- Charon -
The Goulification process had nearly wiped his mind clean.
Unfortunately, Charon's blank slate wasn't permanent, and the longer he stayed in Underworld, the more the memories of the misguided man he once was encroached upon his addled brain like the evening tide slowly crawling back up a shoreline.
Each recollection that washed up on that shore was just another reminder of his misplaced loyalties. As a smoothskin, he had spent a lifetime of devoted service to the Enclave, but the foolish man who had been Augustus Autumn was as dead to him now as the necrotic tissue of his rotting, irradiated body.
He remembered enough of it now, a lifetime of lies and unfortunate mistakes that had carried him like an undercurrent from the West Coast toward the swirling cesspool of the Jefferson Memorial and deposited him into the bowels of Underworld. Even as a child, Augustus Autumn had been no wiser. Growing up on The Poseidon Energy Oil Rig, Augustus had been devoted to the father he adored. Autumn senior, serving as the head of the rig's Research and Development Department, had been one of the highest-ranking scientists in the Enclave. His father was clearly an intelligent, powerful man and young Augustus idolized him. Even now, Charon could remember the day his father introduced young Augustus to President Dick Richardson. Augustus felt like the luckiest kid in America to have such a high-profile, important father. After all, how many children get to shake hands with the President of the United States?
Reflecting on it now, however, he realized just how many clues to the contrary he missed growing up. The Enclave Oil Rig was supposed to be the last bastion of America's finest minds and people, but Charon could see now that years of isolation and propaganda had corroded the government's moral compass and left its Enclave members decadent, xenophobic, and extremely dangerous to outsiders.
The ghoul also remembered the day young Augustus snuck down into the rig's Research and Development Level – against strict orders from Autumn senior to stay away from the lab. It was the one and only time he ever disobeyed a direct order from his father. He remembered seeing people in cages. People from local villages and even some wearing Vault 13 jumpsuits – a number, he remembered thinking, that must be unlucky indeed. And he remembered overhearing the researchers discussing the best way of releasing an airborne virus they called FEV into the world's jet streams.
Augustus hadn't understood much of that as a child but thinking about the vial he had taken from John Henry Eden, he certainly understood it now! Thoughts of Eden, of course, were just another painful reminder that the deception of those that governed Augustus' life didn't end with the destruction of the oil rig…
After the rig's destruction, Autumn senior had impressed his son once again by leading the remnants of the Enclave all the way across the country to Raven Rock. Augustus learned that not only was his father an incredibly skilled scientist, but the Enclave official had a natural ability to lead as well. Autumn senior successfully established a new government in the country's capital under the rule of the enigmatic President Eden, but unlike President Richardson, young Augustus was never introduced to the new president. Once he had even worked up the nerve to ask his father if he could meet the man, but Autumn senior said Eden was cautious and reserved and preferred ruling the country from the solitude of his command center.
In retrospect, Charon was convinced Autumn senior knew the truth about Eden – probably knew the truth about his little vial of FEV too. Those facts were just more lies to add to all the ways Charon had been deceived by those he admired and served.
His life had been a comedy of errors in judgement – a miserable montage of bad decisions and misplaced loyalties. His ability to determine who to serve was clearly in question and Charon was now convinced that Augustus Autumn hadn't gotten that right one time in his entire, ill-advised life. So now he was a ghoul, and Ahzrukhal was their leader. Lord Ahzrukhal, as he preferred to be called, seemed like just another evil bastard bent on world domination, but had Charon ever served a ruler that wasn't? Was there even such a thing as a benevolent leader? And what did it matter? Charon was a follower – just another sheep following the flock wherever the shepherd directed. He was just another rotting citizen deteriorating in the sewers of America now, and maybe that was what the Gods had intended for Augustus Autumn all along...
Whatever his fate, Charon sat before the ghoulish leader now, listening to more plots and schemes to control the Wasteland. Although their mortal shells had nearly been stripped away, the minds of ghouls were just as functional and devious as all the rest of humanity's. Power was a drug, and humans of every form were addicts.
