The old RobCo building is in surprisingly good shape. The walls are mostly intact and when Eva shoulders the front door open, gun in hand, it swings open almost silently. Charon readies his own gun and follows her as she creeps inside, a little closer than necessary. Ever since their relationship shifted from uncertain to friendly, his contract driven need to protect her has become laced through with his own impulses.
It feels strange, having the same intention coming from two different sources, like being pulled in a direction he's already heading.
The entryway is empty, scattered with ancient debris and a few bones. Charon gives them a glance over but they're small and incredibly old, nearly crumbling under their own weight. If whatever creature these bones belonged to died from unnatural causes, the predator should be long gone and, judging from the apparent age, possibly even long dead.
They're nothing to be concerned with and he kicks a larger one out of his way as he moves further into the building, trying to ignore the thick coating of dust that permeates the air. It's not just the usual scent of crumbling cement and rotted wood, it's the organic stench of old death, dry and savory.
"Hey, Charon." Eva's knelt by an old burnt out computer, voice hushed. The light of her pip boy is turned low but it's still casting her in an eerie green, nearly rotting her in the ashy light filtering through the buildings few windows.
"Do you have any idea what a mainframe looks like?" They're here on another reckless quest from Moira, searching for somewhere to download information about the long defunct robots rusting throughout the building. It's obnoxious but at least it doesn't seem particularly dangerous. It's clear this building has been abandoned for decades.
He shrugs, "Bigger than that at least," and gestures towards a set of double doors.
"I doubt they'd keep the main computer in the lobby. Come on." She cracks a smile in response, pocketing a few bottlecaps scattered across the desk as she raises to follow him.
Charon doesn't bother edging the door open, just pushes it with his foot and catches it with his shoulder as Eva walks through. She looks excited, on edge but curious, and he's hit with a little burst of affection. She's been listless and sad the last few days, an echo of that first day he'd found her curled tight on the floor of her room, and it feels good to see her this way instead.
The room they've entered is significantly more high tech. Three large pods line the walls, still housing deactivated protectrons. He's surprised they're still here. Even if they can't be reactivated, they could at least provide a good amount of valuable scrap. Just their power source alone would be a decent find. He walks over and taps the pod with the butt of his gun. Solid. Probably not worth the effort in the end.
Eva's already looked the room over and heading for another set of doors. After a final glance around, he follows. She hasn't helped Moira out in months and it's clear she's eager to continue. He'd originally blamed Eva's odd attachment to Moira as a weakness for physical affection but, while he hasn't discounted it as a factor, he's starting to worry it has to do with her drive to do something else important. The fact that the tasks are usually exceedingly dangerous never seem to faze her and, as he watches her stride
blindly into the next room, the thought tugs at his chest.
She might not value her life but he does.
Eva's voice drifts over from the next room, too loud to be at all cautious. "I think this is it!"
She's standing by a long range of computers, big enough to fill the entire opposite wall and typing code into a glowing green screen. He surveys the room as he approaches her, eyeing dark corners and turned over desks but everything seems safe. Just as he reaches her, the computer lets out several sharp pings and the lights in the room crackle to life.
"Hey! Looks like it worked!" Eva's sliding a disk into her front pocket when another burst of noise sets off in the next room. The sound of pistons firing, puffs of air as vacuum seals depressurize, and then the familiar heavy stride of metal feet thumping across old tile.
They both turn just as the first protectron starts to fire.
Three red burst of light strike the cement wall behind them, exploding into tiny sparks that sizzle when they hit the floor. Protectrons are powerful but not accurate and briefly Charon thanks whatever hubris led the prewar scientists to rely on brute force instead of programming in a better targeting system.
The robot stomps steadily forward, firing off another three shots. Eva dives for the closest overturned desk and Charon follows suit, hissing as one of the lasers skids past his left arm, burning off an inch of skin and immediately cauterizing the wound. It hurts but without any blood loss, it's barely a priority.
Eva's already starting to shoot back, leaning out just enough to aim before jerking back.
"What woke them up?" Her voice is incredulous and she has to shout to be heard over the heavy tread of the bots. It's clear the others are making their way through the door, slowly but steadily approaching the intruders.
