind him. There was no one. He turned back. Tabitha was out of view again. He turned to the field, staring at the putrid shade intently, as if mentally sparring with it. Every bit of reason there was in him told him to just drop it, but in the end his legs moved by themselves, slowly taking him to that place, the rest of his body getting ready to face it.
There was a small, perfectly square clearing in the crops, with a well in the middle, it's stonework having crumbled to the point it was barely knee-high. There were three figures in the field. On the ground, covered with flaked blood, pale and seemingly swollen, a little girl.
Beside her, Steven, looking right at the vault dweller without any sort of reaction or emotion. A slim woman was embracing him tightly, her face in his chest and her shoulders rising and falling violently in pace with her ragged breath.
'Hi, Matt.' Steven said neutrally.