CHAPTER 23
The Brick Wall came down, but there was another behind it.
The motors of the passing Vertibird patrols were always the first thing he woke up to in his quarters of the Base Crawler- even though he was in the center structuring of the thing, the inner spine before the Headquarters chambers and Eden's command center- the Vertibirds' rotors still echoed distantly throughout the halls.
Laslar sifted himself free of the cot, and within moments of rejoining the living from the world of sleep- he had downed a pot's worth of caffeine, slipped on his jumpsuit, rinsed his mouth with anti-bacterial solution, and was stepping into his Power Armor inside its containment pod.
He stood in the exoskeletal suit as the pod shut behind him with a hissing repress of the glass barrier- the systems in his helmet, the environmentally sealed inner sleeves, the life support and electrical motors all flickered to life.
The Tesla projectors on his shoulder pauldrons fried the air they touched with hums of pulsing, green energy- the air around Laslar's suit shuddered, like caught in a heat wave, and settled as the refractor field was established.
A pair of maintenance Eyebots flew in upon his summoning- they used standard joint-gel on all the servos of his armor's limbs, they fine tuned his HUD and holographic monitoring, and they ensured all the adjustment systems were working in order.
When the robots flew out the sliding bulkhead to the barracks quarters- Laslar was just stepping out from the armory chambers with his Tri-Fold Plasma Archer hung over his back magnetically, sidearm at his hip, Ripper behind that.
Joining him was Luft, and the four new transfers that they had received as a squad for the transport.
The six men were going to be temporarily attached to the 7th Division that was operating FROM Raven Rock, here in D.C.- but was actually acting in New England, particularly around the ruins of Boston city.
Eden claimed that if Laslar could restart this project, his chances at reform would be greater- this old research effort to train, mind control, and subsequently weaponize creatures called- 'Deathclaws'- that, on paper, were known to the United States armed forces as, Subject 16G.
Deathclaws had entered their precursor stages of what existed today under the vault-like laboratories hidden under the White House in D.C., Area-51 in Nevada, and the Dugway Proving Grounds in Utah. The U.S. Army had commissioned the research in the stead of human augmentation- which, up until the very end of the war, had been a series of failures.
The species had been born in an omnipresent conglomerate of varying events- in addition to the army creating the base, the genetic skeleton for the monsters to become what they currently were- mutation within the very genes of the creatures brought them to phase two all their own.
The military had wanted them to have intelligence- some form of cognitive ability to think for themselves on a battlefield. They knew it was risky- but, then again, half of the projects undertaken by the United States were risky, and insanity had firmly gripped a good portion of humankind.
Subject 16G evolved at a rapid pace- specific genotypes within the Iguana lizard species were used as the stepping stones to reaching the full blown monster roaming the Wasteland- when the bombs dropped, the radiation finalized their speed, dexterity and perfected battle doctrine, and coupled it with pack mentality.
Some of the Deathclaws were effected differently by the fallout- and where some went wild, and turned into beasts that hunted for food and sport- others retained intelligence, and the radiation actually amplified it.
'Intelligent Deathclaws'- had at one point been a unknown, but somewhat largely populated thing. There were packs of them that had existed, and some of their communities had even sparked alliances with human settlers.
The Brotherhood of Steel, the Enclave, Mutants from the Master's army were all responsible for hunting down these viable specimens- and intelligent Deathclaws dwindled, and the survivors went into even deeper hiding.
Laslar had only seen intelligent members of that race in the labs- he hadn't seen the full process of the project undertaken by- 'Volunteer'- teams of scientists that had been assembled from prisoner intellectual minds taken during the Enclave's brief conflict with the NCR.
The war with New California resulted in heavy losses for the Republic, slight territory gain for the Enclave to secure Area-51, and the Dugway facility- the tradeoff was, that the NCR had been well prepared for anti-aircraft defense- and the Vertibird fleet in the West was thoroughly mauled despite low ground casualties.
The war that had occurred beforehand with the Brotherhood western Chapter was a good way for the Enclave, and at the time- President Richardson to buy time to bolster the divisions in the west in preparation for a conflict.
Laslar hadn't been engaged for most of the NCR-Enclave war- but when he was recruited, the first missions and deployments in Enclave colors had been against the Republic.
Shortly after the war ended and the NCR offered a truce- which, Laslar felt apprehensive of, but understood why Richardson had accepted it- he finalized the project that had been started to begin the process of using mind-controlled, bred Deathclaws mixed with Enclave units.
