Jon Snow looked ahead into the valley before him, one ravaged by time and by men. The invisible fires of the wasteland scorched on the 'geiger' counter that he held in his hand as he looked on ahead into the ruins. This is where his new life lead him. To a land that was not his own, so far, yet so close to Winterfell and the Starks. But he was no Stark himself. As little as the Minutemen cared for one's upbringing, his own people could never allow a bastard to watch over their homes, even the bastard of the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark. These lands already felt noticeably colder than they had when he first arrived. The weather of the North was overwhelming them. It wouldn't be long till snow came down on them.
"We're getting closer now," his garrison leader Hector Terrance noted. He was a tall man- nearly as tall as King Robert, with a bushy, square beard on his jaw and a hairy chest, the same colour as his fading grey hair. Hector wore a bulletproof vest under his uniform and a trench coat, while a fedora hat was on his head, hardly supported by his upturned hair. His accent gave him away as someone who had come from the 'Capital Wasteland', as Preston had educated him. "The ruined factory got lost three weeks ago and now the Ferals have overwhelmed local defences. It's time we brought them back into line!" As a local hero, Jon felt proud that he had been chosen for a potentially dangerous mission. These Ferals should be easy compared to a sentry-bot, or at least less physically demanding.
Garvey had left him with Hector south of Sanctuary, aiming to reestablish control over the lost settlements. Ghost was still there, guarding the parameters, taking the role the much smaller Dogmeat had taken before the shifting of worlds. With the Minutemen and their organised enemies like gunners as well as the monsters expanding out into Westeros, they struggled more and more to man their old lands and settlements, and so the raiders and supermutants took back what had been there's.
Rumours persisted of some Lannister men coming in and sacking a couple of settlements, even taking the survivors to Harrenhall. He had heard one of the companies hired had collapsed here as well. Such action would never normally be tolerated in his Father's lands, but the Commonwealth was alien, and Jon understood the King had sent men to explore the region, if only briefly. Jon couldn't see what justified sacking Minutemen territory though. This could only lead to some sort of war between the two factions. It was almost as if the Lannisters wanted some kind of confrontation with the Starks!
His father's words rang true even with a gun in his hands instead of Ice. "He who passes the sentence swings the sword." He whispered to himself as he moved ahead into the factory, near the opening. The partially rotted corpses of Minutemen lay around the entrance. The smell was excruciating to the nostrils. Jon felt the wrenching in his stomach at the stench, and the sight of broken skin and rotted eye sockets staring ahead, as if still in shock at what took them. Dead men told no tales, that was known. He knew not these men, but honour demanded they be avenged.
"Scout the parameter" Hector pointed his rifle as he and the other minutemen scouts went to the door's edges, in case some enemy came out and tried to slaughter them as they had the previous occupants. Jon heard a low hiss from inside, and some of the other minutemen started to shudder. They knew what was happening. Hector seemed to ignore them though. A fool's gambit.
"I think we head in now." Jon could see beads of sweat on the man next to him. Hector grunted. "What are you waiting for, corporals? Get in there!" Jon took a breath and they barged through the doors and went in.
The corridor was dark and damp, and there was a taste of blood in the air. Clearly there had been signs of conflict here more recent than the deaths of the Minutemen. Ghoul corpses were present, their bones chewed to a paste. Some of it was recent. The odd raider signature was present too, but they too littered the ground. Yet another party had infiltrated this building following the Minutemens' repulsion from this building. Jon felt like he would be finding out what soon.
The lights flickered as Jon went down a corridor alongside Hector himself. The others went straight ahead. The flickering lights reminded Jon of lightning in the night skies, something he had seen on some of the harsher nights in Winterfell. Now there was no castle to provide him shelter, only broken ruins. Still, he looked ahead towards destiny and danger.
"You see anything, Corporal?" His victory against the Sentry bot and saving the others had allowed him to climb a rank quickly within the Minutemen, and perhaps he would have new positions after the day was done. Assuming he lived long enough to see it all. "Or perhaps smell anything? Not being used to the scents of the Wasteland should give you an edge if anything's off, I reckon." Jon felt confused. It seemed Hector could sense this confusion on his face too.
"No smells...ser." He turned to Hector and back towards the corridor. He slowly stalked, as if listening in on the sound of some deer. Maybe it was one here. He had seen two-headed deer in the wilderness of the Commonwealth, feasting on what meagre vegetation dwelled here. But how could it scour an entire camp clean? "Ser, what could have killed these raiders? Why aren't they hear for us to bring to justice?" Hector looked ahead through the corridor, stained with blood around.
"I'd say those ghouls overwhelmed them for certain. The question is what overwhelmed them?" It seemed he was still looking for whatever threat laid here. A creature of some form?
