Tonight, Charon matches Eva wound for wound.
Bruises on ghouls are horrifying. His skin is already mottled, rotted through with radiation, but now blotchy green and purple muddy the reds and browns, fanning out under his broken flesh, filling up the cracks.
Eva traces a snapped finger over his thigh, yellowing bone peeking out of meat that has started to fester, blackish edges curling in on themselves. She explores the new colors, digs a nail into a scab until it cracks. He groans, leans towards her as she presses a whisper of a kiss against his cheek, falling into him, putting weight on the bruise until he hears the final pop of her finger snapping in half.
"Watch out, Charon." He can't remember what she sounds like, not perfectly, but he knows this voice and it isn't Eva.
When he looks up, he finds scars cutting pale notches through dark brows, grinning teeth tipped with blood, woven through with gristle.
Lo catches him in her calloused hands, digs her thumbs into his skin, smile impossibly wide. It splits her face, curls up to her ears, one a deformed mirror of the other. She pulls him close enough to press her cheek against his, her Cheshire smile sharp enough to tug at his skin. It digs in and pulls like a razor as she presses tight, cold lips grazing the outer shell of his ear.
"You're my favorite."
….
Charon wakes up sore. He knows the real reason for the deep slash across his cheek, remembers Voge digging the knife in before the others pulled them away, but he can't shake the feeling that it came from Lo. For the rest of the night, Charon feels her smile marking him, knows her happiness like a familiar ache. Her grin burns across his skin, eases him to a restless sleep, eternally pleased.
….
The caravan reaches their destination by dusk.
Charon is still stiff from the beating so he's unnerved when Lo presses a stimpak into his hand. His personal med kit mysteriously vanished after the attack so he has spent the last two days desperately attempting to keep up with the caravan despite the beating. Limping after the others, struggling to stay close, to follow orders, has aggravated his injuries, slowing the healing process and leaving him exhausted each night, so sore it's a struggle to move.
It was clear the attack was her idea, no matter what she claims. There's no way her people would go against a direct order, especially when his entire body would serve as evidence of their disobedience. He hates to think of why she would suddenly want him in peak shape again.
It still doesn't stop him from using the stim.
The pain fades the moment the needle pierces his arm. Lo is a talented chemist, she and Jess seem to make a majority of the drugs they sell, so the stim is fresh enough that he has to be careful to pull the needle out before the skin can attempt to heal up around it. Everyone else in the caravan is marked by it, tiny pitted scars, too deep and too randomly placed to be normal track marks. They speckle the crew's flesh like deeply gouged freckles, just another way to prove who they belong to. If Charon's skin wasn't already so disfigured, by now he's certain he would match.
"We all know why we're here." Lo watched him inject, not breaking the line of sight until every cut and bruise had faded, but now she's turned away to address the rest of her people.
"They stopped believing in us, lost their faith. We know they won't change their minds and…well…look at this." Lo gestures to the town. They are perched high, on the edge of a rock face overlooking the settlement. It's a patchwork town, old prewar houses held together with whatever material the wastelanders could get their hands on.
"Doesn't look like much." She sighs like she's heartbroken and it's nearly believable, even with her perpetual smirk still tilting just the corners of her mouth upwards.
"Doesn't even seem worth our time." In the town, a generator sputters awake, speckling the area with little fluorescent bursts of light.
"I don't think they are worth correcting. Instead, I think we should just take the opportunity given to us."
She winks and he watches her eyes come to life, bright as the crackling lights behind her. Lo is no longer the chemist that brewed up the stimulants Samson has tucked into his belt or the strategist that fanned out the group the day before, picking each position to take out a group of raiders boasting twice their numbers. She isn't even the leader who began this speech, gathering up her people like her personal flock.
Right now, Lo is nothing but a predator, a feral cat that found something just alive enough to struggle, strong enough to make the hunt exciting. She is teeth and muscle and sinew. Claws and fangs. Lo turns towards the settlement, a sharp wind twisting the few tendrils of hair she keeps long. Her voice is low, husky with an emotion almost akin to lust.
"If you can't fix them, you make them an example."
After her speech, the mood of the group changes, each member shifting from the unstated comfort of familiarity to the restless tension of hunters. Samson sorts out his tool belt, tucking the more fragile chems securely in place before reaching for a hit of psycho. He shudders as the drug takes hold, pupils blowing wide as every muscle in his body tenses at once.
Jess pops two familiar green pills, washes the buffout down with water, chokes, then takes two more. She's usually a calm person, more intellectually useful then physically but she pairs her drug with mentats, clutching at her head as the two counteract. It's a dangerous gamble but this way she's still useful, still clever enough for tricky maneuvers but strong enough to tear the enemy limb from limb if her first plan of attack fails. When she comes down she'll be useless for at least a day, eyes dull and unseeing, so weak she won't be able to feed herself but for now she's nearly invincible.
