Mystic River

It was always hard to understand just how large Boston was. Every time I thought we had come to the limits of this dead metropolis, there was more yet again. More houses, more homes, more ruins. More destruction and knowledge lost to the ages. More death.

But as long as I had Piper with me, there was life too.

The bridge was gone.

"How can it be destroyed?" Piper demanded, though it seemed her words were as much directed at herself as at him, "A caravan went through here just the other day, and the one yesterday... it never made it back to Bunker Hill... dammit..."

"This is bad news, yes?"

"There's not a whole lot of the local fauna capable of wrecking a ten-lane concrete bridge, Martin," she grumbled, a look of worried concentration on her face. Whatever levity had been there before, it was gone now, "And none of the plant life's capable of it in the span of days."

"Raiders?"

"Or mutants. Super Mutants always lug around all sorts of heavy stuff, could be they ambushed someone on the bridge, blew it all up just for the fun of it..." She stood on her toes, peering ahead over the crowd, "I can't see the break from here, let's move up."

"Stay where you're at," MacCready had, somehow, moved up without making himself noticed, and now only so when he spoke, coming back down. His rifle was unslung, held in a way Martin recognized well enough as one of wariness, and the younger man's eyes did search the surroundings ere he stopped before them, "Bridge's out. There's a five meter gap from side to side, looks like scorch-marks on the edges, but nothing elsewhere. Pretty obvious it's deliberate, if you wanna know. Torques' planning what to do now, he wants everyone to sit tight until he's done."

Piper eyed the road ahead, and the overpass ahead of them. Like so much else of the ancient infrastructure it was overgrown with vines and gnarly roots, and old cars rusted away atop it, visible from where they stood. It was low enough that he doubted anyone could really hide in ambush on it. Even so, he notice more than one guard edging up the low, grassy slopes, weapons brandished until they reached the top. Once up, he saw the visibly relaxing, weapons lowered but still at the ready, as some sort of hand sign was given to the front of the caravan.

Piper turned to MacCready, her own firearm now unslung. The young man gave it a glance, though he seemed not at all uncomfortable with it.

"Any idea what's gonna happen now?"

"Honestly, no," he shrugged, fishing a cigarette from his vest. He somehow still kept a solid grasp of his rifle, and in a motion Martin found downright impressive, managed to light the smoke too, all with one hand, "Things like this happen, caravans usually turn around. But we're already one day late, and one caravan short. I doubt Torques' gonna turn us around, much as he'd probably like to..."

"Any other roads, then?" Martin asked, glancing as far ahead of the caravan as he could. The bridge was still out of sight, but had to be close if the mercenary had been able to make his way back and forth so fast. He turned his eyes back on MacCready, who seemed to ponder the same thing, "Across the river, I mean. Are there more bridges we can use?"

"There's a few more, to the west. Cradock Bridge's closest, but raiders had the Medford Square last time I saw it. There's another road, leading across, not too far from it. I'd put my caps there. There's the Winthrop bridge, and some more I don't remember the names of, further west. It's not really much of a detour, but I don't like the area...too close to Medford Highschool."

Martin was unfamiliar still with the term 'Highschool', though he understood it as a sort of educational facility of old. Similar perhaps to the College of Whispers? It was more that the place seemed to unsettle the mercenary that had him uneasy.

"It is a bad place?"

"Well-known raider den," Piper explained,"More of an outpost, really. Main spot is up near Winchester, last I heard, but raiders never just settle."

"Be nice if they did, easier to avoid," MacCready snorted. He seemed more at ease now, already, and looked back to the head of the caravan, "Torques' not stupid though. He'll know where to head for, and further west we go, closer we get to Covenant before we cross the river. If we cross by the old railroad, should be a pretty straight shot to Covenant, and home safe..."

Yet another name, so often thrown about. Covenant was brought up like some sort of sanctuary, a safe place to be like Bunker Hill, yet no one ever actually explained. It seemed one of those things everyone knew, so none needed be told. Still, he did not wish to seem more ignorant than he was.

"Is Covenant really safe?"