It was ironic- a decade ago, the same creature he was now hearing of, had been a tiny whelp- and the scientists were programming its brain to understand different languages, different combat techniques- she was going to be a specially designed- 'Commando'-breed, and they were only going to make a group of five or six.
Of course, when the Deathclaw was old enough, and Laslar had the scientists transferred for auxiliary labor in the East- she broke free and escaped into the central United States.
Laslar at first, was thoroughly enraged by the news- he personally executed the entire science team when he found they- in a sense- turned a blind eye to security procedures to keep her contained.
The Brotherhood, lead by Elder Mannesk- settled into D.C., and then split in two when it turned that Mannesk was doing the opposite of what his superiors in the Midwest had ordered- conflict sparked with the Enclave at Raven Rock and Adam's Base.
Still angry- Laslar tore a bloody swathe through the Brotherhood in D.C.- and the first mind-controlled Deathclaws were used, to a disastrous result.
The Type-III headsets that were being used to control them, caused the Deathclaws to emerge into a blood frenzy- they didn't just attack Brotherhood soldiers, they attacked EVERYTHING, and several Enclave units took heavy losses when their Deathclaws turned on them shortly after the cages were opened.
The surviving Deathclaws were destroyed- the Type-III was scrapped, the project was blacked out in all files- Laslar spent the next few years battling the Brotherhood in D.C. to limited success- he spent a long time operating the defense of Area-51 from the many threats in Nevada, he solved ground engagements across the country back and forth.
Now, still having failed in destroying the Citadel, still having failed in wiping out the Super Mutants emerging from Vault 177 and Virginia- Laslar's failed Deathclaw project was being used as a distraction by Eden, so the president could stay unquestioned in power.
It was disgusting- the Enclave was in trouble- soon, casualties would start to become an issue, and the Vertibird fleet would suffer from the air defenses in the Citadel- he could see the NCR war starting all over again.
The ironic sight before him- none other than a VB-02 Vertibird- rumbled the air it scythed through, the rotors beating through the net of atmosphere above in a repeating pattern. The aircraft leaned its chin up as its speedy travel towards the landing pad was halted, and it gradually started to lower to the ground.
The tri-fold landing gear unfurled in three separate limbs from beneath the craft's underbelly center- thin little things that upon first glance, didn't look like they could support the aircraft's weight.
Steam hissed, gear whined in cool down and the propeller rotors whispered as they slowed and eventually stilled, the Vertibird settled with a creak of steel, and the side hatch entryway of the vehicle's flank lifted ajar, giving sight to the darkened bowels of the troop hold.
Laslar and the five other men in Power Armor he had been officially sentenced to travel with- looked inside the Vertibird with a sense of misdirection.
All around them, the multi-layered, stilt platform held landing zones and defense batteries of the M-100's top and roof formed a sprawl far to their west and east, and so far behind and in front of them that the end was not seeable.
Another pair of Vertibirds zoomed overhead- and Laslar watched them go as well, and sighed underneath his snarling helmet.
The pad was devoid of all other staff- only a few officers were by the pad's leftward rim, and they didn't even grace the scene with a glance as they chatted about something unimportant.
"All aboard then," Luft grumbled- filing the four soldiers ahead of him- he turned to Laslar. "You coming, sir?"
"You notice something?" Laslar nodded up at the air.
"What's that?"
"The sky looks like shit."
"...It always looks like shit."
"Yeah, but this is D.C. shit... What do you think New England shit looks like nowadays?"
"You've been there more than I have, shouldn't you know?"
"I haven't been there in years. I don't remember."
"Suppose it's better than late than never to remind yourself."
"Mm." The two of them stepped up on the raised rim of the Vertibird's porthole, ducking with whines of servos to not bump their helmets on the top arch loop. "Eden give you the rundown?"
"Not a thing." Luft grunted, as darkness, and a slightly cooler air ambience hugged them.
"We're landing in an old water pumping facility- Braggman's Treatment Plant, the 7th is put down there."
"Do they know where this thing you're looking for is?"
"Went off the radar."
"...So... What? You plan on just combing the place? That's impossible."
"I'll find it, don't worry your head off."
"You seem confident."
"I oversaw its creation, I know where to look and how to look. I have those 'Claw kills from Texas for good reason."
