All that Barney sees through his optic lence is pain, torture and horror. These monsters beat each other up, burn children's skin to watch them cry, display public executions and rape. It is hard to imagine what kind of feelings could trigger this behavior. One can't blame on drugs alone.
He watches them all individually and spots new comers, tries to understand who they are, what makes them tick, or looks for the proper place to off them with one bullet to the head. It's no easy task to observe so much violence and not being able to provent it from happening. One shot, even at this distance, will alert the bad guys. Then another - cause one won't ever be enough - will reveal Barney's position. His index hitches, he must stretch it from time to time.
There's a mission to fulfill.
Suddenly, branches snap somewhere behind the mercenary. Barney's reflexes are even sharper than the man's shooting.
- Don't shoot, I'm reinforcement, says the intruder to Barney's canon.
The voice a sweeter is than he expected.
- 'nly one guy?
- With military training and marksman classes.
A guy with feminine tone.
Blond, long hair in poney tail, brown eyes, modest build under an old combat uniform a bit to large for her. Right handed - noted by how she shoulders her rifle. Facial traits are locked behind a serious deaminor but the body seems relaxed. Barney won't admit it, but she is silver lining to this mission.
It's getting dark, so Barney can probably move a little more to greet his "reinforcements" in orderly fashion. The ghillie suit rise as a living bush and the man's legs tingle like a swarm of a thousand ants stretching their own.
- What's the status?
- Bunch of raiders with hostages; mans and womans and kids. Fat guy guards the lil' ones. Has a nasty face.
She do not demonstrates how much she is startled by this, but she does pick up some binoculars to see the raiders camp for herself.
- 'round 25 raiders, but were more than 35 yesterday. Some left durin' last nite with hostages. Boss wasn't happy about it. Had a few guys killed by civilians.
- By civilans?! Where are the hostages, now?
- Several buildings. Hangars on the left, the childrens. Ones behind the main building, adultes. Not sure. Also, raiders got monsters held somewhere.
- Monstrer? she askes, looking straight at Barney's eye.
- People monsters.
- Shit. I saw one back in Station. How could they turn them so quick?
- No know. But ther'is quite a pack.
- Got any insight of the main building interior?
- Nope. Takes at least two to recon that place. Not risking dying to play badass.
Silence. Barney recognizes a good training in the girl's stance, the attitude, her question or the way she talks in général. If she truly was military, she must be captain or some high rank. Guess she truly is a silver lining.
Well, that's a Whirling Triangle Fist Presentation. Created by some douchebag (Arouth) who riped another douchebag (Cadieux) from ideas and settings to write the whole shit up for a THIRD TIME. Even if a few characters was his in the first place. Based on yet another popular franchise, FALLOUT, previously from Black Isle Studio but now owned by BesthesdaGames Studio.
It is Nymeland Chronicles; the eerie rumors of Fallout Québec
And the story is Episode 4 - Debbie at the Slayer's
The door of the hangar just opened up, but Estelle doesn't care at all. She lost everything for the second time in her life. Stare is blank and there are no details filtering into her mind. Only the intolerable hum of emptiness that sounds exactly like a spining vinyl disk with no music printed on it.
They had no chances against these maniacs. But how so? They all remembered their training. The drills were concocted by the greatest hero this age has ever carried. All the barricades were set up according to plan. The maze-like corridors between train-cars were design to hinder enemy's progression. Everyone learned how to shot straight, with efficiency.
But what kind of training prepares you against weapons that shoot through walls?
Everyone got very sick, very fast after the attack began. It felt unreal. Estelle saw capable fighters collasping in matter of seconds. Even 'though they were not exposed to gun fire - covered behind walls. This... is what happened to Lawrent.
First, he started to puke his guts on the floor. Estelle tried to reach him but a painful, intangible sensation was submerging the mature woman, puching her back further from her husband. Watching the love of her life crawling to escape that force, starting this mumbling about seing atoms or something, brought back mental scars to Estelle. This time, instead of unleaching adrenaline, she cried all the tears she could.
When she went dry, one thought snaped her out of this nightmare. Philipe. Their son. She couldn't let the same fate happened to him. Nor any other bad things. Her legs found out all the hidden strenght she had. They ran towards the safe place the community managed to establish for that exact scenario. Her lungs didn't need to have air to pump, apparently. Her heart was now a fusion engin.
