History Lessons
The night in the Primate House was a long and uncomfortable one. Gage shifted in his spot on the floor, slowly became aware of a damp spreading through the seat of his pants, and made a noise of disgust. He'd been trying to put off his next wash for a few more months, and didn't want ape shit speeding up the process, but what could he do—sleep standing up? The whole place was covered in muck. Still, it was worth a shot, and so Gage got to his feet, testing the ground for a less soggy place to sit. Bossanova watched him silently from her own corner. Perhaps she'd noticed his pants sticking to the back of his legs.
The ghoulrillas were snoring all around him, Cito snoring loudest of all. He exclaimed loudly when he'd realised his little nest had been disturbed, but thankfully decided it must have been 'one of the monsters' sneaking in and disrupting his things without trying to eat any of his family in the process. Gage was happy to let him think that. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of Cito's piece of pipe.
As the combined rumblings of the sleeping idiots filled the air, Gage considered their new enemies. The gatorclaws were no laughing matter. He'd fought one or twodeathclaws in his time, each battle a close call. But a park full of them? Not to mention the gatorclaws seemed even more vicious than their horned cousins.
Gage shifted around a little, noting with some relief his pants had dried off a bit. Not only that, but this spot near Bossanova seemed a little less damp than where he'd been before. Gage dropped down with a soft flump and watched a ghoulrilla scratch its ass in its sleep. The boss had been playing on his mind all night. Not the way she'd held a knife to his throat—he'd deserved that, he knew it—no, what bothered him more was their first gatorclaw fight, when she'd saved his life by pushing him out of the way.
Raiders, he understood. Kill or be killed. Loyalty only carried you as far as where the next meal came from, and if shit got bad, you took care of yourself first. Gage knew this. The only certainty about a raider was the fact they would turn on you.
Gage stared down the enclosure, watching Bossanova. He could see the glint of her eyes in the darkness, could just make out her hand resting on her sword, which she'd finally stopped trying to straighten out.
The stupid woman hadn't even hesitated.
"Boss…?"
"Yeah?"
Several seconds passed before he realised he'd spoken. Bossanova was sitting up straighter now, her head turned to him. He looked away from her, his heart quickening. When the gatorclaw grabbed her, he could have turned tail. Left Nuka World forever. He wanted the park working more than anything, but the situation was fucked long before Bossanova arrived. It wasn't worth his life. If Cito hadn't caved the thing's head in, he'd have died there and then. It shouldn't have got to that point. Gage knew when to cut and run.
So why hadn't he?
"Gage?" Bossanova tilted her head to the side. "Is everything okay?"
"Why the fuck do you care?" Gage snapped. He regretted it instantly. He sounded like a kid. He quickly changed tack. "Just...about Colter," he lied, finally looking up again. "You mentioned him back in the Welcome Center. It's...I can tell it's gonna be a sore spot."
"Maybe. Depends if there'll be a repeat performance." She gave him a wry smile just visible in the dim light. "Feeling guilty?"
"No, ain't no guilt over that call. Colter was a piece of shit. I've been real clear with you."
She glanced up at the ceiling, now concealed by darkness, and then dug into her pocket, producing a small candle and a packet of matches. She lit one of the matches, the surrounding ghoulrillas stirring in their sleep, and cleared a circle in the grime and straw, setting down the candle. She put the match to the wick, and the room filled with warm, flickering light.
Bossanova blew out the match. Then she drew her knees to her chest, rested her chin on them, and said. "How do you know I'm better?"
"I don't," Gage said, frowning at her. "But I ain't got a choice. After Colter, I'm livin' on borrowed time."
"Smart man like you, you should have seen him for what he was."
"Hey, I don't know what it was like in your time," Gage snapped, sitting up straight and glaring at her, "but out here, Colter had the qualities that mattered." She'd hit a nerve, and goddamn if he didn't know it. "He was big, strong, and didn't take no shit. So I talked him into being overboss, thinkin' he'd listen to me, let me help him. I thought...I thought I'd be able to keep him in line. But..."