"Aye'."
"Let's get this bullshit over with, gentlemen," Laslar said, falling into his seat with a heavy clunk- the restraint arch fell over his shoulders, coupled, and the hatch leading back outside slid closed- leaving only the slight red gloom in the dark bay. "We're flying straight for New England- no refuel at Raven."
"So you're saying you MADE this creature?" Luft asked as he tugged on his restraints for security.
"Yeah. It's a Deathclaw- tough fucker. Evaded the 7th for years- broke out of a maximum security facility in Adams around a decade ago."
"Is it intelligent?"
"Oh yes."
"That makes this complicated. More so, at that."
"The 7th has autocannons on their VB's, and the thing still hasn't gone down."
"...If this is a motivational speech to get the men confident, you're failing terribly, sir."
"All the more incentive for you shits to keep up and fight hard. Do that, and you won't die. Simple."
-0-0-0-0-0-
Sanford remembered that there was an instance in his life, where he had been hit by the hardest object he'd ever been physically impacted by.
It was a brick.
A blackened, red-shown, blown in half brick- and it happened, probably, give or take... Five years ago? Six years ago? Didn't matter.
There was an explosion in the city, in Boston- him and Hancock had been locked in yet another firefight, the endless pattern their lives revolved around- someone threw an explosive, it went off- and even though Sanford avoided the shrapnel, avoided the fire, avoided the blast... He didn't avoid that damned brick.
CLOK! -Wham, right off his forehead it went. It left a little square shade of red on his noggin, made him tumble back with a hand over his face- and he groaned in pain for a good few minutes while Hancock drove off the attackers with his flamethrower.
It was a good return of favor too, what Hancock did- after all, a few days prior, Sanford had killed a Mirelurk that attacked his friend when he had been prone. Thus, as the dust cleared, the last highwaymen dropped dead- Hancock tugged Sanford up, and examined the damage, before laughing in his face.
"HAHAHAHAHA-! HA! HA-HA!" Hancock burst. "You survive rockets, bullets, lasers and wads'o'freakin' plasma- but my commanding officer gets done in, by a BRICK! Ha! HA!"
"You shit-filled olive oil can..." Sanford had grumbled.
Long time ago that one was- really, ALL of the exciting things that had reentered his memories in the last few days had happened awhile ago. After all, Sanford and Hancock hadn't had any real activity, any adventure, in months, going on a year.
And, then came all of this- a French Deathclaw, the fabled Enclave airforce, more Raiders and monsters than you could shake a stick at... What a ride, and it hadn't even really gotten started yet.
But that one time with the brick- long, long, LONG long, before Sanford could ever have hoped to be under the protective shell of Power Armor- that had hurt like hell, and it was reminded to him, because this fall, wound up hurting like hell too.
Though, granted- it wasn't exactly THAT bad... It just stung, and his head got rattled- it would probably leave a nasty bruise. The good news was, nothing was broken, nothing was damaged or ruptured- it wasn't like he had taken a bad parasailing trip and freakin' face-planted into Mount Rushmore.
He was alright- dizzy, but okay.
CLM-CLM
BMM
"-AGH!... Ah... Ow... God, DAMN it... That hurt like a bitch..."
Sanford was lying face-down in the X-01- the whole suit had rumbled and shuttered, it kicked up some sparks, and whole lot of dust and airborne pebbles when it collided with a large floor of concrete.
Splayed on the ground, he stirred inside the suit, as he waited for the bleating reverberations of pain to leave his body- like a kid who had tripped down the stairs, sat at the bottom and gave his ankle a few moments to flare down.
There wasn't really any ambience around him save the hissing crumbling of some trails of dust that were still settling from the air, or falling from where there was now a gaping tear in the wooden ceiling above.
He was surrounded by shredded portions of wood boards, dented, rusty nails- splinters and sawdust, dead roaches and pieces of garbage from the upper ground floor were strewn unevenly throughout the pile of chaos.
Sanford slowly felt around with one of his gauntlets- shoving a panel of wood out of the way- he felt about the metal shape of his gun, the SMG loaned to him by Gerald- he clenched it in his fingers, and dragged it closer with a slide on stone.
"Ugh... Holy hell... My luck..." The suit groaned and shifted, Sanford sat up on his knees with a whine of servo motors from the complaining knee sections of the suit.