"Back up?" Charon yells back, aiming his shotgun for the closest protectron. The shot rips off one of its arms and it jolts, sparks bursting out from the exposed wires. It shudders for a moment, twitching as it's processors tries to make sense of the sudden lack of input from its right limb but eventually it starts up again, stumbling and jerky but still coming. Charon curses, reloading his gun, and aims again.
Another shot knocks it to the ground, cracking the hull. It jerks violently, struggling to raise. One last pull of the trigger and the core bursts, a thick rain of sparks spraying out of its chest cavity as acrid smoke starts to fill the room.
Eva begins to cough, drawing a sleeve over her mouth, using the edge of the desk to steady her gun as she aims for the second protectron, now already half way across the room and followed close behind by a third.
"We need to get out of here!" Already her voice is rough from the smoke and Charon can see her eyes have begun to water. Soon Eva's gun will be useless, her eyesight too blurry to make any accurate shots. Charon nods, not bothering to speak. His throat is starting to burn as well, the room has gone hazy and gray from the still sparking protectron, and the air has begun to taste oily and sharp.
He's a ghoul, a little better apt to handle hostile environments but nothing can handle severe smoke inhalation for long. They take down another bot and, in this unventilated room, it won't be long before neither of them can breathe.
Eva's tugging her pack off, tucking away her gun and clutching the large bag in front of her as a make shift shield. It's thick leather, full of metal scrap and back up supplies. It might hold back some of the force of the bullets but it's still just a pack. Charon tries to catch her, coughing as he lunges but she's already on her feet, dashing forward and slamming its full weight into the closest bot.
She catches it during a step, taking advantage of the protectron's already weak balance, and it tips, hitting the ground with enough force to make its voice box crackle its prerecorded warning into nothing but static.
The third attacker is too close to shoot, any bullets could just as easily take out Eva as it could the bot, so Charon just chases after her. His heart is pounding, fear for Eva making his head ache and pulse race and for once he can't separate the contract from his own feelings. The robots are slow but they attack quickly, he can already see several rips in Eva's clothes, the edges burned and blackened around red scorched flesh.
She's nearly through the door, pack readied for another hit.
The protectron is close enough to her now that it stops shooting, instead swinging its heavy arms at her head, her torso. She manages to duck the first one but the second attack hits her square in the gut, tossing her down like she weighs nothing.
She hits the floor hard, skids several feet, and lays still.
Charon is certain his heart stops. She's not moving in the slightest and the robot is stumbling steadily closer, still attempting to crush her instead of bothering to reboot its guns.
Something in him snaps, goes black. The contract is panicking, overriding everything. There is nothing but his employer, limp and in extreme danger. This has happened to him before, the blinding rage that takes over in the most extreme situations but never has it been accompanied with his own panic. Normally a part of him fights it, wants to keep enough control to think, to use some semblance of caution but not now. Now it's Eva stretched out, looking so much smaller on the dirty floor, and not moving.
He dives for her, tugging her out of the bots reach just as it's arm slams to the ground, cracking the ancient tile on impact. She doesn't respond, is completely limp in his arms and, even though she's shorter then him, an unconscious body is difficult to maneuver.
Please let her just be unconscious.
Still panicking, Charon flings her over his shoulder. She's whiplashing between employer and Eva, protectiveness both forced and natural boiling up until he can't tell if it's the smoke or terror closing up his throat. The robot is trying to turn after him, lifting its arm to fire but he's through the door and sprinting across the room before it finishes the motion. They're still so close to the exit, barely even inside the building. They can still make it.
Somewhere behind him, a turret whirs to life, spattering the ground behind him with a shower of bullets. One hits his ankle and sends him sprawling. Another catches his side as he goes down. He tries to twist, pull Eva against him so he'll take the majority of the impact but when he hits the ground, she tumbles out of his arms.
Somewhere in the building, a deep booming voice warns against intruders.
It's too deep to be a protectron, not enough lilt to be a Mister Handy.
Something in Charon runs cold.
He's fought sentries before but not like this, not alone and wounded, with a still unconscious employer to protect.