Growing up, Old Nan had told him the stories of monsters that once roamed the world in the days of old. Of Direwolves, Giants, of Grumpkins and Snarks, and the terrible Others. Father had told him these creatures were dead for thousands of years, if they ever existed at all. And yet that day when the direwolf pups had been found in the Wolfswood had disproven that. From what Jon Snow had seen and heard, there were even worse things dwelling in this Commonwealth.
The bloatflies and "radroaches" were a nuisance, as were the huge mosquitoes present. Some of the most disturbing of them were the ghouls; terrible parodies of men with rotten flesh and mindless hunger like the wights of Old Nan's tales. Jon had only rarely seen the truly terrible creatures of this cursed Wasteland. The eight-foot tall green men and their monstrous hounds, the gigantic crabs that could cut through chainmail like scissors, poisonous dragonflies, giant manticores like those in the East, hairless bears and the Old-Gods-know what else were things he had seen or heard.
Gunshots were heard in the distance, along with frantic activity. Hector turned around. "Shit! There's been an attack!" He ran along the corridor they were on, past the old chimneys of the factory. Jon followed hesitantly.
"Ser, shouldn't we follow them and help?" This seemed like cravenhood to him. "What could be there?"
Hector seemed hesitant. "They're trained Minutemen. They can deal with it."
"But ser, some of them are smallfolk who picked up guns a few weeks ago!" He stood in front of Hector, though the man towered over him. "What aren't you telling me?" Had he led them here in a trap?
"You don't want to know kid! I have a feeling this is a whole lot more dangerous than we first thought. Run, now!" The gunshot sounds were getting less frequent. Maybe whatever caused the conflict was now dead? Or only injured?
The look of the 'office' of this factory was in squalor. Letters, books and toys were thrown all over the floor and desks, as were various objects Jon did not know. He barely recognised the 'computers' he had only recently been introduced to, and the accessories on tables were all completely new. Huge claw marks on the walls overshadowed smaller ones that looked like they had been made by savage ghouls. What dominated the right corner of the former office intrigued Jon more. A bunch of branches, detritus and unused plastics and toys made up what looked like a nest. In it lay some large eggs, as those of a quail or chicken, but much bigger. One of the eggs began to shake. A clicking sound could be heard from within. Is this what the hatched dragons sounded like when the Targaryens bred them? Was this-
"Shit!" Private Helen exclaimed as she came in, presumably from another entrance. "It's a goddamn Deathclaw nest!" Hector went white with fear. Jon didn't know what was happening. Nevertheless, he got his rifle ready. He wasn't sure if it would be enough.
Two former smallfolk, Loren Sweettooth and Blotchface came bashing through the door on the opposite side of the office. They both had blood on their outfits, and their magazine cartridges were empty. They looked half-mad.
"Mmm...monster." Blotchface said as he pointed back, his free skin white as snow, though his blotches remained red like a tomato. The sound of gunshots echoed throughout the corridor, as did pounding on the metal railings. This 'deathclaw' was coming.
An ear piercing raw was launched in Hector's and Jon's direction, presumably because of the nests. A call from the depths of hell, if such a place even was. What was coming for him certainly resembled something demonic. Jon readied his rifle, but the beast's thick hide made it seem that even that might not be enough.
The charge of the ten foot tall horned lizard felt as if it were the fire of a dragon, as if the air itself was heated and shook by the force of this creature moving forward. It's claws like swords on each finger, its stare as it rushed forward must have been like the dragons of Valyria. But they were gone, and this creature was ahead of him here. His finger itched towards the trigger.
He could feel the recoil in his hands as the bullets flew out of the gun. Even after the training he had received, it felt unnatural to wield death in such a simple way. Training in the courtyard of Winterfell had taken so much effort with a sword, and even more with a bow and arrow, yet now Jon or anyone for that matter could kill simply with the flick of a trigger.
He screamed out along with the creature as it cried in response to the bullets hitting its soft underbelly. Yet it was only soft by comparison to its seemingly impenetrable armour. Helen ran in front of him to protect him from what was coming. A blast from Helen's shotgun caused the great beast to stagger back for a split second. Hector shouted at him some line of leaving presumably, but Jon couldn't hear it over the screaching of beast and metal. Jon had no time to look back as shotgun blasts and the sound of flesh being shredded filled the air. He didn't need to look back to realise that Helen was a martyr in the battle against chaos.
They ran down the steel corridor away from the raging reptile, where the door was too narrow for it, into railings. There was a two-way split in the structure. One of the ends had collapsed though into a pool of water. Jon turned to the upper pathway, but he felt a firm push against him.