Bossanova's expression shifted into something painful. Her voice sounded strained as she said, "It went to his head?"
Gage tried to reply, but the words caught in his throat. He settled for a single nod. She knew. She knew.
Bossanova gazed past him, her expression distant. "People like Colter... you trust to do as you ask, as they're expected." Her tone grew harder with every syllable. "But greed, power, drugs—it twists them, strips them of the person you knew, until all you're left with is a shell. A shell you have to put down yourself…" She breathed heavily through her nose cavity. "Because you created them."
Ringing silence followed. Gage was at a loss for words. Eventually, he managed a weak, "Shit, boss."
Bossanova shook her head, still not looking at him. "I know how gangs work. I know how they end. And I know why you're making me the target instead." Their eyes met. "I'm fine with that."
Gage wanted to know more, but something in her stricken expression told him it was a bad idea. She hadn't meant to say it. He swallowed, dragging the subject back into familiar grounds. "You ain't like Colter. That's what I'm getting at. You ain't like the other raiders I've run with. This place is about to go off like a goddamn grenade, but so long as you don't pull another stupid stunt like you did with Mags, we could make this work." Gage hesitated, aware he was getting a bit too sentimental. But the fact they were even in Safari Adventure at all spoke volumes. He swallowed his pride and charged on. "You've got the smarts and the drive to make a pretty damn good overboss."
Bossanova snorted with laughter. "I've barely done anything yet."
"More than Colter."
"God, he's made your expectations low."
It was Gage's turn to laugh. "I'm just saying, I'm...I'm starting to be glad we teamed up, is all."
The odd thing was, despite their earlier fight, he wasn't lying. Gage sat in stunned silence, his brain blank. Where the hell had that come from?
Bossanova didn't seem to notice his sudden apprehension, because she smiled broadly and settled back in her corner. After a moment, Gage did the same. As soon as her eyes shut, he scowled. Yeah, he was impressed with the way she'd taken charge, and she clearly knew what she was doing. But he couldn't quite wrap his head around what was bothering him.
It kept coming back to the fight. How Bossanova pushed him aside, took the blow instead. And how he, Gage, then followed her example.
She's no raider.
The realisation hit him like a gut punch. Bossanova didn't do things the raider way. She didn't just slit his throat when he overstepped his bounds, or abandon him in a sticky situation to save her own neck. She kept him for his usefulness, yes, but seemed to enjoy his company as well. Why else would she be making fucking breakfast in the morning for him?
But whatever she was doing, it was working. He'd never thrown himself at a deathclaw— Gatorclaw, Bossanova's voice corrected inside his head—for anyone before. Gage's scowl deepened as he remembered the talk she'd given him about trust the previous night, a strange anger bubbling away in the pit of his stomach.
She's no raider, Gage thought bitterly. But then he paused, his agitation calming down to a simmer. Was that really a bad thing?
For the first time in years, his thoughts drifted back to Connor.
Connor, who relied on him for advice. Connor, who said he trusted him—that he, Gage, was an important part of the gang. Connor, who took what he needed and then tried to kill him.
A raider through and through, and Gage had learned the lesson well. Never trust, never linger if shit hit the fan. And if Bossanova didn't play by the raider rules, both she and Gage were in for a world of trouble.
Maybe she was more raider than he realised; trying to lull him into a false sense of security, make him weak and complacent. Just like a slaver, before they snapped the collar on. Well, she was in for a nasty surprise if that was the case.
But...why risk her life just to trick me?
Gage massaged his forehead with his knuckles and decided to shelve the worries for now. There was nothing he could do about it here, surrounded by gatorclaws and ghoulrillas and the idiot Cito. Get the job done, go back to Nuka World, reassess. He'd used up all his chances with the other gang leaders—there was no way he could bring in another overboss now. But maybe he could still leave, before Bossanova ran him or the entire operation into the ground.