Scrambling to his feet, he takes one step on his ankle and nearly goes back down. The pain is blinding, burning heat from a bullet that is definitely lodged in bone. He almost crumples when he's forced to stoop to grab Eva, winces when he finally sees her face. She must have hit something when he dropped her because now half her forehead is nothing but red. Dark blood streams down her cheek, clings to her lashes and drips down in a hideous simulation of tears.
It's just a head wound, he tells himself. Head wounds bleed.
He's still terrified.
They're finally back in the lobby and he wants to run, wants to sprint but is forced to limp, clutching what might just be a body and horribly aware of how close the voice is getting. He can hear the crunch of its wheels, twenty-one tons of metal and weaponry destroying the broken floor beneath it, the machinery gasping, grinding with the effort to move after so many years of sitting in wait. Lifetimes of slavery has brought him close to death more then he can count but he's never had the tipping point be so clear. If this thing sees them, turns the corner and spots the intruders it's searching for, he's dead.
They're dead.
Pain is shooting up his leg, starting to both burn and go numb, and he stumbles, rolls his ankle, nearly drops Eva. She doesn't move, makes no effort to help him or catch herself. He can't even tell if she's breathing.
The voice is close enough now to make out words. It warns against trespassing, rumbles out a threat of encroaching on private property, growls about hostiles. Its metal limbs are clanking, creaking. So big and so old. So impossibly deadly against two wounded people.
Charon hits the door, forgets that it doesn't swing out, and briefly fears that the robots activating triggered a lockdown. Eva slumps forward, head resting against the door, smearing a long streak of blood down the tarnished metal, and he almost gives up, almost lets his legs give out beneath him. He almost accepts that it's over.
Eva's dead, he's been burned and shot and it's time to give in.
Yet something pushes him forward. Maybe it's the contract, throbbing in the back of his skull, or maybe it's whatever angry, stubborn side of him has kept him alive this long. He growls, deep in the back of his throat, pushes through the pain. The voice behind him is close, so incredibly close, but it's still not as close as the door.
Charon shifts his weight, clutching Eva to his side and grabs the handle, tugging it open with every last remnant of strength he has. Outside, the sun is shining, a horrible reminder that they've been inside this building for less than an hour. Lunging forward, he just manages to slam the door shut before he falls.
Through the door, he can hear the sentry bot searching, rolling close, closer and then away, it's robotic voice fading as it turns deeper into the building.
The cement beneath him is warm, heat from the sun bleeding into a body he knows is too cold. He should move, take them somewhere safe but he can't. He's too old RobCo building is in surprisingly good shape. The walls are mostly intact and when Eva shoulders the front door open, gun in hand, it swings open almost silently. Charon readies his own gun and follows her as she creeps inside, a little closer than necessary. Ever since their relationship shifted from uncertain to friendly, his contract driven need to protect her has become laced through with his own impulses.
It feels strange, having the same intention coming from two different sources, like being pulled in a direction he's already heading.
The entryway is empty, scattered with ancient debris and a few bones. Charon gives them a glance over but they're small and incredibly old, nearly crumbling under their own weight. If whatever creature these bones belonged to died from unnatural causes, the predator should be long gone and, judging from the apparent age, possibly even long dead.
They're nothing to be concerned with and he kicks a larger one out of his way as he moves further into the building, trying to ignore the thick coating of dust that permeates the air. It's not just the usual scent of crumbling cement and rotted wood, it's the organic stench of old death, dry and savory.
"Hey, Charon." Eva's knelt by an old burnt out computer, voice hushed. The light of her pip boy is turned low but it's still casting her in an eerie green, nearly rotting her in the ashy light filtering through the buildings few windows.
"Do you have any idea what a mainframe looks like?" They're here on another reckless quest from Moira, searching for somewhere to download information about the long defunct robots rusting throughout the building. It's obnoxious but at least it doesn't seem particularly dangerous. It's clear this building has been abandoned for decades.
He shrugs, "Bigger than that at least," and gestures towards a set of double doors.
"I doubt they'd keep the main computer in the lobby. Come on." She cracks a smile in response, pocketing a few bottlecaps scattered across the desk as she raises to follow him.