Ahzrukhal sat at a desk in the office he kept behind The Ninth Circle bar. Before the ghoul leader, a map of the Capital Waste was laid out on the desktop and the Lord of Underworld was studying the current locations of his ghoul settlements.
"Any news from Old Olney?" the Lord of Underworld asked his second in command.
"Sanders has established the settlement," Charon answered. "He says there is plenty of room in the Old Olney Underground and he took enough strong backs to help knock down some walls, clear some space below the city, and help get things up and running."
"Excellent," Ahzrukhal purred, pouring them some whiskey he snagged from the bar. "We need a bigger Ghoulish footprint out East. The ranchers and traders in and around Canterbury Commons will make excellent additions to our army."
Charon accepted the glass with a nod. He could use a drink, and Ahzrukhal had the finest stuff in Underworld. The whiskey was aged to perfection with just enough radiation to burn on the way down followed by the warm burst of radioactive rejuvenation. It was a pleasant experience and one Charon was learning to thoroughly enjoy during his days at The Ninth Circle.
Something Charon also enjoyed was listening to some of the older ghouls who frequented the bar talk about their lives prior to the Great War. During his former life, as Colonel Augustus Autumn, he had dreamed of what America must have been like before the leaders of the world destroyed it. In Underworld, he actually got the opportunity to hear firsthand recollections of the good ole' US of A. It sounded like America really would have lived up to his expectations, and in a way, he was honored to be living among the men and women who had actually been a part of that – people who had served as teachers, doctors, firefighters and law enforcement officials. There were even a few ex-military members among the Underworld ranks – relics from back in the days before the Enclave corrupted the armed services...
So, if the Ghouls wanted to take a shot at running the country, who was Charon to say no. They couldn't do any worse than the leaders he had served in the past – with the exception of Ahzrukhal, of course. Deep down Charon knew that Ahzrukhal wasn't the right Ghoul for the job, but Charon would have to figure that out when the time came.
In the meantime, Charon was content to help the Underworld ruler organize the Ghouls and expand their settlements. Still, expansion out East was a tall order. That side of the Capital Waste was wild and dangerous. Mutants, Yao Gui, and Deathclaws roamed the wide-open spaces while Raiders, merchants, mercs, and Brahmin Barons all wrestled for their little piece of the pie. Even the Enclave, back at the peak of its strength, had struggled to establish a foothold in the northeastern regions of the Wasteland.
But Ahzrukhal was right about one thing, their Ghoul army needed reinforcements. Even more, in Charon's opinion, the Underworld Ghouls needed proper training and supplies. Eventually the Ghoul's might be able to establish a foothold out East, but Charon really didn't think they were ready for that kind of challenge. He had an idea to prepare their forces a little closer to home – he just had to sell it to the Lord of Underworld.
"I would like to start training our forces," Charon proposed. "There is a former National Guard depot on the northeastern edge of the city that would suit our needs."
"What we need is more Ghouls," Ahzrukhal scoffed. "We need to establish conversion centers near every major Wasteland settlement. Places like Warrington Station, The Monastery, and Underworld are adding to our ranks every day. Your focus should be on the Aqua Cura distribution and Monastery recruits if you want to strengthen our army. Besides, we don't need equipment and training, not when we've got hordes of feral footsoldiers at our disposal. Hell, I've seen a pack of Reavers take out an entire squad of highly trained and heavily supplied Enclave soldiers."
Charon couldn't argue that point. As Colonel Autumn, he had seen that too. Yet, in his opinion, ferals were part of the problem not the solution. They were difficult to control and mainly had to be herded into a mob and then let loose on an enemy to attack with reckless abandon. They were just another version of domesticated death claws or super mutant soldiers. It was like firing a gun: you could point it in a direction, but once the bullet left the barrel you had no control over where it landed or the damage it did.
Besides, from a moral standpoint, if Charon still had one, he would argue that converting humans into ferals was no better than the Enclave creating Mutants to be used as 'super soldiers'. Augustus may be finished being blinded by idealism, but he still had a conscience.
"It's true we need more Ghouls," he said agreeably, "but we're already making more ferals than we can manage."