"Safe as it gets north of Boston these days," MacCready nodded. Piper shot him a confused look, then seemed to understand that she'd not actually told him what Covenant was beyond a caravan hub. Maybe it was simply the way of things that all 'caravan hubs' were like Bunker Hill, "Concrete walls, a gate, and working turrets covering every direction. Nice folks, I guess, if you're into the pre-War vibes they're going for."

"It's a nice place to stop by," Piper shrugged, "They're a little weird, but nice... Wait, something's happening up ahead..."

The caravan was massing up, people bunching together as more and more it seemed the front was making a complete turn. He could see Torques at the head of them now, moving with fast, determined strides and barely concealed frustration. The man paid no visible heed to any questions posed by those he walked past, merely shouting commands to the guards and Brahmin-handlers.

The caravan made a turn once the leader had cleared the overpass, and veered west, crossing over the second lane of the old highway, and into a downtrodden pathway through the greenery. A wide berth had been cleared, it seemed, long ago, and nothing grew in a three meter belt in the bottom piece of woodland. On the other side they came onto another paved road, this one at first much smaller than the first, but then it merged with the road from the overpass, and widened out.

"MacCready!"

Torques' voice startled Martin, though it seemed to cause the mercenary little surprise. Rifle shoulder, he marched ahead and caught up with the caravan boss. It was out of earshot, but easy enough to tell what was discussed, as Torques jabbed a finger at a pair of tall, red brick buildings on the other side of the river. To his credit, the younger man seemed at worst irritated, walking at once ahead with a brisker pace than the caravan could boast. He disappeared soon after into the shrubbery, and Martin lost all sight of him.

"And off he goes," Piper muttered, "Pretty sure this is why you'd wanna be in the guilds as a merc, or you get sent off on your lonesome."

Her tone was cold, but still Martin sensed some concern within, beneath the layers of Commonwealth-induced indifferent. It was harder to care not at all for the lives of others when you had shared drinks with them, or a smoke, or even a simple conversation. MacCready seemed a good man, or at least not a bad one, and Martin found himself worried for him.

"If you can't help it, no use worrying," Piper said, pulling on the straps of her rucksack, "And if you can help it, no need worrying. Right now, we can't help it. He signed on as a guard, let him do his job... and he's likely safer alone than with us, anyway."

Safer alone. Had Piper seen something in MacCready that he'd missed? Martin wanted to ask, but somehow the question wouldn't pass his lips. More than that, Piper's words made him feel as if there might be eyes on them, even now.

"That's depressing."

"Yep."

"I feel like you were a great deal more optimistic just an hour ago," Martin grumbled, feeling for the revolver in his coat. It wasn't loaded, but six of the bullets for it rustled around in the same pocket. Piper gave him a look that seemed at first like she had a snappy comeback at the ready, then averted her eyes and sighed, deflating. Some worry grew in him at the sight, afeared maybe she was starting to have regrets, and his voice softened, "Piper?"

"It's... better to prepare yourself for stuff like this, and then get a nice surprise when people come back alive," she finally spoke, her tone almost apologetic, "Sorry, I'll try not to be a massive downer. It's still kinda new to me, having someone like you I can actually expect to still be there when I turn around. Guess I'm... still getting used to the Commonwealth throwing nice things at me, you know?"

Toa ne pravi dvajca... Though he didn't say as much aloud, it was just as much a novelty to him. But, it had gotten easier to accept, the more he understood Piper's mindset, and her feelings. It probably was not an entirely healthy thing that they both held so little esteem in themselves, but... it could work. He hoped it could work.

Ahead of them, the road bridged another that came below from the south and bridged the river itself. Only, this time when he actually saw the bridge, Martin understood what MacCready had meant about the deliberate damage. Much of the bridge had collapsed into the river, with flakes of concrete dangling off the foundations on threads of metal, and at the center of the river, naked stumps of shattered brickwork sat in the water, bereft of their burdens. Though he could see little in the way of details, the trees around the broken bridge bore signs of fire, and a squat, red building just aside it on the other bank bore large, black soot marks on the corner turned towards the bridge.

"Cradock Bridge?" he ventured.

"Past tense, looks like," Piper nodded, "This wasn't broken last I heard either. See the scorch marks? You need a lot of explosives to take out a stone bridge like that. Especially with all those supports."