All around the snack bar owner, it was war. Gunshots. Rally cries. Orders shouted to future victimes. A breath of hope that victory was upon them, somehow. The bite of reality: they weren't trained to fight against these well prepared raiders. Something like they haven't seen in the South Shore since Slayer's Purge, around nine years ago. Estelle was running in the middle of it. Like a woman possessed.
When she arrived to the safe hideout, they were already opening the doors. These... road bandits, these exiled criminals, were pulling the children out and executing some of their mothers. Fueled by the cries of their little people, adrenaline rushed back into Estelle's veines. Just like old days.
She remembers a bit of what happened. There was punches delieverd, some biting. At one point, she thinks she took the blade one of these guys had. She clearly recalls the taste of blood on her lips and how natural her movements felt. Yeah... like good old days.
Where it gets confusing, is when pain knocked on her jaw. The same pain she still feels now. Then, everything stopped to be of any convern. As far as she knows, Estelle woke up here, with that door opening.
Who cares which of these fuckers opened it up. The previous owner of the legendary Bouffe'N Boom stares blankly at the shape moving among the other Station's refugees. She knows what Slayers do to their prisoners. Specially women. She survived it the first time by becoming a blank slate. She did it before - again two days ago. She can do it again.
The shape comes closer to her very fast. It has long dark hairs but something is not quite right about its face. The hands putted on her cheeks are warm, their touch is gentle. Who this guys thinks he is?
But Estelle suddenly recognises the facial traits of the man who approached her. Lawrent. Not a shade of a doubt. It's him. It's the face of her husband but yet, something still isn't right about it.
- Chus là, Estoux! J'te get the fuck out d'ici.
And that voice, it must have came from a dream because it wasn't Lawrent's voice. It was...
- C'est... c'est toi? she asked inside her own mind, uncapable to break free from this self-inflicted awake coma she got in.
That voice... It takes her way back...
Meanwhile...
- So... what's yur name? asked the guy in ghilli suite before finally greeting her with an handshake. Barney, by the way.
- Cath, she just replies.
- Cat like the furry meowy pet?
- No, like Catherine. Are you flirting with me, right now?
Catherine recognises his accent. He is Franc-Tireur (a pun mixing sharp shooter and maverick, in french). Doc send her to train with them for six month, in the past. They usualy avoid pronouns at the beginning of their sentences. They come from further east in the South Shore territory, around old Rimouski. There is still an active animal reserve there and the Franc-Tireur are natives who guard the place. Very good mercenaries. They are particularly good with weapons of all sort, crafting and using. Lawrent, Estelle's husband, was one of them.
They are also very good for scouting mission because they make one with their environment. But this Doc still connection with them since last time. "Good to know", mutters Catherine.
- So... from Station?
- What makes you say that?
- Accent. Folks from that place often talks like old times. And must be personal to come alone on that op. Was it 'cause of a man?
- I'm not alone, the former soldier says, keeping her focus on the raider's camp. Had some friends, back in Station. I care. But you? Why are you on this op?
- Naai contracts, Barney replies, immidiatly regreting saying that.
- NAA Intelligence. Is that so...? Why did the NAA adandoned the town?
- Got indenpendant 7 years ago.
- Still... primerly source of ammunition.
- Found a new supplier.
Barney could be commiting an act of high treason with what he is about to say - as his presence here in the first place. But since this girl is so hot, she's well worth all punishments.
- NAA met with people from the south. Highly equiped faction with military grade bullets, fusion cores and robots. Said somethin' was up back in the west. World disaster stuff. So alliance have been concluded. Wanna stay anonymous, so deals are kept in the dark.
- Politics bullcrap... Was it worth letting civilans die?
- Can't save everyone...
Barney felt he was stepping onto a huge landslide with her, so he thought getting more personal would serve as damage controle.
- ... but, am here. Don't agree with Station's fate. Best place in South Shore by far. Good mead and Lawrent was still appreciated around the clan. Weaponmates pointed out my foolishness since stayin' as ordered wasn't mandatory. Seems wasn't in the wrong, was I.
- Maybe, Catherine concludes with determination. We'll see about that tomorow. First rays of sunlight. I take first watch.
- Have some Mentas bagged in here... if y'want. My go to for long recon ops.
- Thanks, Barney, but no thanks.
As the dawn begins the rise, everyone still outside of the main compound is either sleepy, dehydrated and sick or shaken by witdrawal. No one noticed two shadows wandering around, sometimes flatlining an unlucky one who woke up as they passed by.
On the other side of the camp...