Charon doesn't bother edging the door open, just pushes it with his foot and catches it with his shoulder as Eva walks through. She looks excited, on edge but curious, and he's hit with a little burst of affection. She's been listless and sad the last few days, an echo of that first day he'd found her curled tight on the floor of her room, and it feels good to see her this way instead.
The room they've entered is significantly more high tech. Three large pods line the walls, still housing deactivated protectrons. He's surprised they're still here. Even if they can't be reactivated, they could at least provide a good amount of valuable scrap. Just their power source alone would be a decent find. He walks over and taps the pod with the butt of his gun. Solid. Probably not worth the effort in the end.
Eva's already looked the room over and heading for another set of doors. After a final glance around, he follows. She hasn't helped Moira out in months and it's clear she's eager to continue. He'd originally blamed Eva's odd attachment to Moira as a weakness for physical affection but, while he hasn't discounted it as a factor, he's starting to worry it has to do with her drive to do something else important. The fact that the tasks are usually exceedingly dangerous never seem to faze her and, as he watches her stride
blindly into the next room, the thought tugs at his chest.
She might not value her life but he does.
Eva's voice drifts over from the next room, too loud to be at all cautious. "I think this is it!"
She's standing by a long range of computers, big enough to fill the entire opposite wall and typing code into a glowing green screen. He surveys the room as he approaches her, eyeing dark corners and turned over desks but everything seems safe. Just as he reaches her, the computer lets out several sharp pings and the lights in the room crackle to life.
"Hey! Looks like it worked!" Eva's sliding a disk into her front pocket when another burst of noise sets off in the next room. The sound of pistons firing, puffs of air as vacuum seals depressurize, and then the familiar heavy stride of metal feet thumping across old tile.
They both turn just as the first protectron starts to fire.
Three red burst of light strike the cement wall behind them, exploding into tiny sparks that sizzle when they hit the floor. Protectrons are powerful but not accurate and briefly Charon thanks whatever hubris led the prewar scientists to rely on brute force instead of programming in a better targeting system.
The robot stomps steadily forward, firing off another three shots. Eva dives for the closest overturned desk and Charon follows suit, hissing as one of the lasers skids past his left arm, burning off an inch of skin and immediately cauterizing the wound. It hurts but without any blood loss, it's barely a priority.
Eva's already starting to shoot back, leaning out just enough to aim before jerking back.
"What woke them up?" Her voice is incredulous and she has to shout to be heard over the heavy tread of the bots. It's clear the others are making their way through the door, slowly but steadily approaching the intruders.
"Back up?" Charon yells back, aiming his shotgun for the closest protectron. The shot rips off one of its arms and it jolts, sparks bursting out from the exposed wires. It shudders for a moment, twitching as it's processors tries to make sense of the sudden lack of input from its right limb but eventually it starts up again, stumbling and jerky but still coming. Charon curses, reloading his gun, and aims again.
Another shot knocks it to the ground, cracking the hull. It jerks violently, struggling to raise. One last pull of the trigger and the core bursts, a thick rain of sparks spraying out of its chest cavity as acrid smoke starts to fill the room.
Eva begins to cough, drawing a sleeve over her mouth, using the edge of the desk to steady her gun as she aims for the second protectron, now already half way across the room and followed close behind by a third.
"We need to get out of here!" Already her voice is rough from the smoke and Charon can see her eyes have begun to water. Soon Eva's gun will be useless, her eyesight too blurry to make any accurate shots. Charon nods, not bothering to speak. His throat is starting to burn as well, the room has gone hazy and gray from the still sparking protectron, and the air has begun to taste oily and sharp.
He's a ghoul, a little better apt to handle hostile environments but nothing can handle severe smoke inhalation for long. They take down another bot and, in this unventilated room, it won't be long before neither of them can breathe.
Eva's tugging her pack off, tucking away her gun and clutching the large bag in front of her as a make shift shield. It's thick leather, full of metal scrap and back up supplies. It might hold back some of the force of the bullets but it's still just a pack. Charon tries to catch her, coughing as he lunges but she's already on her feet, dashing forward and slamming its full weight into the closest bot.
She catches it during a step, taking advantage of the protectron's already weak balance, and it tips, hitting the ground with enough force to make its voice box crackle its prerecorded warning into nothing but static.
