CHAPTER 29
It's All Coming Together.
The Mutants were tough, they were stronger physically, and they outnumbered the two of them fifteen to one- but the frankly evening-out part of that power struggle, revolved heavily around a mere three things.
One, the Mutants couldn't aim for jack'- when Sanford used his usual cover-tactics, he was untouchable- and the Deathclaw was just too fast for the Mutants to even target her effectively.
Two, the Mutants were disorganized to begin with, in fact- there wasn't one here who even understood the simple concept of a little thing called- 'Teamwork' -which, you know, is essential if you're working in a squad-based infantry combat setting.
Three- the Mutants were just God-damned stupid. They were so stupid, that Sanford, the veteran, the guy who had been navigating the Wasteland since young adulthood- was practically able to run circles around them.
Sanford had been hardening himself with every kind of tactic he had ever encountered from other people, or other sentient lifeforms like the Mutants, for what few there were. That meant that Sanford could outperform multiple times his own number, and that also meant that the disorganization of the Mutants heightened his ability to beat them.
Sanford just used the basics- he fired and maintained a low profile, he reloaded, and he relocated- the more and more angles he found to shoot the Mutants from, the more he wounded or eventually killed.
He was running low on submachine gun rounds- and pretty soon he would have to start just picking up any guns that the dead were dropping to defend himself- as, he had done that before in some pretty bad past engagements.
He only had a handful of magazines left, and as he drained another one from leaning over the hood of a smashed, and rusting sedan's hulk- he heard the SMG clack its bolt forwards, and he saw the last shell casing kick away off the metal of the car under his arms.
"Damn." He snapped- the armor creaking as he ducked behind the automobile, and winced when a cluster of rounds clapped about the other side of the vehicle.
He felt around his rucksack, and felt himself go pale at seeing the dwindled number of black, rectangular lifelines still available in its interior- he folded the flap back, and shut his eyes angrily at a mere two clips left.
"SHIT."
He grabbed one and stuffed it in the gun's receiver, yanked back the bolt.
He clamped the gun to his hip plating, picked up the other SMG on the other side, and aimed again over the hood of the car he hid behind.
CLCKLCKLCKLCKLCKCLKCL
-He drained the whole clip into a Mutant that was rushing forwards with a single arm raised in the air- the green freak broke cover, sprinted, and died with a cluster of rounds opening up his clavicle and throat.
The Mutant made a wet cry and collapsed face-first, motionless, on the ground with his bulbous legs flinging up behind him, and then settling with twin kicks against the dusty ground.
Sanford used the rest of the gun's magazine to spray the group of rocks ahead that he knew the Mutant's buddies were taking cover in- and right as he was ducking back, he noticed an abnormality that was laying on the hood of the car next to his forearm.
Shifting his gauntlet to the side, Sanford peered over the car's top at the object, dropped his jaw, and cursed loudly.
"-OH SHIT!"
-The rounded, black, and studded item, was a grenade, and the pin was obviously gone, and now he knew thoroughly what that Mutant had tossed before he died.
Sanford fell on his backside behind the car.
WHHMM
-The grenade went off, metal shrieked, shrapnel flew over his head in all directions as contrasting wedges of glowing light against the dark air- dust vomited in a great plume, and the whole rusty car shifted with its hood now fissured with a blackened gash down its midsection.
Sanford had his gauntlet over his helmet's dome- and he waited for the resounding hiss of the grenade's detonation to fade, before he finished switching his last good magazine with the dead one in his second SMG.
If he hadn't been in the X-01 suit, that blast probably would've temporarily deafened him- he thanked the maker for the helmet's internal fluctuation systems.
"-Wha' tha'?!"
"OOH KRAWP'!"
The Mutants that had him pinned were shouting in the night ahead- Sanford raised a brow, and then he flinched when he heard a terrible squelching sound that was loud enough to reach his position a few feet away.
A Mutant screamed, and there was a wet tearing.
"Je vais tuer chacun d'entre vous! VOUS MERDE' BOUGRES MANGER!"
-There were a few gunshots, another tearing noise, and a Mutant made a weak gurgle.
Sanford stood bolt upright from behind the car- he watched, impressed, as the Deathclaw stalked out from behind the rocks up ahead, covered in blood, with drips falling from her nailed claws, she stomped towards him and bent to spit at the ground.
"...Covered in freak blood and stuck with a stupid human, pfft..." She was mumbling.