Sighing, he shut his eyes, hoping the morning brought a better day.
It did not.
Gage spat out a mouthful of blood as he staggered to his feet. A tremendous roar echoed from the dizzying heights of the Angry Anaconda track above, and he glanced up in time to see the snapping jaws of the gatorclaw miss Bossanova's heels by inches.
She lost her footing, and for one heartstopping moment Gage thought she would fall. But Bossanova clung on, scrabbling up again and ducking to avoid the beast's claws. He wondered whether he could shoot it without hitting her, but as Gage stepped forward, his head spun and he struggled to stay standing. The sixth gatorclaw fight was taking its toll.
Bossanova climbed higher and higher, every slip of her hands and feet sending a jolt of panic through him. She reached the peak, a wide chasm of collapsed track, and edged back, her arms flailing. The overgrown lizard pulled itself up, causing the whole structure and Bossanova to wobble dangerously.
The gatorclaw stared at her as it struggled to stay on the narrow rails, its huge, clawed feet sliding around, rattling everything further. Gage could hear its low, guttural growls all the way from the ground, and held his breath as he watched the teetering standoff.
The gatorclaw lunged.
Bossanova dropped through a gap in the track, catching hold of a bar at the last second. The gatorclaw barrelled on, throwing itself into open air and plummeting, while Bossanova held on with one hand. It seemed to take an age to fall, its muscular limbs flailing as a long, shrieking howl escaped its terrible jaws, before hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Bossanova dangled precariously over the drop by one hand, swiping up to the rails fruitlessly with the other.
Gage swore, setting off at an unsteady run. Would he be able to reach her in time?
Two figures streaked past him before he'd taken more than two steps; Cito and Chris the ghoulrilla leapt onto the metal structure, climbing with fluid ease. By the time Gage put his foot on the first rung, the ghoulrilla scooped Bossanova under one arm and swung casually back down. As Cito followed, Bossanova was dumped unceremoniously at Gage's feet.
"You alright, boss?" he said, ignoring both his racing heart and her two idiotic saviours.
"Fine," wheezed Bossanova, massaging her chest and standing up. She looked paler than usual, a slight tremble to her hands. But then she shot him a mischievous grin. "Still looking out for me?"
Gage scowled and turned away, his cheeks hot. Fuck her then. He stomped off, making sure she knew his displeasure, before stopping at the gatorclaw. It was impaled on some old pieces of track sticking out of the ground, its yellow eyes blank and unseeing.
He kicked the dead beast fiercely with his foot. How many more of these things would they have to fight?
Gage forced his attention to the Angry Anaconda. Somewhere in this mess of metal and dead greenery was the password for the Welcome Center—their only chance of dragging this hellhole under raider control.
He paused, wondering what would have happened if Cito and his 'family' hadn't been with them. Gage shivered, thinking of Nisha's well-used knives. He stole a glance at Bossanova when he was certain she wasn't looking, and then at Cito and the ghoulrilla. He would have killed them to make sure the park was clear for the gang. Bossanova talked them round instead.
Maybe Old World tricks had their place after all.
"Boss," Gage said, suddenly reminded of their first meet with the Blacks. "What was that shit you were talking about with Mags?" Bossanova paused, looking up from the decaying roller coaster cart she'd been sifting through. Gage took this as a sign to continue. "You said 'Cozy Nose...Tra.' And then 'mafia.' The first bit I don't get, but the second—"
He broke off as she erupted into a fit of giggles.
"What?" he snarled, nettled.
Bossanova shook her head, still laughing. "Cosa Nostra was an Old World Italian phrase adopted by the American Mafia. It roughly translates to, 'our thing.'"
She might as well have been speaking another language for all the sense this made to Gage. Or maybe she was? He stared at her, and she smiled.
"You want a history lesson?"
"Well…" Gage frowned at a dirty old skeleton on the floor. He was interested, despite himself. "Fuck it. Sure. It'll pass the time."