The third attacker is too close to shoot, any bullets could just as easily take out Eva as it could the bot, so Charon just chases after her. His heart is pounding, fear for Eva making his head ache and pulse race and for once he can't separate the contract from his own feelings. The robots are slow but they attack quickly, he can already see several rips in Eva's clothes, the edges burned and blackened around red scorched flesh.
She's nearly through the door, pack readied for another hit.
The protectron is close enough to her now that it stops shooting, instead swinging its heavy arms at her head, her torso. She manages to duck the first one but the second attack hits her square in the gut, tossing her down like she weighs nothing.
She hits the floor hard, skids several feet, and lays still.
Charon is certain his heart stops. She's not moving in the slightest and the robot is stumbling steadily closer, still attempting to crush her instead of bothering to reboot its guns.
Something in him snaps, goes black. The contract is panicking, overriding everything. There is nothing but his employer, limp and in extreme danger. This has happened to him before, the blinding rage that takes over in the most extreme situations but never has it been accompanied with his own panic. Normally a part of him fights it, wants to keep enough control to think, to use some semblance of caution but not now. Now it's Eva stretched out, looking so much smaller on the dirty floor, and not moving.
He dives for her, tugging her out of the bots reach just as it's arm slams to the ground, cracking the ancient tile on impact. She doesn't respond, is completely limp in his arms and, even though she's shorter then him, an unconscious body is difficult to maneuver.
Please let her just be unconscious.
Still panicking, Charon flings her over his shoulder. She's whiplashing between employer and Eva, protectiveness both forced and natural boiling up until he can't tell if it's the smoke or terror closing up his throat. The robot is trying to turn after him, lifting its arm to fire but he's through the door and sprinting across the room before it finishes the motion. They're still so close to the exit, barely even inside the building. They can still make it.
Somewhere behind him, a turret whirs to life, spattering the ground behind him with a shower of bullets. One hits his ankle and sends him sprawling. Another catches his side as he goes down. He tries to twist, pull Eva against him so he'll take the majority of the impact but when he hits the ground, she tumbles out of his arms.
Somewhere in the building, a deep booming voice warns against intruders.
It's too deep to be a protectron, not enough lilt to be a Mister Handy.
Something in Charon runs cold.
He's fought sentries before but not like this, not alone and wounded, with a still unconscious employer to protect.
Scrambling to his feet, he takes one step on his ankle and nearly goes back down. The pain is blinding, burning heat from a bullet that is definitely lodged in bone. He almost crumples when he's forced to stoop to grab Eva, winces when he finally sees her face. She must have hit something when he dropped her because now half her forehead is nothing but red. Dark blood streams down her cheek, clings to her lashes and drips down in a hideous simulation of tears.
It's just a head wound, he tells himself. Head wounds bleed.
He's still terrified.
They're finally back in the lobby and he wants to run, wants to sprint but is forced to limp, clutching what might just be a body and horribly aware of how close the voice is getting. He can hear the crunch of its wheels, twenty-one tons of metal and weaponry destroying the broken floor beneath it, the machinery gasping, grinding with the effort to move after so many years of sitting in wait. Lifetimes of slavery has brought him close to death more then he can count but he's never had the tipping point be so clear. If this thing sees them, turns the corner and spots the intruders it's searching for, he's dead.
They're dead.
Pain is shooting up his leg, starting to both burn and go numb, and he stumbles, rolls his ankle, nearly drops Eva. She doesn't move, makes no effort to help him or catch herself. He can't even tell if she's breathing.
The voice is close enough now to make out words. It warns against trespassing, rumbles out a threat of encroaching on private property, growls about hostiles. Its metal limbs are clanking, creaking. So big and so old. So impossibly deadly against two wounded people.
Charon hits the door, forgets that it doesn't swing out, and briefly fears that the robots activating triggered a lockdown. Eva slumps forward, head resting against the door, smearing a long streak of blood down the tarnished metal, and he almost gives up, almost lets his legs give out beneath him. He almost accepts that it's over.
Eva's dead, he's been burned and shot and it's time to give in.
Yet something pushes him forward. Maybe it's the contract, throbbing in the back of his skull, or maybe it's whatever angry, stubborn side of him has kept him alive this long. He growls, deep in the back of his throat, pushes through the pain. The voice behind him is close, so incredibly close, but it's still not as close as the door.