"The first bridge I see that resembles at home, and it is made a ruin..."

"I'm a little more concerned with the timing." Piper gestured ahead, to something between the trees. Straining his eyes, it still was not until they walked closer that he could see what she had pointed at. Another bridge here, though it was smaller, and seemed far less safe to pass than the others had been. She gestured further ahead still, and Martin felt he was starting to see her point, "Yeah, I thought as much..."

The caravan ground to another halt. Ahead, because of them going downhill, he could see the front of it, and recognized the shabby coat, cap and long-barreled rifle of MacCready, speaking with Torques. The latter was making gestures and gesticulations wild enough to betray a patience that had ended long ago, replaced now with open frustration and anger. The former, it seemed, just tried not to be the target of it. The bridge that would have been the continuation of their current path was gone as well, a large crater blasted into its center. Only the outer edges remained, and while people might be able to make the climb, the Brahmins would not.

"That's not good."

"No," Piper sighed, coming to a stop next to him, "No, it's not. That one was intact too, last time I came through here..."

It was unspoken but clear what she meant. Someone or something had decided to rid Boston of its bridges, at least the ones spanning into Medford. It was all recent too, and likely by the same who had butchered the caravan before them. Even from here, he could tell the caravaneer was livid. Some of the guards seemed to glance among themselves, unsure of what to do.

"Are we walking into a trap?"

"It's starting to smell like it," Piper muttered. She checked the state of her firearm, briefly, and seemed content with it. Martin was starting to feel like his weapon had gone unloaded long enough, and fished it from his vest, along with a bullet, "You'd need a lot of explosives taking out a single bridge, or even just two. Four? I can count on... one hand, I guess, the raider gangs with that much..."

Torques said something to MacCready then. Martin couldn't hear it, but guessed it well enough when the mercenary gave his boss a curt nod, then took off down the riverbank west. He was out of sight just as quickly as before.

The caravan fell into place, guards taking up their stations in a rough perimeter, and those who were merely along for the ride finding places to sit that weren't still soaked from the rain. Martin and Piper found a tree-trunk that seemed to have been uprooted by winds or creatures larger than he'd like to think of. Still, it was dry enough, and offered a place to sit, rest and recuperate.

"If things go south," Piper started, blowing away bangs of wet hair that had fallen onto her face when she adjusted her cap. Martin caught himself staring, briefly, where the cold air of the rain had brought some red to her cheeks. When she spoke next though, the serious tone did much to steer his thoughts elsewhere, "I mean, if something goes way wrong, forget about Greentop. We're making a beeline back for Bunker Hill."

It was not as if he could argue, even had he wanted to. He barely knew where the settlement was, and if the caravan was forced elsewhere, or even attacked, they would likely have no hope of reaching Greentop anyways. Already they were so far away from Diamond City that he doubted he would find his way back alone if he tried.

"Well, this is..." Though Martin sought for it, the right word wouldn't come, leading instead to a resigned sigh as he gazed out over the ruined highway, "...an experience. I miss Diamond City already."

"I thought it was a hole in the ground?" Piper quipped with some humor. She had him to rights, and he could do little but laugh at himself for it, short and dry of mirth. At least she had mercy on him, a fond smile appearing, "Yeah, it is a hole in the ground. But, it's home, you know? It's warm and kinda cozy."

It was home. Her home, yes. In a way it had become his too, much as yesterday had renewed his determination to find a way to his own. Now that... things had changed. It had seemed like a choice he'd have to make some day, to return home or remain with Piper and see what came from it. Now, almost as a spur of the moment, pressed for words, he'd given a promise that to himself seemed too good to be true, yet she'd grasped it wholeheartedly and with both hands.

"Speaking of warm and cozy," she hummed, shifting closer to him. A small, but coy smile was on her lips, a spark in her eyes that made his mind wander to places it had not been in years. Her hands wandered too, though despite his expectations not to his, but into her pack. A long metallic cylinder, scarred and pitted, came forth, "Look what I got."

Coffee. In truth he'd completely forgotten she'd even brought it along. Piper grinned, likely she sensed his surprise, or maybe it was just plainly visible on his face. Coffee was a new thing still, to him, something that for all he knew might have existed at home, but had never come near him. Here, it was a luxurious good, the beans worth their weight in caps...Ili bakar, vo bunkerskiot rid...