Bossanova nudged an upturned trash can with her foot as she unsheathed her sword, fussing over the bend in the blade again. Cito and the ghoulrilla licked each others wounds, apparently disinterested in the conversation. After a moment, Gage kicked aside an old skull and picking his way through the skeleton, deciding he might as well keep looking for the stupid passcode while she talked.
"What do you know about the Mafia?" she asked, not looking up from her sword.
"As far as I know, they were some pre-war gang who rolled in caps and did whatever the fuck they wanted." Gage stared off into the distance, lost in visions of wealth, luxury, and power. The raiders talked about them like the religious talked about Atom. He was brought back to earth by a loud sniffing in his ear. Cito was picking bugs out of Gage's hair and eating them. "Fuck off, Loincloth!"
Bossanova looked up as Gage waved Cito away with a hiss, and laughed again.
"You're right," Bossanova said, returning to her weapon, "for the most part. They had wealth and power, but they still had to navigate around the law, like I said. And they were mired with toxic tradition—only allowing Italian men into their ranks for most of their existence. By the time I joined, they realised they needed change to survive. In the end, if you could prove you had Italian heritage, it was irrelevant what was between your legs."
Gage frowned. Why would that matter to begin with? So long as you were good at killing, raiders didn't give a shit.
Bossanova gave a knowing smile at Gage's confusion, which must have shown on his face, and went on. "But non-Italians were still taboo. My attempts to bring the Irish Mob under mafia control were disastrous, and as a result I...retired. Organised crime floundered in the years after my departure. Only had a resurgence when the bombs fell."
Gage frowned. "You make it sound like you were old."
"I was old. Had my pension when the world ended, much to the annoyance of the cops. Being a ghoul does wonders for creaky joints."
Gage wasn't sure what 'cops' or a 'pension' were, nevermind whether he believed her claims or not. He decided it didn't matter.
"The Mafia was weak after I left. Turns out letting the Irish Mob butcher your leaders doesn't do much for keeping your hold on the city," she said bitterly. "Eddie Winters carved his way to the top of the Mob and put a puppet in my place. I changed my name and moved to the suburbs. Made friends. Kept my sword collection sharpened, just in case. By the time Raymond Patriarca got things back under control, the bombs dropped."
Bossanova shivered, her black eyes staring off into the distance, and for a moment it looked like her mind had been transported far away, swallowed by the horrors of her past. "I'll...I'll never forget it. The sky choked with dust and debris and radiation. I was miles from the epicentre, but I still felt my skin bubble and peel away. My neighbours melted in front of me. And the pain…"
She went quiet, gripping tightly at her sword. "Buildings were crumbling at random, people trapped beneath the rubble. Craters in the sidewalks. Bodies everywhere. The city reeked of the dead, and the living…" Bossanova motioned to her own face. "Most looked like me before they passed. Rotting from the inside out. I took refuge in a burnt out building. Too hurt to do much else, really."
Gage paused, his hand half in the pocket of the ragged remains of the clothes still clinging to the skeleton, listening intently. He'd never been one for the past. It was old and dead, and no use to anyone except scavenging. But this was...different.
"Old Ray became a ghoul, along with a good chunk of the family and the Irish Mob. Winters was nowhere to be seen, so the family took back its city." Bossanova smiled, holding the sword loose by her side. "They brought order to the apocalypse."
"Wait, what?"
Bossanova nodded. "Ray kept the chems out, and set to work on food, water, and the injured. People flocked for miles when they heard, all bending the knee to the wasteland's first godfather. Even the remnants of the police fell into line when it became obvious the military wasn't coming back."
"And where were you?"
"Kept out the way so I wouldn't waste their precious resources. Every day, lying in a burnt out building, waiting for the pain to just kill me, or the ceiling to collapse on me in my sleep. Every day I waited, and every day it never came." Bossanova bowed her head. When she looked up again, her gaze was sharp. "I got over myself quickly. Stopped being so pathetic—"
Glad we agree, Gage thought.
