She was still asleep.
He didn't understand how a person could sleep for so long. The robot said it was past noon. And she had gone to bed before him. He helped himself to the contents of the fridge. Some salisbury steak. Mutfruit. He had smelled coffee being made, the robot having made a pot on its own, but he never saw her come get it. He figured he'd make extra breakfast, the smell of preserved meat and grease strong enough that it could wake up a yao guai a mile away. Still, the door remained closed. The leftovers were put in the fridge. Untouched.
It wasn't that he was bored. He was used to spending many days with no conversation and nothing to do but stand in his corner while watching his fellow ghouls poison themselves to oblivion. But it was a different kind of boredom, the kind that left his hands idle. He needed direction. He needed orders. He needed her to tell him what to do.
He began washing his clothes in the sink. She had an impressive collection of abraxo cleaners and soaps of various scents he didn't think existed anymore. Lavender, lemon, and grapefruit were the most available. It was as though she didn't believe in scentless cleansers, which he would have preferred. All these sweet smells were a good way to get a predator on their trail when out in the field. He had to dig through the cabinets and shelves until he found one single box of plain abraxo soap classic to use for his leather armor.
He scrubbed and rinsed and wrung, hanging his clothes to air dry. Then he went to the weapons. Upstairs, she had an armory collection he found surprisingly mediocre. It seemed her priority was in domestic salvage. Prewar vacuums and computers. She hardly owned more than some pitiful pistols that were in desperate need of a cleaning and her Chinese Assault Rifle, the oversized beast too much for her thin wrists and low muscle mass to use effectively.
Each weapon was unloaded. Barrels and chambers dry brushed. Cleaning solvent was applied. He moved on to the action and repeated. Applied lubricant. Finally, he reloaded the magazines and returned them in their places, now shiny steel and freshly reassembled.
"Robot. What time is it?"
"My name is Wadsworth, sir. It is 14:35."
Okay. That's it. He went to the door. And knocked, firmly, but not too firmly.
The door opened immediately. She was at her desk, typing on a terminal. "Yes?"
"You are awake." He commented, dumbfounded. She's been up this whole time?
"Yep," She turned from her chair, the swivel making her spin with a squeak. "What do you need?" Her owl frames were back, her hair tied up in a messy pile on her head. Her fingers were flying off the keys, clickety clacking without pause.
He blinked. "I wanted to make sure you were well. You've been in your room all day." His eyes darted to her environment. He saw a prewar flag hanging behind her terminal. Teddy bears-a fuckton of teddy bears-covering her made bed. She had surprisingly crisp purple bedsheets and a knitted brown blanket throw. She was dressed in a vault suit. Blue and yellow. Bright and loud colors. An easy target.
"Yep, sorry. Just had to transcribe all the important parts from that field research. I think I have a pretty good idea on what feral ghouls are about. Actually, this is perfect. Mind having a seat and letting me pick your brain on your take on ferals?" She gestured to her bed. "Just toss aside the teddy bears. I collect them, by the way. I think they're so cute!"
He wondered why she was chattering away until he realized that she had a mug of coffee sitting in front of her.
Where the hell did she get that? I didn't see her come down.
She followed his staring and then laughed. "Oh, sorry. I didn't want to wake you. Wadsworth brings me coffee every morning at 6. He'll give me refills at ten and around fourteen. You want some? When did you get up?"
She was talking rapidly, her eyes wide and her fingers fidgeting. He'd seen some of the ghouls in Underworld on psycho before. The resemblance was uncanny. "Is that all you're taking?"
She blinked. "Yes?" He stared at her. He had seen her buying from Ahzrukhal before. She seemed to realize this, sharing narrowed eyebrows and an aggressive smirk. "Maybe you're being too nosy for your own good?"
He admitted that was a valid comeback. She's still angry about last night, I see. "My contract obligates me to protect its holder. I am only asking to determine if I will need to take appropriate measures of monitoring you in case you overdose."