Plan was to get weapons, free the hostages and create a distraction - or was it the other way around? Since Estelle knew where everything was stored, she led the way. Find the hangar filled with Station milicia's guns felt like stumbling upon ancient treasure.
- We can arm the whole world, now, Nyme says with the tone of an over stretching smile on his face.
Estelle isn't too concern about anything, yet. Yes, her body regain some activity. But it all feels very automatic. Like automatrons with only a few paterns and well lubricated movements. She doesn't even notice that her young friend keep speaking in english for some reasons.
- Vâ êt'es quoi, ta distraction? she asks with a monotone voice.
- Told me these dumdasses did lil' shows of their new toys on Station-folks, right?
The woman looked at the mask of human flesh the boy was wearing. She thought of her husband and it almost triggered an emotion - which she suppressed immidiatly. Yeah, she remembers. Nyme sees it in her face.
- Then I've an osti d'plan d'marde! reassures the saddistic grin on his lips.
As Nyme finishes his sentence, he finds what he was looking for.
- Sherif Benders .50mm, the kid says with glowing eyes.
Then...
Sun has painted a nice yellow and orange wave of light at the horizon. Catherine found the Mentas inside her mission partner's bag and decided to swallow two pills to stay up all night. After checking again and again the perimeter, she came to the conclusion that all raiders might be too fucked up to deliver a proper fight. So their first objective should be freeing the most hostages that they can. Attacking head on the raiders, even while in heavy witdrawal, is suicide. Barney agrees.
- Ready to go, Catherine announces while getting up. Or maybe wanna refresh on the plan?
- Nope.
The man only needs a bit of action to satisfy his urges for payback.
- Alright. Let's aim for the children first.
They then cross the road to get to the airport area. The tall grass will serve as cover for awhile, but not when they'll reach the tarmac. There, they'll have to be very careful while zigzagging between the aircraft wreckages.
As they arrive at the nearest hangars, no one's on guard duty. These guys are amateurs.
By the broken glass, Catherine is able to see some of the precious kids snuggled up against each other, sleeping like they weren't kept prisoners by degenerate maniacs with urges worst than killing.
She tries to brake discretly the lock, but nothing does the trick. Knocking the door wide open will make too much noises. She does not want to risk their stealth approch for the easy way in, yet.
- Go check to other warehouses, she whispers at her partner.
Barney passes her by to get close to the next hangar, aiming his weapon in front of him.
Catherine checks the door again. She notices the panel that is used to hide the latch system in the gap between the door and the frame. It has been forced open. Naturally, raiders don't have the keys either and even if they had them, the lock have been rusting for many, many decades. The tools used by the one responsible for guarding the kids must be laying somewhere.
While searching for them, an alarming guttural belching sound comes to her attention. Checking on Barney, she sees the man quickly walking away from the warehouse with an awkward gait. He only stops to put his head between his legs, shaking with jolts, trying to spit or vomit something.
- What is it? she askes.
He jerks his head up, pointing at the building, but keeps coming back to his original position, still unable to get out what's stuck in his stomach.
- Don't... don't go in there, he does finaly say.
Some memorie sticks with you for the rest of your days, as they can't be remotely whispered or say out loud. This must be one of them. Tears must be held back. Pain must be suppressed because children must be saved.
The creaking sound of an opening door brings an end to that pain. Behind Barney stands an half-naked disgusting blob of flesh and hairy chest. He is armed and seems very upset to have been woken up.
- Who in the fock com's pukin' in front of ma place, for fart's sake? the fat raider growls, looking out for someone to smash with his bludgeoning weapon.
As he gaze upon Catherine and Barney, silence becomes awkward. He notices the guns and suddenly, his expression get somehow pitiful to witness. Even the wind chuckles all around them. But that moment is also cut short by detonations in the distance.
The three heads turn towards the controle tower. It is hard to see what exactly is going on, due to all the wrecked metallic birds laying around. All three can still see that there is a person lurking around the building, quickly joined by an horde of feral humans throwing themselves at the sleepy raiders. Those who tries the defend themselves are swiftly dispatched by a bullet with heavy fire power straight to the head.
Catherine is stunned by the scene. She has made a plan. Spent all night reconning the terrain. They had to be ready and precise to avoid direct contact. And just like that, one dude comes along blowing all that up - litteraly.
A gunshot very close to Cath shakes her up. Barney's still alive. Although, the fat guy's skull is bleeding on the gray lawn that devoured parts the tarmac.