It was warm still, which was another surprise. Baring magic he knew of no way a drink poured the day before could have been kept warm for so long, as if it had only just been put to the boil. The taste was much like the cigarettes, acrid, bitter and upsetting the stomach, and yet at the same time, again like the cigarette, it brought warmth, calm and a sense of comfort that did not adhere to the laws of nature.

Or, maybe, it was simply because he shared the cup with Piper. It felt a great deal more intimate than it really was, but at the same time was so mundane and normal that it brought along none of the anxiety or doubts he'd faced last night. Only a sense of comfort.

"It's good coffee."

"It was," she sighed, handing him the stained, stainless steel cup that also served as the cap of the thermos, "...then it got poured into that thing. Dunno why it always comes out tasting like ass."

"Well, it's..." he sought a word, a way to somehow not be the fool, and found it easily enough, "...improved by present company."

"Smooth." Though her tone was flat, her grin was not, nor the look she gave him when the mask cracked, "Real smooth. Won't get you more coffee though, we're saving the rest for the way back."

"I will live, I hope," he snorted. Movement caught his eye down the road, and he paused, watching. Brown, dirty and with the long-rifle in his hands, MacCready had reappeared from the bushes, "MacCready is back."

Winthrop and Auburn, two bridges further down the river, were destroyed as well. Both had been wrecked in the same way as the ones they had already come across, deliberately blasted in the center, their supports demolished and left as wreckage in the water. People could cross, barely, but beasts could not.

"Railway bridge is still up though." Closer now they could hear the mercenary speak, panting through an unlit cigarette he was struggling to light, "Didn't see or hear nothing over there, even went a bit across and took a peak. Road's clear, right now at least."

"You saw no signs of explosives, or traps? An ambush?" Angus Torques pressed the younger man, the agitation and impatience was clear in his voice. Martin could sympathize with the caravanner, knowing the man's entire livelihood was at stake, as much as his own life likely was. It was a kind of stress he hoped to never be under. Fearing for his life alone, and that of Piper's, was enough. MacCready shook his head, and accepted a canteen of water from one of the other guards. There clearly was some respect, even if the mercenary was not one of them, "We're a day's time behind schedule as is. I know the rail crossing, there's a rampart up to it by the road, it's just a mile along the river. It's a thirty-minute walk, twenty if we keep a brisk pace. Get up, people! We're moving!"

There was nary a hint of the earlier reluctance at moving on, now. It seemed that the agitation had spread, and the feeling of being watched, or maybe that they were walking to the designs of others, had spread as well. A sense of unease gripped the group, even as they moved along the river. When the road turned, and led them further from sight of the water, it did not feel as if confidence grew over much. Martin kept one hand in his vest, fingers touching to the hilt of his revolver. Six shells were squeezed in now, each as devastating to a human being as any spell he could hurl.

It was a frightful amount of power in so small a package.

Moving away from the river bank, and the highways, also meant a return to the overgrowth and decay two centuries of neglect had wrought upon the homes of Boston's old lives. Moss-covered wooden planks replaced towering centers of industry and commerce, and the streets themselves narrowed in. Here as well, cars were strewn about, empty and derelict and conquered by nature. Only one, in the middle of the street, still had its occupant, and Martin made a deliberately wide berth around it.

It was hard to tell exactly how far from the river they moved, as he could at all times hear the water, but rarely could he see it. On the right side, a thick wall of trees, almost a palisade of trunks and green, obscured the river in its entirety, and in places crawled across the broken asphalt with thick, veiny roots that seemed more flesh-like than akin to wood. Ahead of the caravan, MacCready had once again been tasked with leading the way, rifle held at the ready. As they came upon a split in the road, the mercenary took them left, away from the river. On the right, at last, Martin could see what the younger man had seen. Like before, a bridge that seemed like it might have resisted a giant's wrath, had been broken down the middle, blasted to pieces. Piper hesitated at the sight, a mere broken step before she moved on, but he noticed.

"I don't like this..."

"Aye..."

"We're being herded," Piper muttered, "Probably watched, too."