She blinked then laughed. "Funny, I was just about to bring up your contract. I think it would be a good time to discuss it further. And fine, I'll be more forthcoming, Charon. I take mentats often. Probably every few days when I need a boost. Sue me. I like chems. In moderation. Just like alcohol. Which is a chem I've seen you enjoy, I might add." She pulled out an office drawer, pulling out the yellow tin of rattling brain pills. "My cards are on the table. So have a seat. Let's have a chat." She waved at him to come in. He bent to fit in the door frame and walked into the claustrophobic room. He noted a picture, framed on the desk beside her terminal. Two vault dwellers. A man and a little girl. The girl looked familiar. He crouched down, sinking onto the small bed, feeling like he was invading a foreign planet. He tried to ground himself by looking at the mentat container.
Ah, she would use that one.
"So, Charon," She pulled out his contract. The paper was showing clear signs of disrepair. It made him anxious. There were creases and dirt across his lifeline. The way she held it didn't feel gentle enough, even as she gently placed it over a prewar book for support. "There's not much information on this. How... does this bind you to follow my orders?"
"Simple. If it is in your possession, I will obey your orders. If someone else holds it, I will follow theirs."
"What kind of orders? Anything?"
"Mostly related to combat."
"If I ordered you to dance for me, would you?" Her glasses fell down to the tip of her nose. She looked up over the frames, inquisitive. A mischievous toothy grin began cracking across her round face.
He glared at her, daring her to try.
"Kidding! But you didn't answer the question. So, yes? You'd have to?"
He remained silent. Like clockwork, they always see the power they have. And become corrupted by it. Why did he even let himself hope she would be any different?
She tugged at a strand of hair, twirling it. She read aloud, "'Whoever holds this contract shall take charge of Charon. Physical violence will nullify the contract between employer and employee. Charon shall preserve the safety and conditions of:
1. This contract,
2. His physical safety,
3. His employer, and
4. His employer's wishes
In situations of a conflict in preserving all these conditions, he shall prioritize in chronological order. Upon the resolution of an employer's control of this contract, all orders given from that employer are nullified. This contract cannot be absolved.' That's all they wrote." She looked up at him. "If I was to try to destroy this piece of paper, you would kill me. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And if I try to intentionally harm you physically, you could kill me. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And as soon as I give up this contract to someone else, even if I had ordered you not to kill me after I do so, you could still kill me as soon as I give up this paper?"
"Yes."
She nodded, thinking carefully. "What would happen if I, and I'm being hypothetical so don't think I'm planning anything, successfully destroyed this piece of paper before you could stop me? Would you be free to do as you please?"
He shot up to his feet, fists squeezing, adrenaline roaring full blast. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. His head was already exploding with excruciating pain. He needed to stop it. He took a step toward her, ready to destroy.
"Calm down! I'm not doing that! See?" She lowered the paper onto the desk and put her hands in the air. "I promise. I'm not planning on doing it. I was just curious. Jesus."
He took deep breaths, the pain instantly receding. It had been a long time since he felt that. It was an unpleasant reminder. Twisting and cruel like a jagged blade in his left eye. "Please do not ask questions like that. If I believe you intend to do something drastic, I must take action."
She analyzed him. Played with the zipper of her vault suit coveralls, pulling the metal up and down. She had on an undershirt, thankfully. "I just want to make sure I understand everything within my power to help you." That pity. Fuck, he hated it when she looked at him like that. "There's really nothing I can do? I can't just hand you this paper and send you off your merry way?" She was chewing her lip.
"It doesn't work like that. Someone else must control the contract. There must be a contract. If these are not true, I must self terminate."
Her eyes widened. "Just like that? Who did this to you?"
He gripped his head, the pain overwhelming. "I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. It." He gnashed his teeth and hissed as the familiar sensation exploded in his head again. He was sweating. Shaking. He felt sick.
"Charon? Calm down. Hey!" She went up to him, her cool hands on his forehead. "Where is the pain? What part of your head?"
"Inside!" He snapped. "Stop asking. Questions."