Charon shifts his weight, clutching Eva to his side and grabs the handle, tugging it open with every last remnant of strength he has. Outside, the sun is shining, a horrible reminder that they've been inside this building for less than an hour. Lunging forward, he just manages to slam the door shut before he falls.
Through the door, he can hear the sentry bot searching, rolling close, closer and then away, it's robotic voice fading as it turns deeper into the building.
The cement beneath him is warm, heat from the sun bleeding into a body he knows is too cold. He should move, take them somewhere safe but he can't. He's too tired.
Instead, he shifts to his side, curling around Eva and pulling her close to his chest.
It's quiet outside. There's a soft breeze and the faint ringing of intense silence. Somewhere, a crow calls.
Charon closes his eyes and squeezes the limp body in his arms as tightly as he can.
He loses consciousness, stretched out on the RobCo steps, hoping against hope that he's holding Eva and not just Eva's old RobCo building is in surprisingly good shape. The walls are mostly intact and when Eva shoulders the front door open, gun in hand, it swings open almost silently. Charon readies his own gun and follows her as she creeps inside, a little closer than necessary. Ever since their relationship shifted from uncertain to friendly, his contract driven need to protect her has become laced through with his own impulses.
It feels strange, having the same intention coming from two different sources, like being pulled in a direction he's already heading.
The entryway is empty, scattered with ancient debris and a few bones. Charon gives them a glance over but they're small and incredibly old, nearly crumbling under their own weight. If whatever creature these bones belonged to died from unnatural causes, the predator should be long gone and, judging from the apparent age, possibly even long dead.
They're nothing to be concerned with and he kicks a larger one out of his way as he moves further into the building, trying to ignore the thick coating of dust that permeates the air. It's not just the usual scent of crumbling cement and rotted wood, it's the organic stench of old death, dry and savory.
"Hey, Charon." Eva's knelt by an old burnt out computer, voice hushed. The light of her pip boy is turned low but it's still casting her in an eerie green, nearly rotting her in the ashy light filtering through the buildings few windows.
"Do you have any idea what a mainframe looks like?" They're here on another reckless quest from Moira, searching for somewhere to download information about the long defunct robots rusting throughout the building. It's obnoxious but at least it doesn't seem particularly dangerous. It's clear this building has been abandoned for decades.
He shrugs, "Bigger than that at least," and gestures towards a set of double doors.
"I doubt they'd keep the main computer in the lobby. Come on." She cracks a smile in response, pocketing a few bottlecaps scattered across the desk as she raises to follow him.
Charon doesn't bother edging the door open, just pushes it with his foot and catches it with his shoulder as Eva walks through. She looks excited, on edge but curious, and he's hit with a little burst of affection. She's been listless and sad the last few days, an echo of that first day he'd found her curled tight on the floor of her room, and it feels good to see her this way instead.
The room they've entered is significantly more high tech. Three large pods line the walls, still housing deactivated protectrons. He's surprised they're still here. Even if they can't be reactivated, they could at least provide a good amount of valuable scrap. Just their power source alone would be a decent find. He walks over and taps the pod with the butt of his gun. Solid. Probably not worth the effort in the end.
Eva's already looked the room over and heading for another set of doors. After a final glance around, he follows. She hasn't helped Moira out in months and it's clear she's eager to continue. He'd originally blamed Eva's odd attachment to Moira as a weakness for physical affection but, while he hasn't discounted it as a factor, he's starting to worry it has to do with her drive to do something else important. The fact that the tasks are usually exceedingly dangerous never seem to faze her and, as he watches her stride
blindly into the next room, the thought tugs at his chest.
She might not value her life but he does.
Eva's voice drifts over from the next room, too loud to be at all cautious. "I think this is it!"
She's standing by a long range of computers, big enough to fill the entire opposite wall and typing code into a glowing green screen. He surveys the room as he approaches her, eyeing dark corners and turned over desks but everything seems safe. Just as he reaches her, the computer lets out several sharp pings and the lights in the room crackle to life.