"I know, I know," Ahzrukhal waved a hand. "The ghoulification process is tricky to get right, but you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. If the cost of ushering humanity into its next phase of evolution is creating some Glowing Ones or a few ferals along the way, I say it's worth the price."
Charon finished his drink and nodded, but he was far from convinced in the Lord of Underworld's assertions.
- Knight Joules Prescott -
The streets of Uptown were eerily quiet during the early evening hour. It felt like the calm before a storm, and the knight could almost feel that storm gathering in the stagnant evening air as he hurried through the shadows of the silent city streets. Tension hung heavy as a fog throughout The Pitt and it was clear the city was on the brink of revolution. Unfortunately, Joules knew things were going to get worse before they got better – especially considering the package he carried in a makeshift pack on his back.
All things considered, Joules was grateful for the quiet Uptown evening. He knew that Krenshaw had the Pitt Raiders on alert, but luckily many of them were patrolling the catwalks overlooking Downtown due to the increased rumors of a worker's revolt, which left only a skeleton crew to maintain the relative tranquility of Uptown. Even so, the knight was sticking to street level, not daring to risk a chance encounter with a Raider watchstander – especially under his present circumstances.
The knight felt just as tense as the city. At ground level, Uptown was as unsettling as any other gloomy area of The Pitt. High overhead the carbon arc floodlights shined like silent sentinels, casting their shield of protective light out into the ruins that surrounded the city, but down on the city streets below the occasional trog still found its way into the darker recesses of the abandoned tenement buildings that crouched on the fringes of Uptown.
Joules squeezed into the shadows of one of those derelict buildings now as an Uptown Raider approached his position from a catwalk overhead. The knight recognized the woman's fuchsia Mohawk as she stepped out into a shaft of light at the edge of the catwalk. She was a Raider named Squill who, like Joules himself, had won her freedom after fighting her way out of The Hole.
With her assault rifle slung casually at her hips, she looked almost bored as she stopped at the edge of the platform to stare out over the shadowy ruins of the Uptown tenements. She lit up a cigarette and slouched against the platform's railing.
Despite her apathetic demeanor, the Knight's nerves were on edge. Squill hadn't survived The Hole by accident. The former gladiator had phenomenal reflexes and deadly accuracy. If she spotted him in the shadows, Joules would be dead in the blink of an eye. His dark thoughts made him feel exposed and he tried wriggling even further into the shadowy recess of the building.
The knight felt the package on his back shift and he froze in terror. If Marie started crying, Joules was done for. There was only one baby in all The Pitt, and even though no one new she was missing yet, any noise out of Marie would bring every Raider in Uptown running!
After what felt like an eternity, the baby settled back into its slumber and Squill finally flicked her cigarette butt over the railing and continued her patrol along the catwalks toward the center of Uptown. Joules realized he'd been holding his breath and let out a sigh of relief, but his nerves were frayed and he was finished sneaking along the city streets. The knight decided he would try his luck inside the abandoned apartments where he would be safe from roving Raiders. Unfortunately, there could be worse things than Raiders lurking in the darkness of the tenements, but the near encounter with Squill left Joules ready to take that chance.
He ducked into the lobby of what – at one time – must have been a luxurious high-rise apartment complex. The neglected foyer still maintained an air of grandeur despite its deteriorated condition, and Joules experienced the familiar pang of melancholy he always felt when coming across such glorious relics of a former society now left to crumble in decay. What a wondrous world the ancients had created and destroyed, Joules thought angrily as he surveyed what was left of the derelict lobby.
The long building ran toward the west which would provide the knight the cover he needed to reach the door that led to the Downtown residential district. Unfortunately, the doors leading out of the lobby in that direction were buried beneath a pile of rubble from an upstairs cave in. Instead, the knight carefully made his way up a grand stairwell leading to the second floor.
The ancient marble stairwell was still in good working order and the hallway beyond appeared to be mostly intact. Even so, the abandoned structure was eerily unnerving, and the knight ignited the light on his Pip-Boy to help cut through the gloom. The light didn't put much of a dent in the haze of the half-light filtering into the abandoned apartment complex, but it made the knight feel better.