"Okay. No more questions. I'm sorry." She put her hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently. "I'm sorry for pushing. Would you like to lie down? Let's get you to your bed. Take the rest of the day to rest. You've had a long journey and a lot of stress lately. Let's get you some water. Charon, get up." Her voice grew authoritative. It helped ease the pain. He responded immediately, getting to his feet. The agonizing pinprick sensations in his spine steamed away, like spilled water on wasteland dirt. "Good. Now go lie down." She guided him to his room, holding the door open as he sat on his mattress. On the thin sheets and ratty woolen blanket. "Now sleep. I'm going to get you some water and something for the pain."
This coddling was a bizarre experience for him. He found himself laying on his back, staring at the ceiling of his room. She returned, stethoscope around her neck, lab coat on. She had transformed into a messenger of his worst fears. He sat up, widened eyes. "No. No!"
"Charon, I'm ordering you to calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." She cooly handed him some water. "Here. Nonaddictive, low dose painkillers. Aspirin. Swallow them. They are not harmful." He obeyed. He swallowed and drank from a glass of irradiated water. He felt the cool metal of her stethoscope as she listened to his heart. She looked at her pipboy patiently, until she was satisfied with what she heard.
"Your heart rate is elevated but lowering. Would you like something to read? Or I can bring the radio up if you'd like to listen to it."
He shook his head. "I'm fine. I feel better now. I don't need to sleep."
She nodded. "Okay. But I want you to rest. You don't have to lie here all day if you can't stand it. But try to sleep more. Relax. I'm going to take care of you." She shot him a smile. "I know I suck at shooting a gun, but this is my area of expertise. You need to rest. So sleep. Relax. Doctor's orders."
He still didn't particularly care for these sets of orders. But they were orders. He leaned back into his pillow and tried to focus on what she said. Sleep more. Relax. He thought of the muscles in his arms and legs. He tried to have them soften. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He inhaled slowly and let himself begin to fade.
His mind began drifting. He thought of the smell of lavender and lemons. The taste of clean, pure water on a hot day.
(Necro)
Leah's heart was pounding fast in her ears as she typed in her terminal. She created a new folder, 'Charon'.
Charon - 10/20/77
Charon had an episode after I questioned him about the conditions of his contract. He did not respond well when I asked him about the people who 'brainwashed' him, as Ahzrukhal put it. He exhibited extreme distress and demonstrated what I assume is either psychosomatic pain or stress-induced headaches. Future investigation is needed but must be approached gently.
Charon also expressed disapproval of my chemical substance consumption. He has expressed concern for my well-being, as is required in his contract.
Contractual constraints are better understood. This paper must be protected at all costs. I must invest in a safe or some secure method of keeping this contract within my control until a better employer that best suits Charon's desires or a solution to his contractual obligation is found. Charon made it clear that destroying this paper will have dire consequences. I fear that if I did destroy this piece of paper, Charon would not only kill me but possibly himself. Taking his contract is a responsibility I must not abuse.
I see clear signs of distrust and signs of a history of trauma from Charon. I believe I remind him of someone who has wronged him in the past. He seems to harbor resentment toward technology and medical equipment. He clearly does not appreciate my equipment or my wearing a lab coat. I hypothesize that whoever arranged for this 'contract' of his involved more than just a group of raiders who tortured him as a child.
I fear this is from something organized and controlled. VaultTec possibly. Or Talon Company. I will try to learn more about Charon's history in hopes of finding what group did this to him. In doing so, I hope that a way to help him overcome this enslavement-because that is what this is-can be discovered.
She leaned back into the chair, swallowing gulp-fulls of her cooled coffee. She tapped her fingers slowly on her desk while letting her mind process the experience. She continued with her rapid typing.
He clearly showed positive responses when I spoke to him in an authoritative, commanding tone. This helps alleviate his distress. I worry that this provides an implication on my ethics, as I do not want to control him. And yet, I do. I feel terrible for this but I like his obedience.
