(Charon)

In the middle of the night, I wake up. Something woke me, but there is nothing here. I am drenched in cold sweat, and stare up at the cold ceiling above me. Movement on my left side, causes me to look over. Dezbe sits up, staring straight ahead. She senses me, and looks down. Her eyes are bright, against the moon.

"Something's wrong."

She tells me, and I sit up. I am hot and cold all at once. My shirt is on the floor, my boots, armor and gun beside it. Dez's hand touches my bare arm, and I sigh.

"Yes. Something is wrong."

"Charon…we have to find them."

What wakes us is a mutual thing. Something, perhaps, every parent has. The silent knowing, something is wrong with your children. That they are in some form of danger, and need you. Dezbe and I waste no time talking of it. We get out of bed, the moon high in the sky, and begin to dress and prepare. It cannot be past midnight. I only spoke to the children two days ago over the radio. What danger, could be so severe, that it would cause us to wake? Dezbe and myself are not easily scared or unnerved. We have never felt this feeling before. Our children, have never been away for this long before. It is new, and it is frightening.

Strapping on my armor, I make sure my gun is locked, and loaded as I strap it on my back. Dezbe clips her sawed-off to her hip, and looks at me in the moonlight.

"You feel it too."

"Yes."

I tell her, leading the way out of our bedroom. We walk down the stairs, and don't bother to grab anything else but our guns from the house. The front door closes behind us, as we head out into the Capital Wasteland.

"…I'm scared for them, Charon."

"As am I."

"They need us…"

"We will find them, rest assured, Dezbe."

She looks at me, with the sorrow and fear of a worried mother present on her face.

"What if we're too late."

"Thinking like that is not healthy. We will get to them."

"Charon…we both know…sometimes…"

"No. We will find them."

We stare out at the night, at the horizon. There is a million places they could be, and somehow, we walk, as if we know. As if we're being driven towards them.

"…Charon, you're part of Cain. You're…what he was built on. Like a twin."

"What are you getting at?"

"Find him Charon. Your connection to him, is stronger, than mine."

She is right. I am, connected to Cain. A symbiotic relationship, where Cain and I can simply understand one another, when no words are spoken. A deep trust, a deep knowing. One, perhaps, only identical twins can relate to. Dezbe is right. Cain, is my twin. And I must play on that, to find him.

"This way, is the only way I can figure to walk."

"What if they got separated?"

"That is what I feel happened."

I hear something in the distance, so I take out my gun, and prepare myself for the threats of the night. Dezbe and I stare, guns drawn. It turns out only to be a Molerat, which has never been a threat to us. Dezbe lowers her gun, and looks at me.

"We're never this skittish."

I know she is right, as I turn away from the Molerat and continue on, gun in hand.

"Charon, something…it…this isn't right."

"I know, Dez."
"…How come you didn't go instead?"

"Cain felt it was a great idea to take the responsibility himself."

Dezbe smoothes over her arms, where the skin has peeled off. Her arms, almost match mine. She sees me looking at them in the moonlight, and looks away.

"Years ago, Wernher said that it takes years to get sick from Trog. That lesions are the only side effect, if you get away from the area."

"We have discovered, plenty of times, that due to your immunity to radiation, sicknesses can be worse for you."

"Yeah, a blessing and a curse."

"You are unique, Dezbe. Which reminds me, what was the cure for it?"

"…A baby."

"A baby?"

She nods her head, memories of the past reflecting in her eyes. Back then, it was a difficult time for the both of us.

"A baby, born with the immunity to Trog. Wernher was raising her as his daughter, the last time I saw him. Her name is Maria. She was the real savior of The Pitt. I only helped."

"I see."

I am short, because my mind is distracted. As we walk onwards, I fear what we may find. Or rather, what we do not find in time. Our children…are in danger. Due to circumstances, however, I wonder, if Cain can still be considered our son? We love him, as a son, but…can we continue to call him our own? Or instead…see him, as…something else?