He studied the rooms as he cautiously crept down the corridor heading west, wondering what the people who lived there must have been like in the days before the Great War. In one of the rooms, a bookshelf had fallen away from a wall revealing a hidden chamber that was too intriguing not to explore.
Joules didn't want to dally, but he was still only armed with the Man Eater. The weapon was deadly in its own right, but it was useless for long-range combat and unwieldy in close quarters. It would certainly slice up a trog or two, but he'd need some better firepower if he had to fend off Pitt Raiders.
As the knight entered the small room, it became quickly apparent why the chamber had been hidden behind a bookshelf. The apartment obviously belonged to a pre-War agent of the Chinese government. The room was covered in charts and maps and Chinese paraphernalia. A shortwave radio sat in the corner next to a shelf holding communist pamphlets stacked beneath a Chinese Hat of the People. The real prize, however, was a gun cabinet holding a Chinese assault rifle and several boxes of ammunition.
Joules quickly gathered the ammo and slung the rifle over his shoulder. Marie fidgeted again, reminding the knight that his time was limited. He hurried back out into the hallway and continued his harrowing journey toward the exit to Downtown. He felt better now that he was armed with the Man Eater and an assault rifle, but the occasional sounds of skittering on the floors above him were still wearing at his nerves and the sooner he got out of this building the better.
Unfortunately, the hallway ended at another cave-in that prevented the knight from accessing the back half of the complex. He considered going higher into the building, but the sounds he had heard earlier troubled him. The knight felt more comfortable sticking close to ground level, so he doubled back to a room whose floor had sunk to the apartment below creating a ramp of sorts between the two rooms.
The base of the ramp ended in the bedroom of a ground-floor apartment. There was nothing of interest here other than the door leading out, so Joules exited into a living room that was still intact.
In this room he discovered what was left of the occupant in a recliner perched in front of an old television set. The skeleton still wore a mask that snaked down to an oxygen tank next to the chair. Judging from the cartons of cigarettes scattered on a nightstand next to the recliner, it was obvious the tenant had suffered from emphysema. It also appeared as if this particular person might actually have died of natural causes – or at least something more natural than radiation poisoning.
There was nothing of use in this room so Joules crossed to the door of the apartment and exited into the hallway where he was immediately confronted by the hunched silhouette of a trog lurking in the shadows several feet from the doorway.
Joules aimed his Pip-Boy at the beast, but the effect was negligible. Unlike the photosensitive creatures in the pitch-black tunnels of the train yard, trogs that roamed the city were accustomed to a certain amount of low-level background illumination. If anything, Joules discovered that his Pip-Boy did more to help pinpoint his position than it did to deter a trog attack!
With a bowel-shaking screech, the hideous creature actually scurried toward the illuminated knight, using its elongated arms and sinewy legs to cover the distance with startling speed.
The knight retreated back into the reclining skeleton's livingroom, slamming the door shut just before the trog reached him. Joules could feel the old door rattle as the beast battered its body against the ancient wood, desperate to reach its prey. The lock no longer worked, but there was a rusty chain that hung beside the door. It wasn't much, but the knight slammed it into the clasp, hoping it would buy him enough time to get to safety.
Marie was crying now; an incessant braying that only intensified the trog's desire to break through the door. Joules backed toward the recliner, considering his options – which were severely limited. He decided to take his chances upstairs, but a second trog suddenly appeared at the top of the ramp and scurried down through the bedroom and out into the livingroom.
Apparently, the baby's crying was like a dinner bell to the hideous beasts!
The knight swung his Man Eater around, firing it up as he turned. He just managed to get the weapon between him and his upstairs attacker, slicing straight into the trog's chest as it lunged toward him. The blade parted the creature's sternum easily enough, but it got hung up when it reached the trog's spine. As Joules wrestled to free the weapon from the dead beast, the trog from the hallway finally smashed its way through the chained door.
Quickly the knight abandoned the Man Eater and awkwardly retrieved the assault rifle. Joules was fast, but the trog was faster. The creature reached the knight before he could get his weapon into position and batted it away with surprising strength. The attack sent Joules sprawling into the recliner and caused Marie to tumble out onto the livingroom floor.