"We should tell Torques, then?"

"He knows." She spoke with a certainty Martin wasn't sure if he found reassuring or not, "You don't stay a caravanner long if you can't tell stuff like that. He's trying to use MacCready as bait for anyone ahead of us."

"Should we..." It seemed a cruel thing to do to a man that expected some degree of honorable deal, "...should we tell MacCready, then?"

"He knows too, I think."

"So, we..." Martin threw a glance up at the ruined houses, a few still recognizable behind the walls of foliage and overgrowth, "...we continue on, then? Try to get ahead of ambush?"

"Torques' trying to get ahead of it, yeah, I think so. We're sticking to the rear though, just in case..." Piper snorted, fingers tapping on the stock of her weapon. She seemed as ready to jump as he felt, and the notion that she was as ready for flight as him was, if nothing else, a reassurance that he wasn't being too paranoid. Just paranoid enough, "...sure, maybe we're just being paranoid, but you live longer that way."

She could still read his mind, then.

Martin's fingers touched to the smooth warmth of his lodestone, still hanging from its leather string. The idea of Piper as some sort of seer was one that brought him some bemusement, even here. A fellow mage in a land supposedly entirely without them.

"Well, glad to see you're taking it so well," she snorted, vague amusement visible 'neath the facade. Martin shook off the smile he'd not realized he wore, mind returning to the situation at hand. Ahead of them the road split into another intersection. Torques continued straight through and then turned a sharp right, his gait that of a man who knew time was not his friend. At the same time, another bridge came into view. Martin needed only a few glimpses to see it too had been destroyed. But, ahead of it, forming an overpass across the road, a different sort of bridge emerged. It seemed almost like a wall at first, a sharp rise in the landscape topped by iron plates, but as they drew nearer it became clear. A large, flat structure rose by its side, letters in neon red declaring it as one of the 'Super Duper Mart's of the old world, a forum and gathering of shops all in one, like a marketplace with a roof. He wondered if the concept would work at home, "Well, at least the railway's intact."

It had only been a day since they emerged from the tunnels south of the Boston River, yet for Martin it felt like months had passed since last he'd walked on the crossties of the old iron tracks. In a way, they had become familiar to him, the first safety he'd known in the Commonwealth.

"Remember, look both ways before you cross," Piper chuckled, taking the last meter up onto the old tracks in a single leap, shotgun held before her. She smoothed back her hair and adjusted her cap, looking every bit the consummate traveler. Even if it was a mask, it was good to see some confidence returning, "Not... really sure if it's meant for railways though. It's something they used to say back before the War."

"What does it mean?"

"I think it's a way to not get run over," she shrugged, her face falling into more serious folds then, "These days it's more to keep something big and nasty from sneaking up on you, ya know. Different age, same tricks, I guess. And right here, better look both ways twice, just in case. I don't like this one bit."

There wasn't a bird in the air, far as he could tell, nor was their songs heard. All was quiet as the caravan moved across the bridge, even the beasts were silent, barely offering more than the occasional grunt as their handlers whacked them across. None of the people spoke, falling into the silence of a herd aware of its predators, yet not where they might lurk. Martin for his part, kept a hand on his revolver at all times, though it remained concealed within his coat. Woodland sprung up around them as they made across the road beneath, and wandered onto the river proper. In places it formed an outright canopy above, and gave the impression of a tunnel wrought by some ancient force.

Sunlight barely made it through, and more than once Martin almost slipped on the damp-slickened ground, covered side-to-side with moss and lichen and half-rotted leaves from boundless years of fall. Here and there, he could see old remains of power cables, if only because they formed thick, green ropes of moss suspended between twisted branches and thick foliage. The air was humid, impossibly so even for a tunnel of green as short as this one, yet Martin felt his shirt sticking to him, and his socks growing cold and damp inside his boots.

When the tunnel finally came to an end, he realized they had long-since made it across the river. On both sides of the fading greenery, old ruins emerged, wrecked by time and nature as vines and roots had forced their way through brickwork, wood and shingles, and turned much of what had once been clear stonework into hillsides and outcroppings. It seemed the northern parts of Boston were more marshlike than the south, here at least, for the buzzing of insects quickly reached his ears, and the ground where clear of foliage reflected sunlight as only shallow, murky ponds would. It felt almost as if, by merely crossing a river, they had marched onwards to lands entirely new.