"—and went to see what I could do. If there was a price on my head, I'd make them remember who I was, and what happened to those who crossed me. I was reborn. But..."
Gage snorted. Always with the 'but.' "Lemmie guess—the guys with the guns weren't scared of a sword?"
Bossanova tilted her head and gave a strange smile. "You'd be surprised how many people hesitate when you run at them screaming and swinging a sharp bit of metal around. But no. By the time I'd pulled myself together, everything had fallen apart."
"Even by raider standards, that's impressive."
"Well, not everyone in the city was a ghoul. And those lucky enough not to be a walking corpse began to…grow suspicious of us. Didn't help that the first cases of ferals were cropping up. Ray was assassinated. Any ghouls not quick on the uptake followed him. The lucky ones went into hiding near the foundations of Goodneighbor. Today they are the Triggermen."
"No shit?" Gage mulled this information over in his head. He'd never really thought about where the Triggermen had come from before. He knew they were separate to the other ghouls in Goodneighbor, but…
He was snapped out of his thoughts as Bossanova went on with her tale.
"Frank Salemme was the one who whacked Ray," she said darkly, her expression sour. "He was nasty, even by Mafia standards. A pain to deal with in my day—making everything bloody, messy—bringing down the heat through his carelessness. He took over after he murdered Ray, and that's when things really went south.
"Frank decided the old ways weren't good enough anymore. If you wanted to be a made man, you played by his rules."
"What's a made—?"
"Mafioso. One of the family." Bossanova glanced over at Cito and the ghoulrilla, the former of which was stuck from the waist upwards inside a park trashcan. "Used to be you just took someone—almost anyone—out. Simple. Effective. Stopped the cops sneaking in, like Donnie Brasco near did. But this wasn't good enough for Salemme, oh no. Making one's bones was pointless in the new world. Anyone who wanted in had to kill a ghoul, and they had to bring proof. And if you weren't in Selemme's gang, you didn't get food or water or nothing."
"Smart," replied Gage without thinking. He shot Bossanova a sharp look, wondering how she would react, but she nodded thoughtfully instead.
"Yeah, it was smart. Made me prey for a while, though. Or so they thought. I hunted them down instead—slit some throats, skewered the rest, depending on who they were." Bossanova grinned. "Kept me on my toes and got me back into shape. In the end, Salemme was running on borrowed time anyway."
"Killed by a ghoul?"
"Killed by one of his own." Bossanova's grin widened. "Radiation gets everyone eventually. He rotted, and when his skin peeled away and his eyes blackened and his fingernails fell out—when he stood there, rasping like the rest of the ghouls—someone put a bullet in his head."
Gage snorted. "I'm sure that went down well."
"Naturally," Bossanova said with a mirthless laugh. "They'd had the power to keep things in order and they messed it up. Soon as they killed Ray, the city was doomed." She stretched her arms, and then turned her sword over in her hands. "Once Salemme got what was coming to him, the in-fighting began.
"New leaders declared every other day, food becoming scarce, and the water so irradiated people were dropping dead or turning to ghouls left, right, and centre. Finally, it all collapsed. The survivors splintered off into factions and began attacking anyone who crossed their paths." Bossanova paused, her gaze boring into Gage. "They were the first raiders."
Gage stared back, lost for words. Eventually he managed, "Raiders?" Bossanova nodded, and he hesitated before saying, "Raiders came from the Mafia?"
She nodded again.
"Well shit."
Bossanova burst out laughing. "Profound as ever, I see."
Gage grinned and shrugged. "What you want me to say? Ain't never expected raiders to have grand beginnings. I thought people were just good at being shitty to each other."
Bossanova shook her head. "That's all the Mafia has ever been." There was a moment's silence, then she strolled away.