The trog went for the baby instantly, drawn to her crying like a moth to a flame. The thought of flames gave Joules an idea. He grabbed a lighter lying next to the cigarettes on the night stand and snatched the hose out of the skeleton's oxygen mask. With a quick turn of the valve on the tank, Joules sent a torrent of flame washing over the trog.
The beast abandoned its attack on the baby, howling in agony. It was difficult to determine if it was the fire or the firelight that hurt the creature more, but as it staggered around the room, old dried out furnishings began to catch fire. By the time Joules scooped up Marie, the room was ablaze.
The knight grabbed the oxygen tank and burst out into the hallway. Two more trogs blocked his path up ahead, and Joules knew that he didn't have enough oxygen to set them all on fire. Luckily, he didn't have to. Unlike his Pip-Boy, the bursts of flame produced enough light to deter the city trogs. With short blasts, Joules hopped he could carve a path to the back of the apartment building and get to the exit before the ancient oxygen tank ran dry.
Marie's crying was muffled, but still attracting trogs. There was nothing Joules could do about that except make a mad dash down the corridor and continue to clear the way with short bursts of flame. The technique filled the hallway with a strange strobe-light effect that almost made the hideous creatures appear to attack and retreat in slow motion. It was like being in a haunted nightclub where everyone on the dance floor wanted to eat you.
Joules finally reached the exit. He turned and emptied the remainder of the tank into the small horde of trogs that were still in pursuit, sending them scurrying back down the hallway. Those that had been nearest him were fully aflame, and the rest were fleeing from the light of their burning brethren.
He tossed the tank and slipped out of the building's emergency exit to find himself an alley behind the apartment complex. Across the street, shinning beneath two spotlights like a beacon of hope, was the gateway that led to the Downtown residential districts.
It was a short sprint from his current location, but Joules knew that this area of Uptown was heavily guarded. Normally the run would be too risky, but it seemed as if the knight's luck had finally taken a turn for the better.
It appeared as if the fire Joules had started in emphysema man's living room had rapidly engulfed the heart of the abandoned apartment building. The conflagration had blazed a trail all the way up to the roof of the building, spitting flames out of every door and window in its path. The inferno had drawn the attention of the Raiders who normally stood watch over the Downtown gateway, and for the moment at least, the path was clear.
Joules didn't hesitate. He cinched the straps that held Marie against his back, and then made a mad dash across the well-lit roadway.
The gates were held closed with a one-way lock designed to keep Downtown denizens from infiltrating Uptown. From his side of the gate, the lock was easily disengaged, and the knight made quick work of it. Within seconds he had slipped through the gateway and finally crossed into Downtown.
- Reap Littlehorn -
"So what's your story, Talon Company?" Brick asked as she, Dogmeat, and Reaper worked their way through the metro tunnels toward Underworld. The Ranger had her ever-present minigun, which she called Eugene, slung low on her hip and a playful look in her dark eyes.
"My mother died when I was young. My father's an asshole. Standard mercenary shit."
Brick actually smiled at that response. She was attractive when she let her guard down, but it was clear she still didn't trust the merc. Reaper had told her his name several times, but she insisted on calling him 'Talon Company' in what seemed like a constant reminder that they weren't on the same team.
"What about you?" He quickly changed the subject. "How did you get hooked up with Reilly's Rangers?"
"Just lucky I guess," Brick grinned, but her features grew dark as she reflected on her past. Without looking at the mercenary, she softly said, "The Rangers took me in as an orphan after a squad of Talon Company mercs raided our settlement. Those fuckers killed everyone. Women, children… everyone. You know, standard mercenary shit…"
Reap didn't respond – what could he say to that? He knew that Jabsco would order the inner-city mercs to conduct raids from time to time. They were the most ruthless of the Talon Company squads. That was one of the main reasons Reap took the solo jobs that the other mercs didn't want. That was how he ended up contracting with Nyhils Listner and the Enclave.
The two walked in a broody silence for a moment as each of them reflected on their situations.
"I'm not really with the Talon Company – not like that…" he muttered at last.