"Hey! Looks like it worked!" Eva's sliding a disk into her front pocket when another burst of noise sets off in the next room. The sound of pistons firing, puffs of air as vacuum seals depressurize, and then the familiar heavy stride of metal feet thumping across old tile.
They both turn just as the first protectron starts to fire.
Three red burst of light strike the cement wall behind them, exploding into tiny sparks that sizzle when they hit the floor. Protectrons are powerful but not accurate and briefly Charon thanks whatever hubris led the prewar scientists to rely on brute force instead of programming in a better targeting system.
The robot stomps steadily forward, firing off another three shots. Eva dives for the closest overturned desk and Charon follows suit, hissing as one of the lasers skids past his left arm, burning off an inch of skin and immediately cauterizing the wound. It hurts but without any blood loss, it's barely a priority.
Eva's already starting to shoot back, leaning out just enough to aim before jerking back.
"What woke them up?" Her voice is incredulous and she has to shout to be heard over the heavy tread of the bots. It's clear the others are making their way through the door, slowly but steadily approaching the intruders.
"Back up?" Charon yells back, aiming his shotgun for the closest protectron. The shot rips off one of its arms and it jolts, sparks bursting out from the exposed wires. It shudders for a moment, twitching as it's processors tries to make sense of the sudden lack of input from its right limb but eventually it starts up again, stumbling and jerky but still coming. Charon curses, reloading his gun, and aims again.
Another shot knocks it to the ground, cracking the hull. It jerks violently, struggling to raise. One last pull of the trigger and the core bursts, a thick rain of sparks spraying out of its chest cavity as acrid smoke starts to fill the room.
Eva begins to cough, drawing a sleeve over her mouth, using the edge of the desk to steady her gun as she aims for the second protectron, now already half way across the room and followed close behind by a third.
"We need to get out of here!" Already her voice is rough from the smoke and Charon can see her eyes have begun to water. Soon Eva's gun will be useless, her eyesight too blurry to make any accurate shots. Charon nods, not bothering to speak. His throat is starting to burn as well, the room has gone hazy and gray from the still sparking protectron, and the air has begun to taste oily and sharp.
He's a ghoul, a little better apt to handle hostile environments but nothing can handle severe smoke inhalation for long. They take down another bot and, in this unventilated room, it won't be long before neither of them can breathe.
Eva's tugging her pack off, tucking away her gun and clutching the large bag in front of her as a make shift shield. It's thick leather, full of metal scrap and back up supplies. It might hold back some of the force of the bullets but it's still just a pack. Charon tries to catch her, coughing as he lunges but she's already on her feet, dashing forward and slamming its full weight into the closest bot.
She catches it during a step, taking advantage of the protectron's already weak balance, and it tips, hitting the ground with enough force to make its voice box crackle its prerecorded warning into nothing but static.
The third attacker is too close to shoot, any bullets could just as easily take out Eva as it could the bot, so Charon just chases after her. His heart is pounding, fear for Eva making his head ache and pulse race and for once he can't separate the contract from his own feelings. The robots are slow but they attack quickly, he can already see several rips in Eva's clothes, the edges burned and blackened around red scorched flesh.
She's nearly through the door, pack readied for another hit.
The protectron is close enough to her now that it stops shooting, instead swinging its heavy arms at her head, her torso. She manages to duck the first one but the second attack hits her square in the gut, tossing her down like she weighs nothing.
She hits the floor hard, skids several feet, and lays still.
Charon is certain his heart stops. She's not moving in the slightest and the robot is stumbling steadily closer, still attempting to crush her instead of bothering to reboot its guns.
Something in him snaps, goes black. The contract is panicking, overriding everything. There is nothing but his employer, limp and in extreme danger. This has happened to him before, the blinding rage that takes over in the most extreme situations but never has it been accompanied with his own panic. Normally a part of him fights it, wants to keep enough control to think, to use some semblance of caution but not now. Now it's Eva stretched out, looking so much smaller on the dirty floor, and not moving.
He dives for her, tugging her out of the bots reach just as it's arm slams to the ground, cracking the ancient tile on impact. She doesn't respond, is completely limp in his arms and, even though she's shorter then him, an unconscious body is difficult to maneuver.
Please let her just be unconscious.