"Hey, well you just saved this stupid human's life! Kinda'." Sanford waved at her and started to step around the car. "Good news, my scanners are clear."
"We've been fighting all night, monsieur'- I'd certainly expect them to be clear by this point."
"It's only been a few minutes!"
"Mm."
"...Say, where'd the chief-guy go?"
"HUMIE'!"
"-Oh, hey! We found him!" Sanford laughed sarcastically. "You might want to move, dear."
The Deathclaw hissed, and she was gone by his flank, back into the night, with a rush of motion.
Standing in the open, between the rock formations ahead, was the big guy- the Super Mutant chieftain with his bionic grenade-launcher leveled with Sanford's position, the Mutant grinned with yellow teeth and a half-lidded eye.
"Tiem' tu DIE, oomie'!" He growled.
Sanford looked down at his SMG he was holding, and, again, became astonished at how 'Pee-shooter'-ish' the gun looked against these larger things he was coming up against.
The chieftain was only a few feet away, and from this distance, Sanford was not likely to slip by the explosive rounds that the big bionic-arm of his fired. That was probably the same weapon that had glanced the Deathclaw when they had first escaped.
"That might be a little hard for you, green man," Sanford held an arm out into the night, sweeping it slowly with a creak of steel. "We killed all your little friends!"
"Me not NEED uvver' Muties'."
"You really are an anti-social, ugly, piece of shit- you do realize this, right?"
"DIE!"
-FWM
The Deathclaw had described to him at one point, what precisely had hit her- and the description fit a meteorite descending from above pretty fittingly. Naturally, Sanford had a hard time believing that someone else besides the Minutemen had mastered mortar technology.
However, when the big, bionic grenade-launcher that made the chieftain's arm barked with a flash of light, a belch of disgorged soot- and he saw the trailing comet flying through the air towards him with a path of sparks left behind- he now thoroughly understood what his reptilian friend had been up about.
Sanford flinched when the grenade sailed out- he cursed loudly, and he threw himself to the side- again -and the explosive landed merely a few inches before where he had been standing.
Hurling through the air, off his feet- Sanford heard a resounding clap, like thunder- light illuminated all around him, and a ball of curling flame caressed upwards into the night from a blackened crater of billowing dust and shrapnel.
BMM
-Debris tore past Sanford's flank as he hit the earth from his leap, it licked in glancing ricochets from his armor's cuirass and left arm and pauldron.
Scrambling to his feet, the suit whirring and whining- Sanford was on his boot heels, raising the SMG- he drained the entire clip at the Mutant chief as he stood watching the results of his attack- surprised, that the human was still alive.
CLCKLCKLCKLCKCLKLCLLK
-Understand, it was rather shocking for the Mutants, especially their leader- EVERYTHING, that he shot normally burst into red, gooey chunks, or it toppled over and coughed up sparks and smoke everywhere before blooming into a pretty explosion.
No such thing was happening with this 'Metuul Mahn'- in fact, everything that the Mutants were used to INFLICTING, had been inflicted upon THEM. Pretty much all of his fellows were dead- either hacked to pieces or shot full of holes.
And this stupid, stupid human was the one responsible for it.
"I'LL KILL YU'!" The chieftain remained unaffected by the bullets that ate into his armored form- some actually finding marks on his bare left arm, and one even clipping by his neck.
The chieftain raised his launcher, and drew a bunched fist down a bolt handle atop the arm's fore length.
CHSK-CHK
-He shoved up and down, and another explosive was chambered.
wwwwHHHHHMMM-
FMM
-Sanford tried to turn and run, but the grenade landed in front of him before he could start to sprint.
BMM
-A clap of thunder, a mighty gravitational force threatened to topple him over, and shrapnel licked off the X-01's hide all over the place in lit up, orange slashes in the night air.
The cool thing was, at least some of the flaking roach gunk that was still on his armor after all this time, was burnt away from the touch of the adjacent explosion- the suit kept him grounded however, so he wasn't tossed off his feet.
"-GAH!" Sanford stumbled back wildly- black smoke ghosting his form in the representation of black tendrils that whispered off his suit in all corners.
There was a confirming- BLEEP -in his helmet, and he glanced at a green block of text in the lower corner of his HUD saying that no damage had been experienced.
Sanford didn't take another chance being out in the open- he turned around and loosed off in a thudding sprint until he was behind another cluster of rocks- and right on cue, as he went to clamp his dry SMG to his hip- another burst of fire and shrapnel ate into the other side of the formation.