Taking his gun in his grip, he tore away the empty magazine, shoved in a fresh one that came from- miraculously -the still attached clump of them that he had stuffed in his rucksack. Nodding in thanks to the forces of fate- he gazed around at a sea of shadow surrounding him, like a bubble.
He heard the faint sound of shooting- and that kind of gave him some measure of relief, because, Gerald wouldn't have lasted a minute fighting on his own if the Deathclaw wasn't with him, so, she was still okay.
He grunted as he forced his body, and the exoskeleton as well- onto their heels, and standing in the center of the dark chamber, Sanford looked around, and was astonished at what he saw.
There was a big, rectangular, completely cleared basement chamber that was as big as the steeple itself- four support beams were gridded in a square formation by every corner of the room, made of concrete like the detail lacking floor.
There were no windows, and some elongated light fixtures wired into the remains of the wooden ceiling above, the portions that HADN'T been torn through- were dead and lifeless, some didn't even have bulbs.
All along the walls of the chamber, were old pre-War computer modules- some of them commercial and industrial grade- all of them suffering varying forms of disrepair and damage. Screens were smashed or cracked, parts were torn off, wires belched out of fissures in their hides- a graveyard of dead electronics.
Meshed in with that were rows of aluminum shelves, desks, and tables- and all of them were cluttered with broken electronics, wads and sheet piles of paper and ruined books- Sanford squinted, and saw guns, weapons that had been broken or taken apart.
There was a big cylindrical device that looked like a glass tube connected between two super-computer like data blocks- and even though it was dark, Sanford could see that it was a testing device for laser based carbon technology.
Gerald had been pretty accurate about his and Fred's talent and hobby- they had technology down here that people would've killed for BEFORE the fallout.
Too bad it was all totaled- Sanford, though- could probably make a FORTUNE, on all the metals and materials that were in these electronics.
Thinking about that suddenly gave off the sound of a cash register in his mind.
If there weren't roaches running around everywhere, he'd of gone to town.
-But that was just it...
ROACHES. Lots of them.
"...Where are all of them...?" Sanford muttered- now switching his scanning of the room from looking at valuable opportunity- to looking for hostile movement.
The chamber was devoid of any living roaches, or the swarm that had almost gotten him upstairs- there had to be like, forty or fifty dead ones surrounding his boots in the pile of debris around him, but... No live ones.
Weird.
This was supposed to be the heart of this little colony that the freaks had established... How could there be none?
Turning around- Sanford was just about to shrug and look for an exit, or a flight of stairs- when he heard a hideous, deep, thrumming, gurgling noise.
It was kind of like if the fattest, most unhealthy person in the world had a bad case of the runs, mixed in with a super-stomach-bug- it sounded awful. Something was dripping on the concrete, and there was a slow raise in that group noise that had almost been his undoing before.
clcklkclklcklclkclckCKLCCLKCLCKLCKCLCKLCKCLCKCLCKLCK...
-Uh oh.
"It's right behind my head, isn't it?" Sanford chuckled ironically. "Yeah, this... This thing is right behind my fuckin' head, you just watch-"
Sanford turned around in three, slow, deliberate steps.
Low and behold, a Radroach- but not just any Radroach- this roach was so big, that all Sanford could see in detail was its comically small, insectoid head, that had been bowed down from a thorax so rounded and large, it prevented him from seeing the opposite side of the chamber.
Just like Gerald had said- the roach, was as big, as a fuckin' SUV.
Thanks a lot Gerald, thanks a whole lot.
"...Wow," Sanford muttered- watching as the roach's multi-layered sets of mandibles flexed inwards of its hideous appearing oral cavity- and more toxic spittle dripped from them to form green plats on the concrete floor below.
Their heads were so close, that all Sanford had to do, was lean forwards, and his helmet's cranium would've bumped the roach's- 'Nose'- if you could call it that.
The rounded, black eyes of the creature glistened with a hunger that no Ghoul, or other mutated bug beforehand, had instilled in him.
"You're... Really, really... FUGLY, aren't you, girl?"
The roach, having not understood a word of his speech- reared back its head, and jerked forwards with its mandibles splayed, mouth cavity pulsating, and strings of spittle flying forth- the bug SCREECHED at him.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYGGGGHHHHHHHHHH-wghwghwghwgh...