Gage remained where he was, thinking. He watched Bossanova approach a rusting trailer and begin rattling the locked door. Gage had never thought about the origins of raiders before, and in all honesty, he'd never really cared. History wouldn't keep him alive. But when Bossanova spoke, he'd found himself enthralled. There was something about her that compelled him to listen.
Picking through the clothes again, he contemplated the power of her charisma when she'd had a nose.
A bang made Gage look up. Bossanova had apparently kicked the trailer, judging by the large dent in the door, and a bag had fallen off the roof. The contents were scattered all over the ground. She crouched down, picking through the debris, and then held up a small, silver something.
Gage got to his feet and drew closer. It was a key. Bossanova turned back to the trailer and tried the lock—the door swung open with a horrible, drawn out metallic scrape that set Gage's teeth on edge. Apparently unperturbed, Bossanova went inside leaving Gage to follow her. Amongst the debris was a skeleton in a lab coat and an orange toolbox on the side. Bossanova began patting down the skeleton, rooting through all the pockets—meanwhile, Gage was drawn to the toolbox. He flipped open the latch and threw back the lid while Bossanova continued her search, and spotted a holotape sat neatly on top of the tools inside the box. He picked it up, looked at the label, and smiled. "Boss?"
"Yeah?"
Gage held up the tape and tapped the peeling label so she could see the spidery, looping handwriting. "It's the Welcome Center passcode."
Bossanova stared from Gage to the tape and back again, her mouth slightly open. She blinked several times, as if hardly daring to believe what she could see. Then she said in an awed whisper, "You can read?"
"Yes, I can fucking read!"
"But...you can read cursive?"
"Oh fuck off."
They returned to the Welcome Center with no more interruptions. Gage watched as Bossanova tapped her way through the console outside the sealed door. She propped the scrap of paper she'd scrawled the passcode on against the screen and copied out the digits carefully, glancing around as she did. The terminal beeped and the door slid open.
The darkness beyond waited like an open maw. Gage shivered, staring into the heavy, compressing blackness. Bossanova hesitated, her sword at the ready, and held out a hand to keep Gage and the two idiots in their place. She stepped forward, each slow step barely making a sound, her weapon raised.
The source of the monsters were in here. For all they knew, they were walking into a teeming nest. If that was the case, Gage doubted they'd be able to clear them out alone.
Bossanova continued through the door, glancing from side to side. The darkness swallowed her whole.
Gage shifted on the spot, gripping his gun tight. A terrible, heavy silence was smothering him, raking at his nerves. She'd given clear instructions—stay here, keep watch while she scouted ahead. He'd argued Cito could do the honours, but Bossanova had cut him off with a, "Do you trust him to be our scout?"
No. No, he did not.
But the few seconds of silence were torturous. He wondered if the gatorclaws had caught her with no time to scream, or even—
"Gage," Bossanova's voice whispered, and he sighed with relief.
"Yeah?"
"There's a gatorclaw ahead. You ready?"
Gage aimed his rifle down the tunnel. "Nope."
The only positive of the battle was its shortness.
Gage contemplated how quickly it would take for a gatorclaw to shit him out, before the thing's tail hit him in the chest and sent him flying through a set of double doors.
He stared up at the ceiling, dazed, when he felt the crushing grip of the gatorclaw at his ankle, and yelled in pain as the back of his head scraped along the ground. Then Gage was dangling in the air, the beady yellow eyes piercing him as the thing opened its mouth.
Gage grabbed a grenade from his belt, primed it, and tossed it down the gatorclaw's throat.
The eyes widened, and it made a choking noise before dropping him. Gage anticipated the fall just in time, crashing painfully onto his shoulder instead of his head, and quickly scrambled away. The blast flung him off his feet again, and he felt something hot and wet splatter all down his back.
"For fuck's sake," he muttered, peeling himself off the ground and gingerly sitting up.
Bossanova ran over sporting a bloody lip and a tense expression. "You alright?"