The iron tracks continued, even as the ground started leveling out and the railway became as just another street, its crossties hidden away between thick mats of grass and moss, and its iron rails rusted to the point of feebleness. Martin severely doubted any of the trolleys he'd seen in the underground, motorized or not, could have ridden here without breaking the decaying metal apart.

Curiosity, and some apprehension, ate at him. Every step seemed like they walked a spider's web, clueless flies into the maw of something terrible and unseen. And for all that those around him seemed tense, few were those he trusted to understand the danger. Up ahead, he could see MacCready walking on his own, rifle at the ready. It was not a deliberate thing so much as one borne from the anxiety mounting in his mind, but Martin still found himself striding up past much of the caravan, Piper in tow, until they reached the younger man.

"There's a food market up ahead, an old pre-war burger stand," MacCready nodded as they approached, pointing forward. A squat block of weathered bricks and broken windows lay ahead, unintelligible letters dangling from a broken sign. The road from here and onwards was more broken up, large flakes of concrete and asphalt lay scattered about, like scales on some ancient corpse, "Used to be there was a caravan rest up there, where the intersection goes, and some folks apparently even tried fixing up the tracks so trolleys could go up there."

"They don't seem like they can be saved," Martin noted, kicking flakes off the old metal with the heel of his boot. He watched the younger man, wondering what the mercenary might be thinking, and how he, a fellow newcomer to these lands, knew so much. Curiosity, sadly, had to give way for trepidation, "...are we near to Covenant yet?"

"'About a mile, railway goes right past it," MacCready pointed ahead. Piper held a hand over her eyes, shadowing for the sun though she could not see it either. Martin gave up when all he could see on the skyline was forest, the overgrowth of an old world. If Covenant was that way, it was well and truly hidden, "Can't see it yet, of course. It's a bunch of pre-war villas and homes. Someone got the idea at some point to rebuild half a neighborhood and wall the whole thing up in concrete. Dunno how they got it done, but, hey, I don't judge what works, right?"

Torques walked a few paces ahead of them still, most of his guards spread out along both sides of the road. Martin wondered what the old caravanner was thinking, if he'd been through situations before akin to this. Maybe there was a trick to it, something the experienced traders knew to do that would see them through it. He hoped so, at the very least.

"So, the tracks go right up to Covenant?" Piper asked, her eyes narrowed with clear suspicion, though it seemed not aimed at MacCready, "It's the straight path?"

"Most predictable one too, yeah, I know," the mercenary nodded, his own eyes no less wary, "I went up and down this place, 'least up to the food mart I know it's safe...ish. Didn't see no super mutants, raiders or anything, not even a bloatfly. Ghost town station."

"Wouldn't mind a few bloatflies, or just some mongrels," Piper muttered, her voice growing tenser by the word, "It's way too quiet here..."

Martin made to agree, but halted as a sound reached him. From a little further ahead, where Torques had suddenly frozen in his steps, there came a sound. It was a new sound, one he'd never heard before in this land.

A series of high-pitched, fast beep-beep-beep.

What happened next was, to him, unclear. One moment, Torques stood a few paces ahead, frozen in his stride as he'd stepped on a large piece of broken road. The man had not said a word, nor had he made gestures or tried to run or move. Then, the world threw itself upside down, hot and prickly, and something that stung his chest, like a jab with a stick that somehow went through his chestplate.

Any sense of up and down totally vanished, and it was as if the world itself did the same. Sound was no longer consistent, a constant roar of noise that he only idly, almost dully, realized was the sound of blood, his blood, in his ears, and a painfully high-pitched sound like the screaming of birds. Martin found himself sprawled on the broken ground, something warm and wet covering his face. The smell came almost as soon as the realization itself, that it was blood.

Angus Torques had disappeared from where he'd stopped. Warm, fat clouds of red had been sprayed across the road, as well those in the immediate vicinity. It could not have been more than a second or two, for pieces of meat still rained from above, some larger than others.