BMM
-"COME OUT, HUMIE'!"
Flinching, Sanford growled and looked down at his gauntlet- only to widen his eyes in shock.
...Where did his gun go?
He blinked, and held up his gauntlet, and slumped his shoulders at what he saw.
At least, you know, the handle and the back portion of the gun's frame was still in his grip, giving off a tiny tentacle of smoke from its ragged, burnt division where the REST of the gun was supposed to be.
That explosion scorched his already messed up armor, and broke one of his guns.
"This guy is REALLY pissing me off." Sanford grumbled.
The submachine guns obviously weren't cutting it- not quickly enough. He glanced around ahead and at his sides- looking for one of the many corpses littering the camp.
There was a dead Mutant who was still clenching a nail-driven 2x4 by his side, so, that wouldn't do- yet a foot away, there was another corpse, and this green guy had a rifle stuck under his chest from where he had eaten the dirt in a final fall.
"...Maybe..." Sanford muttered- he glanced over the rocks. "-DOH!"
BMM
BMM-BMM
-Who knew the chieftain had a rapid-fire barrage setting on that thing?
Whatever the case, the rocks were lit up with thrice bursts of shrapnel and smoke- the chieftain laughed maniacally in the backdrop, and Sanford was lucky that he was low enough from the bursts to withstand most of their fury.
The armor was capable of dealing with glancing hits like that, but he wasn't about to become curious and willing to experience what could possibly happen should one of those rounds directly hit him.
He ran out into the open for the corpse with the rifle he had seen- and he was sure the chieftain would fire at him again.
"-DAMN, HUMIE'-!"
CCHM
SLK
"-AAAGGHH!"
Sanford planted his foot into the dead Mutant's ribs- sent the corpse flailing over in a tumble of green limbs.
He bent down and picked up the rifle, hearing the wooden frame rattle in his grip as he flipped it over and checked it.
It was undamaged, as far as a Mutant owned weapon went- and much to his chagrin, it was a bolt-action, an old hunting rifle- things were bad news if you were wielding them in close quarters, but it was better than nothing.
Glancing up- he saw the chieftain swinging his organic arm about wildly, and materializing from his side was a sleek shadow that whisked back into the darkness with a few pads of sharp, clawed feet.
The Deathclaw ran in, sliced the chieftain's back right down the middle, cleaving through the layered plates of metal wrapped over his torso, and drawing four bloody trenches that separated the green flesh raggedly and with running flows of crimson.
The chieftain, being what he was- didn't even process the pain that symbolized the terrible injury- he swung around and started to aim his bionic launcher at the Deathclaw's last seen direction.
Sanford just had a bad feeling about it, that, THIS, was the shot she wasn't dodging.
A gut feeling, they'd always been right in the past.
Sanford grabbed the bolt handle, pulled it back slightly, and saw a single round still loaded- he didn't observe long enough to see if there were any more below it.
In an instant, he steadied the rifle with an aim down the iron-sights, lining his helm eye lens down the gun's spine.
He found his mark, in the way only he could- and he compressed the trigger.
CLK
-The gun didn't even flinch in his powered grip.
However, the chieftain flinched, and he flinched A LOT.
Because the bullet sailed towards the giant, green freak- and it implanted, dead center, his right eye.
PWK
-Sanford heard the wet crunch from where he was, and the chieftain reeled back with his arms flailing into the air, a contrail of shining crimson flinging from the gaping hole in his head, he opened his yellow-toothed mouth, and screamed for a second time tonight.
Only this time, this wasn't a scream of defiance, it was a scream of pain.
"AAAAAAGGGHHH! AGH! AAAGGHHH!"
The ground rumbled as his giant, booted, green feet thwacked and thudded about- the massive Mutant almost fell over to the side, and swung his arms out to steady himself in the most spectacular stumble Sanford had ever witnessed.
The bionic launcher barked- FMM -and the shining comet of its grenade launched straight up into the night air, arced a full story above, and then started to descend calmly, peacefully- into the distance as its wielder hollered and tossed about.
Sanford blinked as he observed the distant grenade fly off into the night, somewhere outside of the camp's limits- he glanced back down at the corpse of the Mutant he'd acquired the gun from, and bent down to search for a bandolier.
When he found it, he tugged it off the beltline- flicked open the flap, and found what he was looking for in the form of a few stripper clips.