"Right," Brick looked pointedly at the white talon emblazoned on the merc's black combat armor. "You're just a sheep in wolf's clothing. A misunderstood mercenary. One of the good guys," she said sarcastically.
"I'm no good guy," Reap replied coldly. "But I'm not like Jabsco either."
"Then why work for the evil prick?" Her eyes were still hard, but her voice was softer now and she seemed genuinely interested.
"I was young – and angry," Reap admitted. "And it was a good way to piss off my father – although my sister's way was better. Sonora was always the good one…"
"Is she a mercenary too?"
"Sort of," Reap said absently. He was lost in his own melancholy thoughts again and for a moment it didn't seem like he was going to say anything more. After a while, as if to himself, he said, "The Regulators really hurt the old man…"
"Wait a second," Brick exclaimed, coming to a stop right in the middle of the metro tunnel. "Your sister is Sonora Cruz. Like Sonora Cruz of the Regulators."
The mercenary merely replied with a nod, still wading through his ruminations of the past. He always liked the fact that Sonora had taken their mother's maiden name – it seemed fitting. But not Reap. He stuck with the name Littlehorn as a reminder never to forget where he came from. It was a scab he couldn't stop picking at.
"She was the one that helped Reilly establish the Rangers here in the west," Brick whispered in awe.
"Yeah, like I said: Sonora's the good one."
"Hmm," the Ranger murmured thoughtfully, looking sideways at Reaper as if she were reassessing him. "Maybe there's more to you than meets eye, merc."
Before Reap had a chance to respond to that, they were interrupted by one of Dogmeat's deepthroated growls. Up ahead the passage they were in continued straight or hooked left at an intersection. Listening quietly now, the Ranger and mercenary could hear rustling and hissing coming from the corridor to the left. By the time they reached the junction, the earsplitting squeal of a mole rat rang through the corridor.
The group peeked around the corner and discovered a pack of thirty or more feral ghouls swarming over the flailing body of a mole rat. The creature was putting up a valiant fight, but the sheer number of ghouls was overwhelming the dying beast.
Brick pointed to the other side of the opening and raised a questioning eyebrow. Reap understood that she wanted to sneak past the left-side corridor while the ghouls were preoccupied and continue straight down the passageway.
It was as good a plan as any, and the mercenary certainly didn't want to take on a horde of ferals that size, so he gave her a quick nod of agreement and the three of them began a careful creep out into the intersection passageways.
At first it seemed as if the plan would work. The majority of the horde was busy clawing and scraping at each other for mole rat meat, but about halfway across, the group's luck ran out.
Two of the ferals at the back of the pack raised their hairless heads and sniffed at the dank subterranean air through the hollow nose cavities of their amorphous faces. Their hideous heads jerked sharply toward the three travelers attempting to sneak past the junction. The grotesque humanoids emitted their eerie low-pitched growls that Dogmeat echoed with a low growl of his own.
Knowing that their opportunity for stealth had ended, Brick took one last moment to shout, "Run!" before she sprinted headlong down the metro tunnel with Reaper and Dogmeat hot on her heals.
The ferals reacted with their inexplicable speed. Their eerie keening was joined by others until the tunnel walls reverberated with an unnerving din as the entire pack abandoned its meal of mole rat in pursuit of tastier prey.
The tunnel banked right, and the group had no choice but to blindly follow it into the shadowy depths of the metro system. The moaning seemed to be growing louder and Reaper was convinced the pack was gaining on them. He was running so hard that he nearly bowled Brick over when the Ranger skidded to a stop in the center of the passageway.
"End of the line," she muttered when the merc managed to pull up beside her. His eyes followed hers to a metro train lodged in the center of the track, the metro walls and ceiling had caved-in around it effectively closing off any possible path forward.
"Maybe," Reap mumbled in reply, running up to investigate the blockage. It was definitely sealed tight with rubble - there was no way around it. There was, however, enough of the train sticking out to access the door to the first car. He looked back at Brick to see if she noticed it too.
"Could be a dead end," she said simply.