A wet, heavy thud came as the near-ruined head of the old caravanner struck the ground with a crack of pulverized bone and the wet sound of pulped flesh. It rolled to a stop mere feet from where Martin was now trying to get his bearings, and he found himself helpless against the almost accusatory stare of the one eye that remained in the ruined head, a final, pleading look in blood-shot blue.

A sound like swarms of flies came to as his sense of hearing slowly returned from the nothingness of high-pitched noise. It accompanied a constant crackling, like the cracking of a whip or when pebbles were sent skidding down a cobblestone street. Only here, he had already heard it once before this close, in the tunnels before Diamond City. Even as the world was still mostly an inconsistent blur. Gunfire erupted all along the caravan, as more hidden explosives detonated, throwing men and beasts around like discarded toys, broken limbs and mangled bodies that tumbled along the broken ground.

Martin was pulled to his feet, violently and with little care for how hard it had become to breathe. He couldn't even tell who was hauling him until a brown cap landed by his feet. MacCready swore something, but did not even seem to reach for his lost possession, instead dragging Martin along until he could stand on his own, if only huddled. Panic struck him, but not for his own safety. Piper?! Kade e Piper?! Stendarr, Julianos, Akatosh, kade e Piper? Kade e taa?!

He couldn't see her, and the air already was filled with clouds of smoke and dust, and the heat and lights of bullets and lasers breaking open the world, shattering asphalt and exploding trees. He couldn't see her, couldn't even see where they were being attacked from. Something soft was at his back then, and only a slow realization that he'd stumbled and fallen came to him. It was one of the Brahmin, the large beast having died where it stood, and now rested in a thick, oozing pool of its own blood. MacCready fell in next to him, huddled against the carcass as bullets ripped its flesh. Goods and wares spilled from their nettings, providing some measure of cover.

"I can't see them!" the mercenary yelled, pressing his head down as the hits came closer, spilling and spraying fresh blood from the beast, so very near his head that at first Martin thought they'd struck him dead, "GODDAMMIT I CHECKED THIS PLACE! WHO THE HELL IS SHOOTING AT US?!"

"Piper?!" It was the only word he could get past his lips, his mind numbed by the fear and adrenaline now pumping through his veins. There was not one silent moment, less so a second, where he could think without the promise of death mere inches away, "Piper!"

Maybe, if he leaned a bit out from the dead beast, he could spot her. Desperation drove him more so than fear for himself, until MacCready seemed to have sensed his intent, and yanked him back behind cover. Asphalt exploded and old roots shredded as bullets tore into where he'd been about to put himself. Pain, then, as MacCready grabbed him hard by the hair and forced Martin's face to his.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!"

"PIPER?!" Martin yelled back. He could not form another word before fear overtook him, and so did nausea. MacCready leaned out from the beast, eyes wide and full of terror and anger both, pupils large and flickering.

"I DON'T FU-"

The younger man's words turned to a gurgle as a bullet found him. Warm blood sprayed Martin as the mercenary collapsed where he'd knelt, half of his neck ripped open. Martin tasted iron, sickly warm and thick, realizing his mouth had been open when the bullet struck home. It was instinct and muscle memory more than a deliberate action that shoved his hands against MacCrea- no, Robert's neck.

MacCready was the guard, Robert was the patient.

Robert was his friend.

The younger man spasmd, hands slick with blood already clutching for a wound they could do little to staunch. The flow of blood was strong, a strong heart pumping blood with the desperation of an unthinking organ that did not know it would kill itself by doing so. Martin pressed harder still, energy oozing from his hands through the fountain of slick, red life spilling from Robert's throat. Uspori! Uspori! Zaprete ja krvta! Možam da ja zapram krvta. Zaprete go protokot i isušete ja krvta!

Martin pressed on, inwards, pouring energy into the mangled flesh.

Robert grew paler still, his hands slowing in their grasps, weakening.

Martin pressed, splitting the skin along his own fingers, his own blood mixing in with Robert's. His mind screamed with such protest that he couldn't consciously tell if it was the strain or if he'd been shot.

Then Robert moved no more.

Martin pressed on, halting not even when something hard, sharp and wet pressed to his neck. If he moved, if he stopped, Robert would die.

Then the blade, already drenched with the blood of another, began to drink of his.