"-I can't believe I hit it," He just praised himself for it now, taking a stack of rounds out, leaning the bandolier against his hip plating until it magnetically stuck from the bullets inside. "Right in the eye! WHAM!"
Breathing in excitement, Sanford pulled back the rifle's bolt, saw the shell eject into the night- he shoved the stripper clip into the top feed, and compressed until the stack folded into the gun's receiver, he brushed away the clip's metal strip, and slacked the bolt closed.
"-HUMIE'! RRAAAGGGHH!"
Sanford's shoulders deflated in shock- he looked up- and running towards him a flailing mess, was the very Mutant that he had shot in the face.
Any human would've been killed instantly- a bullet entering the eye? Come on, WHO could survive that?
-The gigantic Super Mutant who had a clan of other Mutants answering to him, apparently, that was who.
Even with a bloody, black hole in his head- the Mutant chieftain stormed towards the armored human- his green arm tossing about, the bionic launcher swinging by his side- feet thundering the earth with dust-kicking stomps that could be felt through Sanford's boots.
He sheepishly aimed the rifle, and fired- CLK -yanked the bolt and discharged the shell, fired again- CLK -and the chief didn't blink.
"SHIT!"
Sanford ducked forwards when the giant's shadow loomed over him.
-0-0-0-0-0-
It had long entered into a dreary, gray morning when Hancock started out into the fray once more.
There were a whole bunch of hours spent flying over barren landscape, crisscrossing lanes of abandoned roads and going around the rusting hulks of dead cars- and Hancock didn't stop for much in his crusade of perseverance.
Every now and again he would levitate in place to give his scanners a good sweep of the hills- and every time he either came up dry, or received further enlightenment that the signatures of all kinds of Wasteland fauna were scurrying about as usual.
It was interesting- he found signatures that clearly shown small packs of Molerats and Mongrels about- and yet none of them seemed to really be seeking him out.
...It must have been because of how quiet he was, they just didn't really pick up the scent or hint of a quiet robot.
That was just... WRONG.
He was Hancock, THE Hancock- and here he was, floating around with nothing to say, nothing to comment about, nothing to get animated about and most certainly- no Sanford to get animated at
"I can't believe that little turd abandoned me!" Hancock grumbled. "I want my money back! I WANT IT BACK NOW!"
-The kicker about all this was, Hancock had started screaming his robotic chassis off again, and at the worst of times during the hours of the day- and irony played a fair hand in allowing nothing to grace his scanners or his physical sight recognitions.
It had been hours, and the gray morning was long gone- now it was black out, night time, and this was notoriously when the biggest and nastiest predators showed up to hunt.
Yet, Hancock had been flying around, and he had come across, you guessed it- NOTHING.
Not a thing, not even a giant bug, or a rodent. Nadda', zip.
"I'm lost, God," Hancock stated factually. "I've nothing to kill, no woman to call my own, and no ape to harass until the end of time. How about instead of another thing to FAIL in killing me, throw me a damned bone! A hint! ANYTHING!"
...The blackness persisted, and the night was strong with how quiet it was.
He really needed to follow Sanford's advice- just this once -and stop trying to communicate with the creator, it just didn't work.
"Ah, pooka-balls..." Hancock snapped. "Aren't all of you getting bored?! Watching me fly around in fuckin' circles, losing my mind, losing my central processing, AND GOING BAT-SHIT, COMPLETELY INSANE?! Devils! Heathens! It's your fault, God! YOURS!"
-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-
WHIM-WHIM
-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-
"-Huh, that's a new one, scanners that ACTUALLY do what they're supposed to do... And pick shit up?! Ha! Ha-ha! TAKE THAT! I, Hancock, am victorious once mor-"
Hancock flipped open his scan results, and, at that moment, dramatically realized that the results were from above.
Again.
Hadn't he played this game already? With a descending sewer grate panel?
What was next? A tire iron? A car? A METEOR, heh, yeah... A meteor, funny.
"God's not THAT determined to end my bad-assery, and I'll be frank, and say that-" Hancock looked up with all three ocu-lenses, and, right there, in the sky- contrasting from the black of the night, was a hurling wad of flame.
It fell quickly, leaving a glowing trail of embers behind it, and Hancock powered his central-thruster to face the descending item fully.
After a moment of quiet, maybe a few seconds before it hit the earth- he barked out-
"-ARE YOU FRIGGIN' CHUMPS KIDDING?! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU AND ALL YOUR FLYING DEBRIS! I HOPE YOU OUTLIVE YOUR CHILDREN!"