And then, back to the tower, came that green firework from the windows on the ground floor. The berserk dude is the one throwing the objects that make these explosions. It's melting people as they try to leave the building. It is a shit show - a very horribly efficient shit show.
- Cath, look!
Catherine follows Barney's finger. Shapes of men and women were leaving the hangars to the north east of the complex, led by a few hostages. No gunshot were fired at them. They were safe. Some of them seems to come directly towards Cath and Barney. For the children, probably. Station is rescued. But how? By who?!
Later...
Martin Dedorah Savage regrets to have fled before these hideous creatures he stubbled upon in the Village. He would have preferred to be eaten alive by them instead of crossing these guys path while fleeing.
They are worst than anything.
They choked and walked him like a dog for miles, bare foot, without food or water. To thank him for the geographic advices he gave, they rewarded Martin by locking him in the shed - feet and hands bound together - where they store their funny pistols; the ones that make people transform into zombies when you shot at them.
The former actor spent almost two nights in there, curled up on the dusty concrete floor, choking at almost every breath. His ears have been buzzing painfully for hours. His lungs seem to lack oxigen. He felt tired from the first gleams of the morning sun, believing that he was suffocating gently until he loses consciousness. But now, his heart's beating fast and obscure thoughts are circling into his brain. Like consumed by a panic attack.
Debbie, as his friends used to name him, recalls a scene from his last movie: "Tant pis, la Fin du Monde" (Too bad, the End of the World). His character ended up in an american jail, a black site. He was tortured by men from Vault-Tec Corporation for informations, but mostly because the antagonists of the film were saddistic, uni-dimensional psychopathes. The flick got high rates nationwide. It was applauded for its realistic direction but that people remember, is that graphic rape scene. He prepared a huge amount of time for that scene.
Nothing could've prepare him for this - the real-deal.
Soon, his skin got unbearably hitchy. Martin couldn't even scratch his nose. So he started to use the floor. He frantically rubbed his cheek and ear on the dry, grainy concrete until bits of it came off his face. A bloody, monstrous ark of red paint marked the floor where Martin laid his head, permanently gluing the dust to the ground. However, he wasn't in pain, nor did he feel uncomfortable in the perspective of losing his perfect face.
It wasn't real enough for him anymore.
Like that old folk singer said:
- Only the real world is so unreal, Martin does weakly whisper. And only the real is... rea-ea-eal.
Suddenly, gunshots. Awful shouts.
His gaze is fixed on the wall as a green explosion eventually illuminates his cell, projecting silhouettes of the broken tiles as if on a cinema screen or a chinese shadow marionette play. He was not rattled by the gunfires, nor the ferocious roars.
It wasn't enough real for him.
As things calm down a bit, the door to his prison cell opens and closes with a loud bang. A panicked shadow appears and fills the room with a fetid odor, characteristic of a serious lack of hygiene. A taste of spicy sirloin steak then comes to the lips of the former star. He miraculously manages to get up and turns to see one of his cruel captors. He looked like a rabbit, preyed by a violent fear.
Martin is calm. It is true, this sobbing coward has a bladed weapon in his left hand. Nonetheless, the actor walks slowly towards him. A few light grunts come out of his throat without him being able to control them.
But then the door opens a second time. Two people stand still passed the frame: a small man and a woman with feral eyes. Shocked by the new comers, Martin comes to his senses. Something tells him that this - yeah THIS - this is real.
- Is that him, the smaller fellow askes to the older lady.
She just nods silently and walks towards the kidnapper. This last one loses his shits. He shout, cries, send slashing hits into thin air with his little blade. The woman don't seem disrupted by his performance. She keeps walking - her eyes are demanding blood.
What Martin witnesses next seems very real too. It is violent, feral, inhuman. Or maybe it was, but it's a facet he had never seen before, not even with his captors. The man takes a long time to die. Despite the beatings, random lacerations, punctures and all the unspeakable things done to him with bare hands, death is slow to come silencing his suffering.
When it's over, the duo finally pay some attention to Martin's presence.
Little One - T'es-t'une ghoul?
Martin - W-what?
Little One - (Muttering) Y'a l'air correc'. - Yo! Am Nyme. Her Estelle. On est the Good Guys, don't worry.
THREE DAYS LATER...