She hissed as her technical writing slowly morphed into a personal journal. But whatever. No one else was to read it. She kept it password locked. She rubbed her temples, the need to pour her thoughts out to someone overwhelming her like the urge to vomit. She needed to express herself. But Wadsworth wasn't a viable option.
She created a new folder, 'Journal'.
Journal - 10/20/77
I will write my personal thoughts and emotions from now on in these entries. I think I am sexually attracted to Charon. And it's disturbing and thrilling in ways I can't come to terms with. I never found the men I lived with in Vault 101 particularly interesting. They were more terrifying than anything else. Cruel. Evil.
Mack, the bastard, is one of the reasons I'm so happy to be out of there. I never want to go back. Only Amata-she would be the only reason I'd ever consider seeing that cursed hellscape again. But DeLoria, Brotch, Almodovar, and Allen Mack can rot down there for all I care.
Her eyes watered as she typed. Angry, hot tears. Salty and bitter. She didn't bother wiping them away, letting them fall onto the pantlegs of her vault suit.
I'm lost out here, but I'm more free and in control of my life than I've ever been. That's part of the reason I haven't bothered looking for Dad. I know he's out there. I know he's probably doing fine without me. But he abandoned me down there. There's no sugar-coating it. I was left alone in that shithole and he just told me to stay put because it was 'safer'. He was so wrong. So now, I'm going to make my own life out here. Because I was never born in the vault. I'm a wastelander. My mother gave birth to me out here. So this world is a part of me, whether he wanted it to be or not.
I know I have much to learn. But I've made it this far. I make decent money doing repairs for people. Moira keeps me busy with her research. Plus, I have my own projects I want to focus on. And I have someone on my side for once. Someone who I know will not abandon me, so long as I follow the rules. He's not going to hurt me.
In fact, he protects me. Maybe that's why I'm feeling so attracted to him. Because I know he won't ever do anything bad to me. And he's so strong. God, I saw him without a shirt on last night and he's just muscle. I want to see every inch of him.
Fuck. I miss Amata. She'd understand where I'm coming from. I wish I could talk to her. Tell her all about this big strong wild man I found.
She chuckled, wiping the wet streaks on her face as she finished, signing off on the computer. Getting thirsty there, Lee. She sighed, staring at the ceiling. She had to admit it to herself. She was infatuated with a ghoul. What was the term? Teratophilia? Necrophilia? Something philia. She needed to find a Latin text to put a label onto it.
And then there was the whole moral implication of it all. How could this become more than just some manipulative form of sex slavery? It's not like Charon is capable of consenting-truly consenting-of his own free will. With someone who was basically obligated to do as she commanded. I'm so fucked up. She rubbed her eyes and let out a sigh. This situation was a sticky one. She needed to stay on her toes.
(Necro)
He woke to a metallic rapping. The smell of burnt coffee and the sharp smell of bleach were the first details he detected. He opened his eyes, finding himself on his back and staring at dents and rust on the welded ceiling.
"Charon?" The door creaked with groaning hinges. Her. Face poking into view, pointed chin an arrow to the floor. "You feeling better? It's morning."
He sat up, incredulous. "What?"
"Yeah, you slept all the way through to the next day. I bet you feel amazing." She was in olive drab cargo pants and a brahmin skin top. "You up for a scouting mission?"
He left the bed, feeling his muscles struggle to obey. He felt too loose. Too slow. "I need food."
"Breakfast is ready. I hope you're hungry. Come down and I'll explain what we're doing."
He followed her, noting her bag was packed and by the front door. One of her smaller weapons, a 10mm pistol, was in its harness and nested among the supplies. Her eyes didn't seem as wide and flashy as yesterday. Her hands weren't shaking. She seemed sober. Calm.
The small kitchen table had been wiped. Plates of cram and beans were steaming. He took a seat, waiting for her to begin eating.
"Wadsworth, have you filled the canteens?"
"Yes, madame. Though I must say, I think it is wiser to give the ghoul water that benefits his... condition. I took the liberty of conserving your purified water. I can only produce so much a week."