-Sanford inched back throughout the whole five second yell, his suit making a shifting clatter of steel the entirety of the time. Yellow goop stringed and clung to the face of his helmet in a repugnant mess- and a tint of green smog even left the roach's throat to dissipate into the air above.
When the roach silenced itself, it sat there, just as close as before- and Sanford reached up, and wiped some of the slime off of his eye lenses on the helm's front.
"That's fucked up, man." He grunted.
WWWWEYYYGGH- WEYGH
The roach's head rose high enough that it became shadowed in the darkness of the chamber's ceiling- Sanford raised his gun, and almost dropped it for a second time tonight when a big, fat, ugly, puckered orifice emerged from the dark right ahead of him.
The roach curled its massive abdomen under its own thorax- and six massive legs were seen as dark lines on either side of its huge body- the abdomen ended- in what humorously resembled- it's anus.
"That's even MORE fucked up."
fffwwhhhiiKMMMMMMMMM
-A yellow colored smog shot forth from the spraying organ, and plumed through the air thickly, almost like a feather-weighted liquid.
"-OH CRAP!" Sanford barked- flying backwards on stumbling boots- he kept a good foot away from the spreading cloud of filthy pheromones that started to gather around the massive roach.
He fired his SMG at the beast- and the bullets ate into its stomach chitin with tiny flecks of tan and flying cream-colored chippings- but, other than that, the roach didn't make a noise, or move at all to symbolize if it even felt the rounds.
His toxicity sensors in the suit went wild- alarms blaring lightly in the helmet, and his HUD lighting with a small text block indicating that the air had been poisoned, and systems were now regulating his oxygen supply.
The roach brought its abdomen behind it again- screeched with parting mandibles- and shifted towards him- large, but not large enough as to be hindered by the two support beams that were on either side of it in this section of the chamber.
It was good that Gerald had warned them of the smog that this fat freak apparently had a thing for- not only would they have just rushed the building and had all three of themselves swarmed, but mama' roach here would've barged in and finished the job.
Even though Sanford had his personal space violated by a bunch of radioactive, slimy bugs, AND he fell through the floor again- it was better than he and his allies being dead.
Though, that possibility was still on the table.
Perhaps... It was a good idea if he, you know, started to run? Maybe?
"God damn it," Sanford tore out his empty clip, fed the gun a new one- and drained that one.
CLAKCLCKALCKLALCKLCLCKL
-All the rounds ate about the roach's head, one of them even clipped off the center of its chitinous cranium- all of the bullets vanished in tiny wisps of tan dust and chips of exoskeleton.
"God damn it!"
Sanford looked down and saw that through the now thoroughly gathering yellow-colored smog that was filling the basement chamber more and more- there was movement, tiny little shadows that looked like torpedoes in the sea of yellow.
He stomped on one, and heard the trademark screech and spatter of smashed Radroach.
"Gimme' a break... Can't I just get a break?" Sanford multi tasked by draining a third clip into the gigantic roach slowly worming across the chamber floor towards him- and stepping on the straggler smaller roaches that were gathering by his feet.
He glanced about the room quickly- searching for anything- one of these mythical weapons that Gerald and Fredrick apparently had abandoned down here, a doorway, a staircase- maybe even a push of luck and the sight of an ELEVATOR, huh, that would be a treat...
-But no, nothing- in fact, when he finally did see something he wanted to see- it was a flight of steps- he only saw it in a glance and halfway, because it was behind the giant roach that was taking its sweet time in cornering him.
This isn't good.
The roach stopped its stomps towards him for a quick interval- it bowed its angular head, raised it with opened jaws- and three streaming trails of greenish goop were vomited from within its mouth.
The roach had apparently not only developed a massive size, a way of releasing poisonous chemicals that attracted thousands of other roaches- but it also had a projectile attack. Gerald was right- this thing was a monster.
Sanford gasped, and he ducked to the side- the armor rattling the floor with a few hurried boot falls.
The three careening wads of green slime flew so close over his right shoulder pauldron that they left some splashed residue on the grayish metal in passing- before smashing over the wall behind him in clouds of yellowish dust.
Glancing to the area of impact- Sanford saw contrails of finger-like green running down from the center splatters that the attack had made- and from where he was, he could hear the concrete sizzling.
An acid vomiting, poison fog spewing, gigantic, bullet resistant Radroach- and Sanford was trapped in the basement with it.
Happy day.