Jess tilts her head up, sucks in the air like it's her first breath. She screams into the wind.
David and Lusk are quiet, carefully preparing their weapons, helping each other inject their med-x with calm precision. When they finish, they turn to face each other, pressing their foreheads together and breathing, deep and slow, until each breath comes in tandem.
Only Voge and Dee seem lost. Charon has watched these rituals a multitude of times, seen Jess peak and collapse, Samson numb himself completely, watched the two brothers immolate each other until they seem more like one entity then two. The trio usually prep together but now they seem out of synch, stumbling through the routine with jolting pauses each time Kay isn't there to do her part.
Dee keeps shooting tormented glances his way and Charon can see Voge tense every time they pass him by. The sniper has yet to show themselves so all their loss has been directed completely at Charon, the beating doing little to sooth the fury they both still clearly feel. Yet somehow the attack has been isolated to that one night, a rule Charon is certain came direct down the line from Lo. If she hadn't said something, he has no doubt he would have been targeted again.
Charon shoulders past them, unnecessarily close, just to watch the anger nearly boil over in Voge, to see Dee stop to calm them down.
Lo disappears during the prep before battle. Charon has never managed to discover what her secret blend of chems consists of but she always returns jittery and violent. All her decorum vanishes, once she is ready to fight, they fight. Whatever is pushing her, sadism, anger, or chems, nothing can hold her back once she exits her tent. The moment Lo joins them, the attack has begun.
They approach the town without any attempt at stealth. Jess has already tipped off anyone within range but it's clear that isn't the reason why. This isn't a battle to the others, it's not a fight or a even much of a risk. To them, this is pure sport. Lo's charm and skills as a chemist might have caught her flock initially but it isn't what's kept them close. They follow her like loyal dogs because she understands them. The caravan may be her personal beasts but she always knows when to let them out to play.
The entrance to the town is poorly guarded. Two turrets sit atop the haphazard wall built up around the town but, as they approach, both of the machines fail to whir to life. As Charon passes them by, he can see thick rust coating the metal. It's clear these defenses haven't worked in years, left standing only in a faint hope to fool the unobservant.
David and Lusk take out the two guards, slitting their throats even though they have already sounded an alarm. A gunshot wouldn't have made a difference but it's rare to see the two use anything that requires distance from the victim. The bodies drop to the dust, each corpse hitting the ground just a beat apart. They catch each other's eyes and, though Charon has never seen a clear expression on either of them, he's certain they're pleased.
Lo laughs, high on the sight of their first kill. Abruptly, she turns and rushes Charon, too strung out to hold back any of the excess energy shivering along her limbs. Her hands are unsteady when she grabs him but even still the grip is of iron.
"I want to see my new toy in action tonight, Charon." Her eyes are boring into his, unblinking.
"I'd guess there are about thirty people in this town." The hands on his arms tighten, tug him close until they are almost pressed together.
"You are going to kill ten of them." Lo breaths the order out, excitement strong as the jet on her breath. She squeezes him as if they're conspiring over some shared desire, grins like a mad woman and turns away. People are already starting to exit their homes and she is far too ready for the hunt to begin.
Charon's mind shuts down just as the order takes hold.
He's already killed at her command but this is something else entirely. This is slaughter. Somewhere inside him, he feels a distant horror dawning as he raises his gun, already searching for the first hit, but the rest is empty. His limbs are numb even as he strides forward, hitches the shotgun higher, aims, and shoots the first person in range. Somewhere, the ghost of someone is screaming, someone he knows he'll never see again, who would have dropped everything to try to stop this. Distantly, he can hear her but soon the actual screaming blends in, takes over, and then everything fades into a dull roar.
Charon kills two more, a woman charging at him with a dented bat and a boy small enough that he's forced to lower his aim.
Three. That's three. Seven more.
The number beats in his pulse, throbbing in time to the sensations of the order, desperate to be filled, prickling cold and sharp along his skin. Eva is gone. Everything is gone.
The next one he barely even sees. The settler had the misfortune of turning a corner directly in his line of sight. Charon isn't certain he even saw him raise his gun. The man drops instantly but most of his head remains, spattered against the wall behind him.
Four. Six more.
Somewhere Lo is laughing as Jess screams. The slick thunk of metal crashing down through meat and bone echoes through the street. Blood stains ancient cement. Someone in the town is shouting orders. Someone else is crying.
An older man falls as he charges, skids on the dirt. Charon aims and the life in his eyes fades before the momentum does.
Five. Half way there.
A body crashes into him, Dee. He elbows Charon in the chest to push away, lifting a freshly stained knife, eyes wild.
Charon shoots him in the back before he can take a step. When the body drops, the knife slips from his hand, the blade twisting just enough to dig into Dee's shoulder, deep enough to severe a tendon. Charon wonders if he can feel it.
Four left.