"Nothing personal," he heard Hector say as he fell. "But it's for the greater good." He landed on the ground in a thud, though the shallow water cushioned his fall if only a little. The rattling of the deathclaw trying to get through drowned out any other noises. He felt a crack in his shoulder, and a fierce, stabbing pain there. Barely he clung on to consciousness, though all felt as if it were accelerated.
By the Old Gods, this aches, he felt as he was awakening from his unconsciousness. As he got up finally, the sounds were fainter than before. The hissing of the deathclaw as it moved was faint now. The others were probably dead now. Hector had betrayed him, for why he did not know. Now he had to figure a way out of these broken ruins.
His fingers were the next part of him to move, then his arms, as he slowly started to move his arms around to feel his surroundings. The water here must have been several inches thick. It was fortunate he had landed on his back, or else he could have drowned here. He didn't know how long he was around here. As his arms moved him up, he felt his clothes were waterlogged from the time he had soaked in. He called out. "Hello?" He heard no answer. He called it again louder, with more strain in his voice. Nothing. I know nothing.
His cracked shoulder had no bleeding on it fortunately, but any chance of him using a two handed gun, let alone a sword, were very slim. He didn't have the cryolator on him either to freeze the water, so he was all alone here.
Or so he thought. As he looked around, he saw that he was not alone after all. Horrible wights out of Old Nan's tales were present here too. Rotted and waterlogged, they were staring back at him, with vacant eyes, as if failing to comprehend he was really present. It must have been a long time since they had last seen food. This is what I am now, food? What would Father think of him now? Failing to protect his people, and being betrayed by his own superiors? Would he have experienced this in the Night's Watch?
His rifle came out, aiming itself at the monsters, as they appeared to mutter under their breath, approaching him. "Watcher...run...he's coming...Watcher..." What little words they had degenerated into the mumblings of madmen as they started to run towards Jon. Instinctively, he ignored his gun and went for the sword Father had given him before he went off to join the Minutemen.
The first swing a chop into the shoulder of the first ghoul, what had once been a man, though too broken to be recognised. The second, a wragged former woman, tackled him as it moved- it was as if these scrawny creatures had the strength of King Robert! As Jon pushed the wretch off him, he realised that they merely had a mad savagery to them, and were not too strong at all. He jammed his blade into its side, causing it to writhe in a primitive pain, though it did nothing to stop its assault. He used the chance to get up and swing his blade into its' unarmoured head, causing it to be split all the way down to the nose. The former woman collapsed.
As the first ghoul came back to him, another swing of his sword found its way into its neck, with blood spurting out, with the savage creature not having any sense to cover its wound, only weakening as it tried to flail itself at Jon. These were more frightening to him than the Deathclaw had been. At least the Deathclaw was an inhuman monster, and not some something that had once been a man. He felt sympathy for these poor things, a tragedy if there was ever one. But he had no time to mourn these monsters, for he needed to find his other soldiers.
The bottom of the floor of the factory was littered with the bones of small animals. Mutated ones that seemed unnatural compared to what he knew in the North. Some had a third socket on their skulls for eyes, not like any animals Maester Luwin had showed him as a child. He could see drops of blood coming down from the walkways above, probably the blood of his fellow minutemen.
As he ascended the walks, he could hear the creaking of them. He wished he was in the crypts of Winterfell now. He wished he was in the courtyard with Robb and Bran, practising swordsplay, not slaying monsters and metal abominations, defending people who he scarcely knew. Ghost would be at his side, and Father looking on, proud. That would be what he aimed for.
As he reached the top, he heard a shush, and behind a couple of wooden crates, once used for transporting armaments, he saw Loren Sweettooth in hiding, holding an assault rifle, calmly waiting for the Deathclaw to emerge again. Jon slowly inched his way up to him, not wanting to disturb the beast as it fed on the flesh of the other minutemen.
Loren pointed to his sword. "You used that?" He grinned, showing his disgustingly rotted teeth. He spoke in a faint whisper. "I guess we can't leave our past behind, can we? Out there, I'm just a smallfolk, and you the bastard son of Eddard Stark. But right now, we're on the same level. And if we're not careful, we're both about to become supper!"
Jon replied. "Hector betrayed me. He left me for dead with ghouls, and he never said why." Jon wiped the ghoul blood off his blade, and got his rifle out. A sword was not going to do well against a ten foot tall lizard, like the wyverns of Sothyros, but far more attitude.
"By the Old Gods!" He said. "We can't trust anyone now, can we? I think I saw him try to go out, but the Deathclaw got im!" There is still justice in this world, Jon thought to himself. If only it wasn't selective.