Still panicking, Charon flings her over his shoulder. She's whiplashing between employer and Eva, protectiveness both forced and natural boiling up until he can't tell if it's the smoke or terror closing up his throat. The robot is trying to turn after him, lifting its arm to fire but he's through the door and sprinting across the room before it finishes the motion. They're still so close to the exit, barely even inside the building. They can still make it.
Somewhere behind him, a turret whirs to life, spattering the ground behind him with a shower of bullets. One hits his ankle and sends him sprawling. Another catches his side as he goes down. He tries to twist, pull Eva against him so he'll take the majority of the impact but when he hits the ground, she tumbles out of his arms.
Somewhere in the building, a deep booming voice warns against intruders.
It's too deep to be a protectron, not enough lilt to be a Mister Handy.
Something in Charon runs cold.
He's fought sentries before but not like this, not alone and wounded, with a still unconscious employer to protect.
Scrambling to his feet, he takes one step on his ankle and nearly goes back down. The pain is blinding, burning heat from a bullet that is definitely lodged in bone. He almost crumples when he's forced to stoop to grab Eva, winces when he finally sees her face. She must have hit something when he dropped her because now half her forehead is nothing but red. Dark blood streams down her cheek, clings to her lashes and drips down in a hideous simulation of tears.
It's just a head wound, he tells himself. Head wounds bleed.
He's still terrified.
They're finally back in the lobby and he wants to run, wants to sprint but is forced to limp, clutching what might just be a body and horribly aware of how close the voice is getting. He can hear the crunch of its wheels, twenty-one tons of metal and weaponry destroying the broken floor beneath it, the machinery gasping, grinding with the effort to move after so many years of sitting in wait. Lifetimes of slavery has brought him close to death more then he can count but he's never had the tipping point be so clear. If this thing sees them, turns the corner and spots the intruders it's searching for, he's dead.
They're dead.
Pain is shooting up his leg, starting to both burn and go numb, and he stumbles, rolls his ankle, nearly drops Eva. She doesn't move, makes no effort to help him or catch herself. He can't even tell if she's breathing.
The voice is close enough now to make out words. It warns against trespassing, rumbles out a threat of encroaching on private property, growls about hostiles. Its metal limbs are clanking, creaking. So big and so old. So impossibly deadly against two wounded people.
Charon hits the door, forgets that it doesn't swing out, and briefly fears that the robots activating triggered a lockdown. Eva slumps forward, head resting against the door, smearing a long streak of blood down the tarnished metal, and he almost gives up, almost lets his legs give out beneath him. He almost accepts that it's over.
Eva's dead, he's been burned and shot and it's time to give in.
Yet something pushes him forward. Maybe it's the contract, throbbing in the back of his skull, or maybe it's whatever angry, stubborn side of him has kept him alive this long. He growls, deep in the back of his throat, pushes through the pain. The voice behind him is close, so incredibly close, but it's still not as close as the door.
Charon shifts his weight, clutching Eva to his side and grabs the handle, tugging it open with every last remnant of strength he has. Outside, the sun is shining, a horrible reminder that they've been inside this building for less than an hour. Lunging forward, he just manages to slam the door shut before he falls.
Through the door, he can hear the sentry bot searching, rolling close, closer and then away, it's robotic voice fading as it turns deeper into the building.
The cement beneath him is warm, heat from the sun bleeding into a body he knows is too cold. He should move, take them somewhere safe but he can't. He's too tired.
Instead, he shifts to his side, curling around Eva and pulling her close to his chest.
It's quiet outside. There's a soft breeze and the faint ringing of intense silence. Somewhere, a crow calls.
Charon closes his eyes and squeezes the limp body in his arms as tightly as he can.
He loses consciousness, stretched out on the RobCo steps, hoping against hope that he's holding Eva and not just Eva's body.
Instead, he shifts to his side, curling around Eva and pulling her close to his chest.
It's quiet outside. There's a soft breeze and the faint ringing of intense silence. Somewhere, a crow calls.
Charon closes his eyes and squeezes the limp body in his arms as tightly as he can.
He loses consciousness, stretched out on the RobCo steps, hoping against hope that he's holding Eva and not just Eva's body.