Doc sighes over a glass five times full this morning alone. He was cogiting like no one. This past four years, he lost two very good friends, he got back his Maurice and despite all this, he feels like he's still paying for old mistakes. This isn't the first time he got that kind of blues episode. Usually, he gets pickled out of his guts he falls into a short coma. That's the only way he manages to have a real good sleep. But it also depletes his supply of scotch and no matter many times he does it, the light a the end of the tunnel gets further away each episode.
Oh what the heck! It's only gonna be the sixth time.
Getting back Estelle was a silver lining, 'though. The woman is strong despite all of her losses. At least, she still have Philipe.
She too knows her way inside the black hole of grief by heart. So maybe it's time for a real chat. After all, it is Doc who brought her to Station in the first place, which led to her dating Lawrent. If he has to ruminate to past in search of atonement, maybe he owes her an apologie for that mistake too.
Doc picks up two glasses and his bottle up staires.
Before he even got to the garage, Nyme whizzes by with a bag filled with personal loot he took from Saint-Hubert's airport.
- Hey hey hey! Where you going? And where's Cath?
The young lad stops and face the ripe mug of his elder. The cat got out of the bag fast only to flee the scene just as quick.
- Where is Catherine? You were both supposed to be hunting... Is that dog with you?
- Toute est alright! Be back when be back!
The lack of control over the kid, this is what depresses Doc. That young man has the potential to bring up so much trouble. But maybe it will be different, this time. And Doc made a promise.
Estelle is cleaning around the Jim'Ashtons. That woman keeps the ship at flow by hoping to get back to work soon. Admirable. And her son is playing with dry rancid cakes shaped like animals behind the counter.
When Doc steps inside, Estelle stops everything and pull down the scraf used to protect her from breathing dust particles. Her gaze is more serious than usual.
- Hey, pumpkin. How is it goin'?
- Comme tu l'vois. Pis it's you, dhe ol' pumpkin. Not me.
Doc chuckles and present his hands full of invitation. Estelle stares at the bottle with such disgust.
- Y'kno I don't drink.
- Yeaah... (Doc is embarrased) I guess... it was more symbolic, y'know. Some kind of... "spirituous" sharing... connection... thing. I mean...
- Make it a double.
Saved, Doc is invited to sit on one of the remaining bench. The cheap leather is torned apart and the smell of moisture is unpleasant. After a few shot, the old man thinks, neither of them won't mind.
- They grow up fast, Doc says, looking at Philipe with a timid but ambicious smile.
- With some chance, he'll stay like that foreva. Won't be like his old'ma.
- You can't say that.
- Don't mind. Hope he'll be more happy than me.
There's Lawrent's way to speak, right there. She must be thinking about him right now.
- Do you know who Jim Ashton was? (Doc wants to change her mind)
- The famous hockey player? "Built his franchise around the sixties of twentieth century before Solcum's Joe Donugt took control of the market"? Yeah. Nyme said me all of it few times already.
Doc is a little shocked hearing that name from her.
- So... he told you.
- Yeah. Pretty much ev'rything. He's hiding?
- Some very bad people try to frame him for murder. What do you know!
- Is that true?
Some palpable doubt is encircling the two of them like a bird of prey. Doc is hesitant to share more than he actually knows. This is a very delicate situation.
- Dock's authorities are looking for new... big shot around here. The kid says he knows the man.
- What he has done?
- Well, there's a lot of conflicted stories about the guy. Nyme... worked for him. So he's just a witness on that case. He knows the spots where he goes, his hidouts and all.
Estelle gets why Doc is hiding Nyme, but the old ghoul didn't answer her question.
Dock militia has no soft spots for criminals, nor their accomplices. The thing that troubles the lady's mind, 'though, is why. Why was he with bandits and murderers in the first place? Were they the "friends" he was talking about before the attack? Impossible. Nyme is a light hearted boy with too many questions the world could ever answer. Not a criminal.
- Miss Fred pis Marie, Doc. Si tu savais... she says, repressing few tears that wanted to come out.
- I do. I miss them too.
Doc is on the verge of an eyeballs tsunami. This is why he brought that bottle of scotch, in the first place.
- Hey! To both of them, he cheers.
- To both of them.
Both glasses clings softly and the liquid chokes the poor woman, burning every inches of her throat on its way down. But then the walls start shaking. A gigantic roar coming from outside gathered all the refugees in front of the RedRocket. In the middle of the old Saint-Julie's Camp landed two vertibirds with the Lilly Flower painted on the side.
- Kessé ça? Estelle askes with disbelief.
- Troubles, darlin'.
You pay for your mistakes, one way or another. Always.