Loren put his hand on Jon's head and forced him down to duck. Jon couldn't see what was happening, but the sound of a gutteral moan, like those of lizard lions he had seen in Commonwealth rivers, indicated the Deathclaw had come out. He peaked around for the briefest moment, and saw it dragging a bloodied corpse into the main office. He couldn't see who it was, but it was almost certainly one of his old comrades.
"How did we come to this, Snow? That two men of the North survived when Minutemen veterans died? I can hardly take it in!" He almost spoke at normal volume while saying this, but shushed himself to not alert the beast. Jon looked ahead. The beast was gone now, so he could make a move. He stopped just before he entered the office. There was a voice from within!
"Terrance, come in! This is an emergency! Do you copy? I repeat, so you copy?" The voice said on the intercom. What could that be, he thought. What he noticed more was a note that seemed to be laid by one of the bodies the deathclaw had found for storage.
Jon saw Hector's body in the pile, mauled almost beyond recognition. A traitors' death indeed, Jon sneered to himself. He saw the bloody note was in Hector's pocket. He nabbed it out and crawled back from whence he came. He had neither his weapons not Ghost, so today was not the day for him to face a Deathclaw. Not without the Cryolator at least.
The two of them retreated round the side till they heard more noises. A silver tuft was clear from one of the desks, next to a curious bobble head. Grey Gary had survived! As had a few other ragged Minutemen. It seemed they had survived by hiding too. Gary looked up. "Thank God you guys made it out! Shame the same can't be said about the captain or Sally!" The others nodded.
Jon spoke. "I certainly cannot say the same regarding the captain, Gary." He got out the note and started to read it.
"Ok, you want a way out? Here's how it is. We need the codes to the armory of mininukes in the Glowing Sea. A little bird told me that they're located within Poseidon Energy Plant. You're at an advantage given you lead a team of Minutemen on your own. Send them into the Deathclaw nest in your old base, lure everyone into a false sense of security, get the codes, wherever they are, and make sure no-one gets out alive. Try luring them close to the Deathclaw, 'accidentally' push off a rail, leave them to the ghouls, that kind of thing. Any stragglers, you know what to do. When, and only when you get those codes for the armory, will you get your caps. Here from you soon, Ironeye."
"Captain Terrance was a traitor who sold us out to raiders for money, who clearly didn't care about the principles, we, you stand for. He spoke of keys for some sort of 'code' for weapons." Jon said solemnly, though he was really content the traitor was dead.
"Goddamn." He heard one of the minutemen say.
"Let me have a look." Gary said. He scowered through while Jon crouched down, with Loren looking overshoulder for the Deathclaw. "Yeah this is bullshit! There were never any codes here. We had this base for weeks and noone found it. These raiders were just screwing with him all along to make us weaker! Shows how petty they really are. All those that aren't Forged or...that other one, are scrounging around now. Now come on, let's get outta here!" Now they just had to sneak past the monster as it wondered.
Jon tip-toed past the pile of bodies, and saw that the monster slept next to the nest with the eggs. Each egg could feed a man for at least a day, but now was not the time for such pleasantries. The faint lights of the artificial lamps shone of the beast's armour like some stones of the caves. Like dragonglass. Now Jon could finally see the exit again.
Once they left those dead remains, Jon wiped the sweat from his brow. The hard part was over. Now he needed the job of what had happend with Hector to them, the note in his pocket. At least nothing worse could-
"This is an emergency broadcast! He heard on the handheld radio that Hector had given him. What could it be now? "I repeat an emergency broadcast!" It repeated.
"Has the Castle been attacked?" Loren Sweettooth asked. It was possible. Before Jon could respond-
"What's happening?" Jon could hear Preston's voice through another intercom. "Report."
"A supermutant army is marching north east outside the Commonwealth- the biggest one since Diamond City! There's hundreds of them here, with all sorts of weapons! They've got hounds, centaurs and behemoths with them too! They're heading for Whiteharbour!"
"Whiteharbour" Jon spoke aloud. Loren knew what he spoke of too, though Grey Gary and the other Wastelanders were confused. He turned to the battered survivors. "I know we're all exhausted and afraid for our lives, but this was but a small part of our battle. Whiteharbour is the North's only city and port, with much of the North's wealth there too. Thousands of smallfolk, men, women, children, and many traders from all around the world, including your Commonwealth. If those green savages take the city, they'll burn it to the ground and everyone in it! The North cannot stand alone! Are we going to let that happen?" All of the survivors shouted in rejection, though none said the same things.
He got out his compass and turned to the east on that, as he saw the coast and the distant outline of the New Castle. "Good. Get rest, for tomorrow, we save a city!" The men cheered. In truth, the boy had never been more so afraid.