"That's fine." She began to eat, avoiding eye contact. Charon took his spoon and cautiously ate. He was wondering if she had drugged him. He felt lethargic and still trying to understand how he could have slept for so long. "Charon, before we head out, I'd like to collect some samples from you." He stiffened. She backpedaled. "Calm down, nothing too invasive. I get the feeling you don't like doctors. Probably not a fan of needles?" He sat up straighter, suddenly spry and ready to respond. "Your safety will not be at risk. Thus I don't believe you can say no." Her eyelids were half-closed, her mouth turned into an almost triumphant grin. God, he hated scientists.
"I'm not afraid of needles. I just don't like the idea of you dissecting me. Or doing any weird experiments on me." He wanted her to understand. She wasn't like Ahzrukhal who didn't bother running ideas through him. She constantly asked for his feedback. He felt this was an appropriate time. "If you do anything to hinder my abilities to keep you safe and be at my prime physical condition, this will do you a disservice."
She nodded. Clinical smile. Probing gaze. "I understand this. I only want some hair, saliva, blood, and... other samples. For my research. I plan to collect from other ghouls as well."
"Then get Gob. I'm sure he'd love to give you some samples."
"Charon, this is part of why I took you on. I'm not asking you to go killing anyone."
"Not yet," he muttered under his breath. She sighed.
"I also want us to go collecting samples from ferals. Barrows recommended I have someone capable of holding one down while I collected. That's part of why I went into The 9th Circle, to see you."
"Not to buy jet off Ahzrukhal?" He scoffed, his mind buzzing. He knew he would obey, but this was one of those times he didn't want to. The thought of refusing brought that sudden popping in the center of his skull. He blinked it away, telling himself he would obey until the buzzing faded away.
She took in another deep breath. "Yes, well, I was curious. Jet slows things down a little too much. I prefer mentats."
"Spoken like a true chemfiend."
She chuckled. "I like you when you've had some rest. You're more talkative."
He grunted, remembering himself. He shut his mouth. Went back to eating.
She finished her beans then went to take her dish to the sink. The sound of water rushing at his back made the hairs on his head stand up. She was washing her hands. From the corner of his eye, he saw her walk over to one of her worktables. The one with the weird chemistry bottles and shelves of test tubes. Devices he didn't fully understand their purpose, glittered meanly at him. Delicate, expensive devices that he wasn't sure would electrocute him if he dared touch them. Or explode. It's dangerous in this house.
He turned his chin slightly to get a better view of her back. She had taken out a small briefcase. Glass rectangles, clinking as she wiped one and took more in hand. She had cotton swabs and test tubes. Fuck. I'm still eating. Please, no.
"Charon, relax." She turned with that authoritative voice-confident and cool. She had a syringe in hand. "When you're done eating, please come here and have a seat. She nodded to the table by the desk. She had a seat and began setting up a strange contraption, to which she put her eye over the lens.
"What the fuck is that?"
"What is what?" She looked up and pointed at what she was winking into. "This is a microscope. It lets me see very small things. Like cells. I plan on taking your samples and looking at them with this. I want to study your cells. See how they differ from mine."
"You're taking samples of yourself too?" This helped. If she did exactly the same things to herself, it must not be that bad.
"Of course. I need a baseline to compare to, though I'm doubtful I'll be a reliable control. You're significantly older than me, I'm assuming? Which-by the way-how old are you?" She had a clipboard and a pencil at the ready. Owl specs reflected the sunlight that was streaming through the cracks of her shack. He looked down at his empty plate, wishing he had taken his time. "Charon." He looked up. She looked serious. "How old are you?"
He clenched his jaw, wishing she would not ask so many questions.
"Answer the question. That's an order."
"I don't know!" He lied, daring to defy. She hadn't ordered honesty. She wrote it down, unphased by his raised voice. She bought it.