Turning around- Sanford, for the hundredth time tonight- gasped, when the roach surged forwards, and a metallic clack of stressed steel echoed in his hearing. The bug dipped its head down, and bit his gauntlet's forearm- clenching its large, multiple mandibles over the metal.
Sanford cursed, he tried to step back, and found himself unable to overpower the strength of the bug's rooted legs that were spread on either side of it- he took his gun one handed, and started to mercilessly plant the butt of the SMG into the roach's chitin-plated forehead.
BM
BM
BM
BM-BM-BM
-The insect didn't even flinch.
Then, Sanford felt weightless again.
-0-0-0-0-0-
She had never liked bugs- even the few that existed in the modern day, that retained the small size they originally evolved with before the bombs dropped.
Little things, like flies or gnats- they never outright bothered her to any major degree, but her eyes would lock to and subsequently follow them whenever they got in her general vicinity- like someone would watch a hated enemy cross a room.
Insects were never a good thing to her- especially now, with the messed up ecosystem of the planet- bugs may as well have no longer played any major part in it.
Her prior quirks towards them were now, officially, reinforced times ten- seeing as she was just barely holding off a swarm of giant roaches that were trying to eat her.
If Gerald had the attention or ability to speak amid his raging anxiety and adrenaline- he would've noted how skilled it was that she slashed back and forth, slicing through roach after roach that scurried across the pavement at her- and never once did one of her claws even graze the ground beneath her targets.
There was some sort of sick- 'Game'- she had read about that humans played on each other- something where a person splayed their fingers, and a knife would be danced in stabbing motions between the fingers. The skill there was not catching yourself or the other person- whoever was under the blade.
It was kind of like that- except, the goal for the roaches was to drown the Deathclaw in their very number of bodies.
"Ceci' est tout simplement fantastique..." She mumbled when the roaches thinned in their endless advance. "Damned bugs."
"-U-Uh, h-hey, Deathclaw person," Gerald mumbled behind her. "I'm almost outta' mags."
"Perhaps if you hadn't wasted them all, one after the damn other..."
"We're gonna' get eaten by roaches!"
"Shut up or I'll throw you at them."
They'd been pushed back across the street- and the swarm of bugs was actually starting to thin- after all, Sanford and she had killed so many of them, and there was a good comfort in the fact that they weren't dealing with the innumerable reproduction of say an ant colony.
The roaches had gathered here- they weren't reproducing, as far as they were concerned- and there weren't millions of them- eventually, the casualties would start to be too much.
Though with another tendril of roaches forming a path towards her across the street- that was becoming harder for her to swallow. These bugs were annoying.
"I can't believe they got Sanford!" Gerald cried like a woman. "We're dead, man! DEAD!"
"He's still alive." She snorted- bending down and slashing away a pair of roaches- the severed halves were tossed away to her right, and left spatters of white and yellow on the pavement.
"How do you know?!"
"I heard his weapon firing before."
"-That don't mean nothing! The roach! The roach could've- could've- gotten HANDS, man!"
"You're a moron."
Her arms worked in a back forth, back forth, back forth- a pattern of four or more times, and the swarm was batted away in slithered pieces with each swipe.
BBMM
-A loud, reverberating rumble echoed from inside the steeple.
That didn't sound good.
"Aye! What the hell was THAT?!" Gerald panicked- draining another clip into the oncoming bugs- further annoying her with how many he hit in comparison to the thirty rounds in the magazine.
"I don't know."
"What was that?! D-Do you know?!"
"I DON'T."
"-Oh my God! We're DOOOMMMEEDD-!"
-Sanford would've yelled at her, Hancock even probably would've had a bit of a problem with it before he started hysterically laughing- but, now, Gerald was just becoming a complete, and total whiney bitch.
Reaching behind herself- she used her foot to crush another roach, raised her one claw to level with the Ghoul's head. He turned after draining ANOTHER magazine, watched her hand, and blinked stupidly.
She bunched her pointy behind her thumb's print- and literally flicked Gerald in the head.
CLP
-The Ghoul stumbled backwards, his gun dropped onto the street, and he fell on his backside, speechless, with hands wrapped over his temples- moaning in pain.
He'll live. She happily sighed in thought to the consistent quiet she was able to revel in as she killed the roaches.
BMMM
BM-BM-
CRRASCCHHH
-The entire wooden wall of the steeple's rightwards flank, beside the porch- shattered into a million airborne boards, timber pieces, chips, and ragged debris in a great cloud of smoke and sawdust.