The mercenary had considered that, of course, but risking a trek through the train car seemed like better odds than fighting their way through a pack of feral ghouls. Still, he wished she hadn't used the word 'dead'.
"What do you think, boy?" Reap asked his faithful companion.
Dogmeat barked once and then jumped inside the train.
"We're leaving our fate to the dog?" Brick asked incredulously.
"What are you worried about," Reap replied with a smile of confidence that he didn't feel. "You're the one with the shamrock painted on your armor."
"Well, we're all gonna need the luck of the Irish," Brick noted, leaping into the train behind Dogmeat.
Yeah, we're gonna need all the luck we can get, Reap thought as he followed them in.
The interior was a murky jumble of dislodged seats, ancient luggage, and the skeletal remains of the last passengers to utilize the railway. Dogmeat had easily worked his way to the other side of the car and was barking for his companions to follow him. Brick and Reap were doing their best to comply, scrambling over the wreckage and thankful that the vehicle had the structural integrity to withstand the cave-in.
Initially the ferals had thrown themselves against the train's windshield, hammering furiously at the glass to get to their prey. Even after a century of neglect, the shatterproof glass withstood the onslaught of ghouls.
Some of the ferals who still retained higher cognitive functions, however, located the carriage door and charged into the railcar. The first met the pointy end of the Harvester as the weapon burst through the creature's rotted brain with an impressive explosion of irradiated meat and blood.
The second feral met a similar fate, but more of the gruesome savages were discovering the doorway and entering the car. Reap new it was only a matter of time before he and his Harvester were overwhelmed.
"Duck, Talon Company!" Brick shouted from behind him.
"No!" the merc shouted, but it was already too late. He could hear Eugene roar to life and he hit the deck to avoid being caught in the line of fire.
The minigun easily eliminated the first wave of ferals that had pressed through the doorway into the railcar. Unfortunately, the shatter-proof windshield was no match for the weapon either and the entire thing disintegrated amidst 240 rounds of 5mm bullets. The ghouls clawing at the glass disintegrated too, but there were dozens more behind them and nothing left to keep them out!
Reap leapt back to his feet and pushed Brick toward the back of the car as the Ranger was jamming another clip into Eugene. She had a wild look of bloodlust in her eyes, but she seemed to understand the predicament they were in now and she switched back from offense to defense.
Dogmeat was still barking at the back door, which was shut tight. It hadn't opened in a hundred years and it wasn't about to open now. Brick pointed her gun at the window and glanced over at the merc.
Reap smiled and nodded, giving her the confirmation she was silently asking for. Shooting things seemed to comfort the warrior, and Eugene was her therapist. Still, Brick showed restraint and only used enough bullets to clear the glass above the doorway.
"Help Dogmeat up and over, then get yourself through," the merc commanded before turning to address the first few ferals that had clawed their way through the broken windshield.
They met a whirlwind of death as the mercenary fought like a man possessed. The Harvester was a blur, expanding and contracting and changing directions almost faster than the eye could follow. It was a pace he knew he couldn't maintain for long but Reaper only had to last long enough for Brick and Dogmeat to get to safety.
"You coming, merc?" the Ranger asked, leaning back in through the windowless door and laying down another clip of cover fire. "We aint got all day."
Reap was experiencing a little bloodlust of his own, but the sudden burst of the minigun brought him back around. He holstered the Harvester and made a diving leap through the broken window. He hit the ground rolling and came up at a run. The closed door would create a choke point, but it wouldn't hold back the horde for long.
He caught up with Brick and Dogmeat at a maintenance door. It was locked of course, and Brick was banging at it with the butt of her gun. "You wouldn't happen to have a key?" she asked as Reaper approached.
"Not exactly, but something just as good," he said, producing a bobby pin. "You think you can hold them off for a couple minutes."
"I'll give you one minute, Talon Company" She winked, heading back toward the railcar.
Dogmeat barked at the departing ranger, and despite the circumstances, the merc couldn't help but smile. "I know, boy," Reap said as he knelt to pick the lock on the door, "she's a real handful."