"Do you know how old you were when you became a ghoul? This is just for my research, by the way. I promise I'm not going to just blab about you and repeat this information to anyone. This is strictly like doctor-patient confidentiality." She smiled. "This can help others who have your condition. Helping me is helping them, too."
Fuck. She was surprisingly manipulative. What if she really could find a way to cure this? He looked at his arms. He could see the veins and tendons, exposed and rough. Red and grey tissue poked out of patches where his skin had fallen off, making him feel repulsed by himself.
He took his plate to the sink and slowly walked over to her. She was small. Tiny. Then why does she make me feel so nervous? He could break her in half if he needed to. He sat in the chair, the metal groaning under his weight. "Twenty two. I was twenty-two when I first noticed my skin was starting to flake off." The truth this time.
She wrote this down, placing the clipboard in his reach. He could read her penmanship. Cursive. Neat and dainty. He hadn't seen writing like that in a long time. Distinctly girly. "Thank you." She took a bottle of whiskey and dabbed some linen with it. She reached over to rub his shoulder with it, carefully. "I'm sterilizing your arm. I'm going to use a sterilized needle and extract some blood from you. Only three milliliters." She took the cap off her syringe and cast him a cautious glance. "It will sting a little. I'll try to be gentle."
It hardly felt like a pinch. More like getting a barb stuck on his skin. He watched as red filled the container in a steady stream. He felt light-headed. She stopped and placed a bandage carefully over him. "There. That wasn't so bad, right?" She nervously smiled and took the vial and placed it on a small machine. After pressing a button the vial began to shift and move in small circular gestures.
"What is that?"
"A centrifuge. I'm separating your blood into its three components. It's called fractionation." She took a cotton swab. "Open your mouth."
He complied. He felt the swab rub against both sides of his cheeks. It felt horrifyingly intimate as she leaned over his lap to get a better range of motion. He could smell the sweet soap on her skin and see the skin of her neck as his eyes drifted down her shirt.
He wanted to shift in his seat, trying to look anywhere but at her. After endless seconds of this, she pulled back. "Great." She placed the swab carefully on one of those glass rectangles. She took a small dropper of some bright blue colored liquid and a bright teardrop dripped onto the slide. She sandwiched them together. He watched transfixed by the brilliant color as she went about her business while humming 'I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire' out of tune.
She then placed his 'sample' under her microscope and looked through it. After some readjusting, she lit up. "Check this out, Charon." She scooted her chair and gestured for him to look.
He cautiously went and peaked into the small looking glass. Blobs. Blobs with specks. He looked back at her. "I don't know what this is."
"It's you!" She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Your cheek cells, actually."
She then took a swab to her own cheek, prepared her slides, and placed it under another microscope. "Look at mine."
He did. They looked similar. He couldn't tell if there was a difference. He looked up. "Looks the same to me."
She shrugged. "Well, we're both human, so the overall structure should be the same. But there may be differences in cell count, size, or other subtle disparities. I won't know unless I keep getting more samples to compare. There's also much more I can look at with these. I can test your DNA. See what radiation has done to change it. But that's all I'm going to do with whatever I collect from you. Compare and analyze. See? Completely harmless stuff." She looked happy as she began to ramble about what cells were and what she would be looking for. "So I hope this sets your mind at ease. This is all I'll take from you. Though I may need to ask you more questions as I think of them. There's so much about you I don't know yet. But it'll just be related to your condition."
He stood up, not understanding the appeal. It seemed pointless. He had expected her to just make some medicine for him to see if it would make his skin grow back. Not stare at tiny things.
But, still, she was convincing him this was harmless. Strange. But not dangerous.
She was clearly prioritizing the wrong things. She needed to learn how to survive, not stare at cells all day. "Fine. So what are we doing today? What do you need me to do? Perhaps you should focus on practicing your aim today."
She blinked, shoulders slumping. She took her glasses off and began to braid her hair. "Fine. You're right. Well, Moira wants us to go grocery shopping anyways. I hear there's raiders where she wants us to be. Perfect opportunity for some of that 'experience' you keep harping about."
