"Hey Strong!" a female voice called. "What do you have there?"
Unbelievably, the mutant froze and turned to face the approaching woman. Lily followed his gaze, a tiny spark of hope taking root in her heart.
"Another raider?" she asked, hands on her hips. The creature nodded, almost as if it was responding to her question.
Bullshit. Supermutants don't take orders from humans. Lily took a closer look at the newcomer.
Although any human would come up short when compared to a Supermutant, this woman lost handily in the height department. Even from her awkward vantage point, Lily could tell; her whole body was as large as the Supermutant's arm.
And yet, despite this massive disparity in size, her voice oozed with authority. That wasn't even her only contradiction; this pint-sized woman was chock full of them.
She wore the silliest hat Lily had ever seen. Worn and battered, the oddly shaped object was perched on top of her long black hair. It reminded her a little of a certain Mayor's headwear of choice, although it was obvious that this hat was a little too big for her.
If the hat wasn't absurd enough, she was also wearing a bright blue-and-yellow jumpsuit. If Lily wasn't hanging upside down, if her body wasn't screaming in agony, she might have appreciated the chance to see the sleek, form-fitting apparel up close. Lightweight and durable, the Vault suit would have been perfectly suited for the Wasteland if not for the color. The woman stuck out like a sore thumb against the dull gray cityscape.
Was she a vault dweller? Lily's eyes drifted to her slender arms, noting the absence of a Pip-Boy. A woman in a vault suit, without a Pip-Boy. Contradictions again; just who was this woman?
The revolver strapped to her hip was a piece of art, the epitome of wasteland craftsmanship merged with the very best of pre-war technology. Carefully polished, sparingly decorated and modified with a reflex sight, Lily felt a small pang of jealousy. Why someone with a weapon like that would also sling around a worn, battered laser musket was beyond her; Lily thought she almost looked like a Minuteman.
Another contradiction; this woman was alive, but the Minutemen were dead and buried in Quincy. Maybe she was a deserter?
"How many times do I have to tell you not to play with your food?" The woman asked with a sigh. "Can you finish up here?"
The Supermutant turned slowly to look at Lily, his mouth twisted into a cruel, heartless grin. As his grip on her leg tightened, crushing muscle and tissue with ease, she cried out in desperation.
"Please!" she gasped, as waves of excruciating pain radiated from her mangled leg.
She didn't have to care. The woman dangling in the sky had made her choice. She'd chosen to murder and extort, to torture and kidnap. She didn't deserve pity.
When the woman's cries turned into strangled gasps of pain, she kept walking.
When the sickly sound of a bone crunching reached her ears, she kept walking.
But when the raider finally broke down, weeping helplessly and mumbling incoherently, she turned around almost on instinct.
"R-Rachel please. Help me."
The raider was nearly unconscious now, her body limp in Strong's grip. Her pleas were muffled by Strong's other hand when he wrapped it around her head.
"Hold on, Strong." The woman called. Somewhat reluctantly, Strong withdrew his hand and re-positioned the raider until they were face to face.
She wasn't a woman. The raider was a young girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen. She was pretty, even with the two nasty scars running down her left brow. Two hundred years ago she'd probably be packing her bags on her way to a college dorm. Teary farewells to childhood friends and heart-wrenching high school break-ups would have been her biggest problems. She might have been strolling through a supermarket, searching for reasonably priced shampoo or TV dinners. Or maybe she'd be poring over a dozen books, chewing on painted, pink nails and sipping Nuka-Cola.
Maybe she'd even be stalking the star running back across Harvard Yard...
But here she was instead, caked in grime and sweat, about to be crushed alive by a Supermutant. Who was to blame for stealing your future? She wondered. Was it the bombs? The people who launched the bombs? Or people like me, that wallowed in excess and luxury until the world came crashing down around us?
A gentle tap on her shoulder, or atleast, as gentle a tap as a Supermutant could manage. She blinked uncertainly, stumbling slightly under the weight of the blow. How long had she been staring into her listless eyes?
What was she even looking for?
Remorse? Fat chance. Even if she found some small sign of repentance, so what? There were no atheists in foxholes, after all. Who wouldn't regret their life choices when in the hands of a hungry Supermutant?
Maybe she was just admiring them. Reddened with tears, framed by dirt and grime and only half-open, even then she couldn't help but marvel at their beauty. She'd have broken more than one heart already, if she'd been given the chance.
"Hey." She whispered, slapping her lightly on the cheek. When the raider didn't respond, she slapped her again. Harder.
It took a few more slaps before those blue-green eyes finally turned to focus on her. As deep as the ocean and just as uncertain. Beautiful yet deadly. Her English professor would be leaping with joy if he could see her now, waxing poetic over some waster's eyes.
"How many settlers, farmers and traders begged you for their lives? How many got on their knees to beg, before you put a bullet in their heads?" She snarled. "Why do you deserve any better?"
The raider's chest heaved with exertion as she desperately tried to swallow the bile rising in her throat. Her eyes filled with helpless tears and her lips mouthed soundless pleas for mercy.
She was pitiful, the worst kind of hypocrite. Those who preyed on the weak and innocent were always cowards.
Strong tightened his grip on her legs, perhaps sensing his master's growing anger. All she had to do was give the order, and one more raider would meet their well-deserved fate.
But something inside her refused to cooperate. She couldn't bring herself to give the order, even though she knew it was the right thing to do.
What would Preston think, if he saw his infallible General fail to deliver justice? What about all the other raiders she'd executed without a second thought? Didn't they deserve second chances?
She's just a girl. The voice of compassion whispered. Look at her.
Fine. She pulled out a Stimpak and slammed the needle into the girl's chest with far more force than she needed to. The girl gasped, life trickling back into her eyes as the adrenaline entered her bloodstream.
"Listen carefully. I'm the General of the Commonwealth Minutemen." The raider's eyes grew wide. "If you have any dignity left, if you survive this, you'll seek out the nearest settlement and offer to work for them."
Her brown eyes narrowed, and her voice grew hard. "But if I ever see you again, roaming the streets in those raider rags, I'll kill you."
The raider nodded slowly.
"Good." One moldy mutfruit, and one can of water. She tossed the precious supplies on the pile of trash and glanced at Strong.
"Let her down. Gently."
For a moment, Strong looked ready to defy her. At the very least, she expected him to toss the girl carelessly on the pavement, discarded like a broken toy. Instead, he lowered her slowly to the ground with surprising gentleness. Maybe there was some hope for him.
On the ground, the raider dragged herself towards the trash pile, chasing after the meager scraps tossed her way. She could live for another two hundred years and never understand the sheer persistence of Raiders. They lived in filth, loved in filth and died in filth, and yet they were always looking to eke out a few more miserable days of existence. Her hand moved towards her revolver. Perhaps it would be more merciful to give her a quick, painless death...
No. She'd never asked for this life, never wanted to wake up to an irradiated nightmare.
"If I have to live through this." she whispered, confident that the girl couldn't hear her. "You get to suffer with me."