"Yeah," Gage muttered, batting away her helpful hands. "I'm fine. Jus' gimme a minute, damn." She crouched down next to him, worry etched into every line of her features, and he felt his anger simmer. "I appreciate the concern, boss, but I'm okay."
He stared at his stinging hands, which were raw and grazed, and then waved her away irritably, and she stood up, wandering over to the terminals in the back of the room. Cito and the ghoulrilla—both unscathed—were sitting near the entrance of this dingy, underground atrium, eating the glowing plants in the dilapidated flower bed. Gage was surprised they weren't poisonous.
Bossanova disappeared through the set of double doors he'd been thrown through, and came out a few minutes later clutching Gage's gun and a couple of holotapes. She thrust the gun into his hands and walked over to the terminal, inserting one of the tapes into the machine.
Seconds later a voice filtered out of the sputtering speakers. Gage barely paid attention, checking his gun wasn't damaged instead. It was the same guy who had created the gatorclaws—McDermot or whatever his name was—and he liked to talk. But then something caught Gage's attention.
"...continuing to modify the Nuka-Gen Replicator to provide a source of food."
"Gage," Bossanova said from across the room, her face lighting up with delight, "do you know what this means?"
"Mm?"
"Weren't you listening?"
"Nope," Gage lied. He took a strange delight in annoying her.
"This could mean food for Nuka World forever," Bossanova snapped, glaring at him. "The amount of trade we could generate with this alone—"
"—as long as the Nuka-Gen Replicator continues to function, I'll have an endless supply of food for—"
"An endless supply of food so long as the power supplies hold out," Gage interrupted lazily, earning himself an irritated scowl.
"So you were listening!"
"Don't matter whether I was or I wasn't, if we can't control what this thing makes, and if it ain't got no power."
"—Dr. Hein would be proud of my accomplishment. It's sad—"
Bossanova opened her mouth to argue, when she froze. Her entire body stiffened, her hand gripping her sword once again.
—it's been so long, I've almost forgotten what he looked like. My God—it's been decades now, maybe even a century or more, hasn't it? Has it been so long? I...I'll...I'll continue recording later."
Bossanova slowly looked down to stare at the terminal, as if lost in another world. Gage gave her a good ten seconds out of bewilderment at her sudden silence, and then said, "Boss?"
She turned to him, blinking as if surprised to see him there, and then slowly shook her head. "I've never thought about it before," she said weakly, gazing at a distant point over Gage's shoulder, "but I don't remember what...I don't...I never had photos after the bombs…"
"Nicky?" Gage asked, startling himself that he'd remembered. Bossanova looked equally taken aback, but she nodded.
"Yes. Nicky." Her face became blank, and she shook her head. "Hurry up with your weapon checks. This place won't clear itself out." She strode off, her gnarled hands clutching tight around the hilt of her sword.
Gage sighed. He was almost getting used to her mood swings now. But he decided to sit and glower a bit longer to emphasise his displeasure.
After a few minutes of being sufficiently grumpy, he got to his feet, wincing. Everything ached and stung, and they still had plenty to do. Not for the first time, he suspected they wouldn't be finishing this job in one go. But at least if they figured out where the gatorclaws were coming from the rest could fall into place later.
He poked around the atrium a little, using a console to unlock an old cold storage room. All the fridges inside were empty, but he noticed an open vent near the top of the room, its grate hanging on by one rusted bolt.
All in all, not much loot to be had.
Disappointed, he made his way back down the stairs and towards Bossanova, who was reading through something on one of the other terminals. She didn't say what it was, and Gage didn't trouble himself to ask. Instead, he whistled through his teeth at Cito and the ghoulrilla, Chris. They loped over, alert and ready, and Gage begrudgingly admired their tenacity. Bossanova straightened up, glancing towards the doors leading to the next room, and caught his eye. She gave a slight nod, an unspoken agreement passing between them as they hung back and let Cito move ahead. Best to keep the meat shields up front.
Just in case.