CHAPTER 9
Shocks

"So, are you ready for your next assignment, sister?"

The Elder's words rolled through her head as she worked up the courage to pull herself aboard the Vertibird. Sweat beaded along her brow, droplets slithering past her temples.

Fort Strong. Super Mutants. A stockpile of Fat Man shells.

She repeated the mission parameters again and again.

Some part of her wanted to be motivated by that, by the fact that creatures with the muscle mass of a titan and the intellect of a banana were sitting on a nuclear arsenal big enough to wipe what remained of Boston from the map three times over. That and the hunk of metal she'd had the misfortune of parking her ass on was a mere three miles from said arsenal. Yet she faltered, sweat now running down her back.

She could sense everyone waiting for her—Dogmeat's gentle head tilt and whine, Danse's quiet yet imposing patience. She uneasily shifted her weight, power armour gripping the Vertibird's frame.

"The Brotherhood cannot allow those abominations to have a nuclear arsenal at their fingertips."

She looked over her shoulder, catching sight of the Elder's battle coat. He stood with his arms behind his back, posture straight, unmoving. Waiting. Waiting for her to grow a goddamn spine.

Tensing her left actuator, she hurled herself aboard, hands gripping the minigun almost on instinct.

"Welcome back, Knight." The Lancer's familiar voice crackled over her onboard intercom, instrumentation and weapon systems suddenly coming to life on her overhead display. She felt a vibration run through the metal beneath her feet, fusion drive coming back alive. She could all but taste the blood pumping in her ears.

"Instruments are green, and we're clear for release."

The aircraft shuddered and its nose dipped, body swinging away from the flight deck. Grey felt the metal continue to reverberate beneath her feet, propellers increasing in speed and noise. Her stomach began to roll.

"Hold onto your breakfast, kids."

They began to drop.

Grey's gut leapt into her throat and she clenched her eyes shut. An alarm started going off in her ear, a pressure warning from her suit. She cracked an eye open, arm controls flashing red. The minigun's grip suddenly bore the impression of her suit's fingers. She cursed.

The outside world swam around her, ground spiralling into view before the pilot corrected.

Grey's weight slammed against the back of her suit's frame, momentarily winding her. Her vision darkened for a moment, spine aching but head light. She dug deep, anchoring her legs in the frame and feeling the armour respond accordingly. The fuzziness lifted as the Vertibird levelled in altitude, airport spreading out beneath her. Waves lapped at the forgotten corpse of a Horizons airliner. She grit her teeth.

The Paladin's voice crackled to life over the suit's internal communications system. "Having the Prydwen moored above the airport keeps the Brotherhood within striking distance."

Of what exactly? Grey wanted to ask, but her question was quickly answered.

The skeletal remains of the Fort Strong testing site shot into view. The roads and surrounding land had been devoured by the Atlantic, only a wisp of road remaining. Broken buildings lay splattered past the old security checkpoint, the foundations lying open like gaping wounds. Rusted vehicles were scattered amongst the destruction, and Grey could only imagine the circumstances which led to them being discarded there.

And then she saw the Mutants. Dozens of green monsters flocking a creature larger than any she'd ever before seen, its frame dwarfing the others, its back bearing what looked like an old world shopping cart. Its grotesque, lopsided body appeared wrapped in chains, one hand clutching the remains of a hydrant and the other grasping at air.

"What the sweet ever-lasting fuck," Grey whispered over the radio.

A stillness marred the airwaves.

"Behemoth." A single word. But Grey could hear the venom in Danse's voice. The disgust.

What had the US Army done? Grey remembered the rumours surrounding the Forced Evolutionary Virus, known as the Pan-Immunity Virion Project when West Tek was still investigating possible antidotes for Chinese bioweapons on the military's dime. But then something happened in 2075, some research breakthrough which resulted in greater security and higher classification. It had never been a Boston project, but after 2075, its whispers began moving farther and farther west. By 2077, the only intel she'd managed to decode was that it was now called FEV and that Mariposa was somehow involved. Nothing more.

As she looked at the monstrosities below her, some part of her wanted to think the military never anticipated such a twisted outcome. She honestly hadn't believed Piper when she told Grey about the Super Mutants and their FEV. Anti-bioweapon research that resulted in violent mutations, practically creating a new species? A pragmatist would argue the outcome was unfathomable, a million-to-one chance. But Grey knew better. Hell, the US Army probably intentionally released the plague upon the world. Let it loose and then hide away in some bunker, deep below ground. Let the civilians transform and mutate and destroy and suffer. Let them fight a fruitless war only for their political gods to reclaim the rubble and bones. That was their way, after all. No cost was too great when the rewards were power, amusement, and territorial gain.

Her grip tightened on the minigun.

210 years later and she was still being haunted by the goddamn US government.

"Target acquired," the Lancer boomed, drawing her back. "I'll try to keep him in your sights."