The order was clear. Kill ten people in the settlement. He pulls the knife from Dee's corpse and turns away. The town is set up like a suburban cul-de-sac but he finds Voge quickly enough. A part of him wants to taunt, wave the knife in their face before plunging it into their throat but the contract pushes the blade in for him. Words sputter out of Voge's lips but they are silent, nothing but blood and spittle on a dying breath.
Three. Three more.
Night has fallen completely. Charon can no longer hear gunshots, just one terrified shout cut off half way through. A fluorescent light sputters out to his left just as a generator off in the distance explodes, a casualty from a misaimed spray of bullets.
Abstractly, Charon wonders if he is going to die. It wouldn't matter but for the number three, three more lives pulsing at his fingertips. Obey the order. His mind is empty so there is nothing to stop Lo's command from spilling in, flooding every corner, pouring out into desperation as he searches.
Without the crackling fluorescents, this section of the town has gone almost jet black, any moonlight blocked out by the still burning afterglow prickling in his eyes from the bulb's last burst of life.
It's why he doesn't notice David emerging from the shadows until two vice like hands wrap around his throat.
Charon drops, caught off guard by the impact and tries to throw him, twisting, clawing at whatever skin he can reach. One finger catches an eye and he feels it give, feels his nail burst through the surface and dig down towards the back of the socket. David screams, a horrible deep noise that rumbles in his chest, mouth open wide enough to reveal what's left of his tongue, thickly scarred where half of it must have been roughly cut away years ago. Charon has never heard the man make a sound and now he wishes he still hasn't, the shriek turning into something inhuman, guttural and born of pain as he pushes his finger in deeper.
"Stop!"
Charon freezes. Lo's voice is deeper, thick and rough from a dose of psycho but the contract recognizes her authority instantly. He pulls his hand from David's face with a wet shlick and falls onto his back, panting. At some point during the fight, David must have clawed across his throat because he can suddenly feel it, freshly shorn flesh prickling as it's exposed to the chilled night air, cold blood trickling down his skin.
Above him, Lo steps into view. Her right eye is swollen shut and her lip is cut, already swelling. Her teeth are bared, threaded through with sinew, a perfect echo of his dream the night before. He shudders to think of how the meat got there, what poor soul felt Lo's teeth sink into their flesh.
She drops, propping her arms on her knees so she can lean in close. Before she smelled like jet but now there is nothing but a thick miasma of blood on her breath.
"You fucking trash. Did you think this was some big break for you? Kill my people? Escape?" Her voice is hushed, caring through the night air on fury alone.
"Or were you just being petty?" Lo spits, thick saliva spattering his check. He flinches despite himself, adrenaline still high enough to leave him jumpy, his reflexes still ready for battle despite the order.
"Pathetic."
Lo stands, her face hidden in the shadows.
"I'm not going to let you go. I'm not going to kill you." The emotion in her voice is gone. She sounds almost robotic as she speaks, empty enough to be a prerecording.
"I'm just going to teach you a lesson." Lo gestures and Samson steps forward, tugging two settlers, bloodied and bruised but still alive, along with him. Jess joins him, holding two more.
"These are the last four we can find, decided to keep a few once I heard you shot Dee." She looks them up and down, smirking when one of them crumbles, tips forward and vomits onto the cement. Her head is down, face mostly hidden behind thin brown hair, long strands sticking to her cheek and mouth from the blood and bile.
"Do you think you're some bleeding heart? Think you can get away without doing what I say?" Lo's calm demeaner snaps and she lunges forward, eyes wild, a thick vein bulging on her brow.
"You are mine!" She shouts it, spittle forming at the corner of her lips, for the first time revealing how deeply under the influence of chems she still is. Manic, blood shot eyes jump from him to the four captives as her hands curl into fists.
"You think I can't hurt you and maybe I can't," Her jaw clenches enough to pop at the admittance, shockingly loud in the eerie quiet. "But I can break you."
Samson pushes the brown-haired settler forward. She stumbles and falls to her knees, head still lowered, shoulders slumped. She has given up hope, maybe even gone into shock but Charon still sees her jolt when Lo speaks again.
"You are going to kill these four prisoners personally. But!" Lo raises a finger before he can move, stalling the impulse to obey just long enough to hear the rest of the command.
"But before they die, you are going to break every single bone in their bodies."
The captive finally responds, head jerking upwards, fixing a shocked stare on her soon-to-be killer. Charon stares back, horrified.
For just a moment he thinks it's Eva but no, she's a stranger. Her face is rounder, skin tanner and less scarred. Despite himself, he rises, steps towards her as the order takes hold. In terror, she tries to run but Samson catches her, large hands locked down on already bruising arms. Even still she struggles but Charon can't stop, fighting against each step just as fruitlessly as the condemned woman before him.
Just as he reaches for her, catches her hand, closes a fist around the first finger, it hits him, why she looked so familiar. Eva's eyes and the prisoner's. They are the exact same shade of blue.
He watches them fill with tears as the first bone snaps.