She slashed another trio of roaches, and stood in shock at the explosive destruction of wood that formed a great fissure in the steeple's bottom chin.
"Oh mon Dieu'." She swallowed.
A big, shadowed, bulky form rolled across the grass in a whirling spin of metal limbs, clumps of dirt, and pieces of wood. A whimsical arm of smoke traced through the air that Sanford had been thrown across- he tumbled onto the pavement of the sidewalk with a few hollow rings of metal.
Grunting and cursing loud enough that she could hear him from the distance- she watched as the human miraculously stood onto his heels with a whir of motors and servos, recovered instantly from the explosion- and reached down to grab up the submachine gun that he had barely kept a hold of throughout the flight.
She saw him aim the gun at the blackened tear in the building's hide- he fired briefly- turned around, and cursed again- his foot pattering all over the ground as he stepped on a small mob of roaches that had closed in as he stood.
He looked up- saw her, and waved his arm.
"I'm alive!" He called. "See that? No Sanford-for-lunch today! Ha!"
The Deathclaw huffed as he jogged across the sidewalk towards her, boots bumping metallically with each step- he nodded at the possibly thousands of corpses littering the street, the grass and stoop.
"We did a number on them, huh? Gerald was right about the, uhm... The roach," He waved back at the building. "Fucker's huge- almost ate me- OHMYGAWD- w-what happened to Gerald?!"
The Deathclaw dismissively raised a brow- turned around, looked down at the Ghoul's prone form, and shrugged.
"I don't know. I think a block of wood hit him upside the head from your little stunt before."
"...Oh man, well, d-did you check him?"
"He's fine."
"You sure?"
"Oui'."
"...Is that French for yes?"
"YES. For goodness' sake."
"Great. Now, you wanna' know what's not so great?"
"Mm?"
"I didn't kill the roach."
"..."
"I mean, I TRIED."
"...What do you mean? Then... Then where is it?!"
"Stuck in the basement- fat whale probably can't climb for it's-"
BM-BM
BM
BM
CL
CLK
CLK
-They both turned around, and, jutting from the tear in the boarded wall of the steeple, and its concrete base- were three, spindly, chitin covered insect legs, that clenched tens of tiny claw-like protrusions into the grass next to the stoop.
CLK CLK
CLK
-The other three legs jumped out and caught on the earth and sidewalk too- a second later, and the hole in the building got bigger with another burst of wood and masonry dust.
A huge, bulbous, torpedo shape catapulted like a rock through a sheet of sandpaper- the gigantic roach smashed through the remains of the steeple's lower flank, throwing debris and broken wood everywhere.
It rolled across the sidewalk, steamrolling the corpses of its own kin, and crackling down the pavement with a horrid screech- the giant roach settled on its back, legs kicking up a swinging storm to the night sky above.
Sanford was silent as the Deathclaw tore her vision from the sight, and simply stared towards him- jaw set, eyes narrowed.
When the roach righted itself with a organic thud against the pavement- it opened its mandibles, shook its head wildly- and focused its beady black eyes on the pair standing in the middle of the dead roach-strewn street.
With a hiss- the mutated insect quivered its legs, and the first few thudding footsteps crackled against the street in their direction.
Sanford noticed the Deathclaw staring at him- shrugged, and pointed his gun at it.
CLACLALCKLCKLCK
-All the bullets clattered away into the bug's hide.
"-See, I tried, it didn't work, don't gimme' that look."
"I'll give you whatever look I want, monsieur'."
"Well, we signed up for it."
"What's this... WE, bullshit?"
"I didn't hear you say no!"
"I shouldn't have to, you dolt!"
"Don't get your tail twisted at me!"
"I'll twist your neck!"
"Untangle your fallopian tubes and let's kill this thing already!"
"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?!"
"Oh no, look, toxic spit! Get down!"
"You listen here, you little shit-!"
BM-SHM
-Sanford reached over and shoved his gauntlet into her gut, sending her stumbling back with a hiss of surprise.
He too ducked low enough that his helmet almost glanced his knee plate- a trio of green wads of vomit-like sludge flew between them, to vanish into the shadows behind them.
The Deathclaw- who had been rearing back to kick him- stumbled away, and dropped her jaw at the display- tail swishing.
"It SHOOTS?!"
"Did you think I was kidding?!"
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