The chatter of Eugene filled the corridor once again, this time in short bursts that were probably head shots. Reaper did his best to tune out the distraction and focus on feeling for the tumblers and pins. Although it seemed like an eternity, it was only 40 odd seconds before he felt the familiar click of the locking mechanism's release.
"We're clear, Brick," he called out, opening the doorway to what looked like a passage into a service tunnel.
The Ranger came sprinting around the corner and the three of them hurried into the new tunnel, slamming the door behind them and locking it once again. They no sooner got the thick metal door shut before the frantic clawing and howling erupted on the other side.
Through the muffled moans Reap heard a familiar growl and discovered that Dogmeat was on full alert once again. The dog was pointed down the service tunnel with every hair on its back standing at attention. Its tail was stick straight and Reaper new the look of danger when he saw it.
And there was definitely danger ahead.
Through the murky flickering of the metro's emergency lighting, Reaper could see an ocean of ferals milling mindlessly about. Their deformed silhouettes staggered through the eerie staccato lighting like zombies in a halodisk horror show. The horde they had just fought through was nothing compared to the herd that now stood between them and the stairwell to the surface.
"I don't think the luck of the Irish is gonna get us through this one," Brick whispered.
"No," Reap agreed, rummaging through his pack. "But maybe this will," he added, holding up the tube that Roy had given him outside Tenpenny Tower.
"Bobby pins and skin cream," Brick snorted. "What else you got in that pack? Lipstick? Maybe some hairspray?"
"Just smear some of this on your hands and face," he grumbled.
Brick cupped her hand, but the look on her face was anything but confident. That look grew even darker as she spread the reeking gel on her furrowed face.
"What is this smelly crap, merc?"
"It's a Ghoul Mask," Reap explained. "It's supposed to mask our pheromones so we can travel among ferals undetected?"
"Does it work on dogs?" The ranger asked, glancing down at Dogmeat and continuing to frown.
"We're about to find out," Reap said, lathering his hands and whipping them on his companion's fur. As bad as it smelled, Reap thought the stuff should mask just about anything.
Once they were all lathered up, the team of three began a slow, deliberate march toward the unbelievably large gathering of ghouls. Each step brought the enormity of the herd into focus. There were dozens of them – perhaps a hundred even. They shambled from one passage wall to another with no discernable motivation other than wandering in aimless circles until their next meal presented itself.
Reap was the first to reach the fringes of the feral horde, desperately trying to avoid being its next meal. His shuffling gait was painfully slow. Each footstep inching him further into the midst of decayed flesh and hot, radioactive bodies. He wondered what would happen if he started sweating, but he pushed those thoughts away. Either Roy's ointment would work, or they were all going to die, it was as simple as that.
His heart leapt into his throat as one of the ferals locked eyes with him. Reap quickly looked at the ground and tried to shuffle past the creature, but the merc knew he had detected a spark of interest in those glossy grey eyes, and the creature continued to approach him. The ghoul shambled right up against the merc, its face so close to the mercenary's that Reap could hear the sickening wheeze of air rushing in and out of the ghoul's nasal cavities. Perhaps there was a hint of human pheromones beneath the ointment, and the merc held his breath as the creature gave him a good sniff, but in the end Reaper's scent was no match for the smell of the Ghoul Mask, and the feral turned and shuffled back toward the opposite wall.
The merc took a second to shoot a glance at Brick. The Ranger looked petrified, but she was a hardened warrior and could control her fear. She indicated as much with a subtle nod, and the group continued its slow-motion trudge toward the stairwell.
Dogmeat imitated his companions and kept his head down and his pace slow and steady. The cattle dog appeared unphased by the horde that surrounded it and Reap was proud of the canine's composure.
As the group made their way through the gauntlet of ghouls, there were several more close calls where it seemed for a moment as if a feral had caught a whiff of their true scent and vectored in for a closer inspection. Each time the group would halt and wait for the creature to lose interest and shamble away. Each of those times Reaper would hold his breath and wonder if this was the feral that would sound the alarm.
But none of them did.
After what seemed like an eternity, Reap reached the first step to freedom, and, as they ascended into the harsh but beautiful light of the afternoon sun, the merc finally allowed himself to breathe easy once again.