Here we go.

Grey revved the minigun, aiming it at the Behemoth's centre of mass. She felt the churn beneath her grip before a spray of bullets peppered her vision. Her line of fire carved through a nearby Super Mutant, its brains painting the backside of the shopping-cart freak. Grey fought the pull of the gun, but it haphazardly tore into the Behemoth, its skin all but soaking up the ammunition. Was she even doing any damage?

Bullets clinked off the outside of the Vertibird and laser blasts sizzled in the air before her. One tore across her vision and her stance faltered, suit tipping back and gunfire going wild. She activated her hip thrusters and corrected, only to see a chuck of foundation hurling toward them.

The aircraft dove, but the foundation still struck. She could hear the alarms going off in the cockpit, the Lancer cursing, the Paladin yelling for them to hold on.

An automated voice came over her radio. "Vertibird integrity at 76%."

Fuck.

Grey fought against the gun, finally concentrating the fire back on the Behemoth, but it was moving. Fast. Curving around the remnants of buildings, through the maze of rubble and mutant corpses now littering the ground. Bullets clanked off her armour as she fired, the sound like hailstones on a tin roof. She told herself it was minor. The steel plate was shielding her. It would hold. She ignored the durability warning flashing over her left leg.

A slab of concrete flew up from below, jolting the Vertibird upward. Grey screamed, losing her grip on the gun, body tumbling back. Something struck her from behind, pushing her down. A fist of pressure struck her back.

She turned to see the Paladin standing over her, one hand gripping the aircraft netting, the other keeping her firmly aboard the craft.

"Not today, Knight," he said sternly.

"You okay back there?" the Lancer yelled over the screeching of alarms. Grey could see the flashing lights from her periphery.

"Vertibird integrity at 43%."

Oh fuck off, Grey seethed at the automated voice.

"We can't take another hit like that," the Paladin warned. "We need to get around him, anticipate the trajectory of his throws."

The Lancer scoffed. "Slightly hard, sir, when we're also getting pelted with laser fire from twenty directions."

"We're too easy to hit," Grey said.

"Well, we are the only one-tonne metal object flying around in the sky—makes us an obvious target, Knight."

"Figure eight."

"What?"

"You need to fly in a figure eight," Grey yelled. "I'll attack from the left with the minigun and Danse from the right with his laser rifle. They'll struggle to adjust to the angles, and I don't think their brains have the cognitive capacity to recognize the pattern, at least not quickly."

A moment of silent then, "Do it."

"Aye aye, sir," the Lancer breathed, his tone indicating he clearly wasn't convinced. Grey wasn't either, but she wasn't about to admit that. Retreat likely wasn't an answer. They'd get shot out of the sky before they made it back to the airport. And even if they radioed back to the Prydwen, they'd be dead before any reinforcements arrived.

The Vertibird's path corrected and it flew back into the fray, laser shots scattering their approach. Grey again anchored her weight on the lip of the aircraft, minigun humming beneath her fingers. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, watching the Paladin kneel by the rear right netting, rifle sights aimed downward.

"Open fire."

The Lancer had barely yelled, "Primary target down," before her minigun jammed, her forearms suddenly aching with the lack of vibration. Grey watched as the Behemoth dropped to the ground, green skin slick with blood and viscera. There was little victory as the Vertibird began to jerk beneath their feet, alarms drowning out every thought.

"I'm going to find a place to set her down and—"

The Lancer's words died in his throat as an explosion rocked through the craft. Grey flew into the back of the pilot's chair, side of her head bouncing off the inside of her helmet. She seethed, scalp throbbing and something hot and thick running down behind her ear. Somewhere, Dogmeat yelped.

"Vertibird integrity at 16%. Immediately seek repairs. Immediately seek repairs."

"No fucking shit," the Lancer screamed.

"Lancer, return to the Prydwen immediately—that's an order. Knight, prepare to jump."

"What do you mean—"

Before Grey could collect herself, the Paladin stepped from the aircraft, hurdling out of sight. Her stomach dropped.

"Vertibird integrity at 16%. Repeat: Vertibird integrity at 16%."

Fuck.

Grey straightened and looked below, a cloud of dust and laser fire masking Danse and the remaining Mutants.

How was she even…

"Hey, Face?"

She turned her head, only to see the Lancer peeking around his chair, face streaked with sweat but mouth somehow smirking. He held out a combat shotgun.

"Make sure you give 'em hell."

She swallowed, hands quivering. "Right."

Before she could overthink it, she grasped the gun and tapped her leg with two fingers, extending her arms to Dogmeat. He immediately leapt into her grasp, paws clamouring and sliding against the steel frame. Her free hand cradled him close.

Two steps back and weightlessness overcame her, stomach lifting into her throat. She clenched her eyes and began to count down from ten.

All she could hope was that Danse hadn't fucked up her shocks.