-The grenade round flew right over his chassis, earning a metallic creak as he swung around to face where it was headed- and then it all ended with a clap of thunder, a resounding and broiling plumage of fire from behind a nearby hill, which leveled out for fading soot.
Hancock floated in the air, motionless, and wordless- surprisingly -and for a good while he just observed the far point of impact from the obviously launched projectile munitions. The robot hummed, looked back up at the sky, and laughed.
"HA! Dumbass! You missed!" He shook his chassis in victory, and went to resume his aimless wandering- when his scanners also picked up the contrail of heat that the grenade had left in its wake, which, was hurriedly dissipating.
Hancock stopped short, considered it, gave off a mental shrug and a- 'Ah, what the hell.' -and used his environmental temperature readings to trace the trail of the round that had been shot from wherever the location was.
It took him a few minutes, but when the readings returned- he noted that they also picked up a fair degree of OTHER heat-based disturbances, and several of them involved gunpowder-based residue left in their wake.
"Hmm, sulfur, evidence of a firefight- the strange coincidence, of having the one round that gets loosed off into the air land near yours truly? It seems fate isn't a complete and total bitch- 'cause I know only ONE man that can have fate spit a grenade at me!"
Hancock spun around in the direction of the now faded heat trail he'd scanned- his thruster lit up, and he zoomed off as fast as his systems allowed, leaving a trail of dust to breach off the ground he passed over, limbs stuck out behind him in the breeze.
"HOLD ON, SANFOOOORRDD'- I'M'A COMIN'! DON'T LOSE YOUR UNDERWEAR! FOR THE HAN', IS ON HIS WAY! CHAAARRRGGGGEEEE!"
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The chieftain tried to squash him like a bug.
It was kind of like the fight he had had with the big roach back by the steeple- the thing just tried to use its limbs, tried to bite him when he got close- seeing as this Mutant had discovered his launcher wasn't cutting it, he did exactly the same thing.
Sanford had initially dodged the fist coming down on him in an knuckle-bearing descent- because when he ducked forwards, he slipped right between the Mutant's bulbous, green, leather-wrapped knees.
BMMK
-The giant fist jolted as it met the earth, throwing dust all around the knuckles.
Sanford heard the Mutant bellowing, and he saw the big metal plates that wrapped over his gut practically buzzing with how loud he was screaming. Sanford realized he was trapped in a half-duck right underneath the chieftain's chin- literally.
He saw what he was aiming for, considered the angular direction of his armored body and his helm- all in the span of a the three seconds it took him to weigh the options- Sanford just went with it, after all, he was falling forwards in the perfect direction.
So Sanford lowered his helmet, bearing the cranium- and his headgear ploughed forwards, and hit the chieftain in a less than savory section of his pelvis level.
BOONK
-There was a terrible, metal-sounding ring- and Sanford felt something crunch even through his helmet when his headgear slammed into the leather wrapping pants that covered the Mutant's crotch.
"-AAAAAAGGGGHHHH!" If it was even possible, the chieftain screamed LOUDER.
Nobody liked having their junk get throttled by a piece of exoskeletal titanium.
"AAGGH-! WOO!- AGAHAGAHGAHAGH-OOOOO!" The chieftain vanished from over Sanford's form- he was reeling back even more than he was beforehand- and he had his one good fist balled over the space between his green, muscle-riddled legs.
The Mutant's face was twisted in horror- his bloody eye-socket leaking even more because of how much he was scrunching his brows, and for how much his face was contorting throughout the terrible screaming. This boy was just having an awful day.
Shaking his head, Sanford reached up and patted the helm's cranium- he aimed the rifle forwards, and fired three more times at the chieftain- pulling the shell out with the bolt handle after each.
CLK
CLK
CLK
-The Mutant didn't give much further reaction, but the ground shook, and dust catapulted into the night air- pretty soon, Sanford saw the moldy heels of the Mutant's green feet kicking about, and the screaming wasn't stopping.
"...My God..." Sanford heard faintly from behind himself- he glanced over his pauldron and smiled as the Deathclaw emerged from the darkness, winced at the events unfolding ahead, and blinked at him with her yellow eyes. "What did you DO to him, monsieur'?"
"I-! Uhm... Well," He almost proudly proclaimed his official head-butting of the Mutant's balls, but, reconsidered. "-I shot him in the eye, and I shot him in the crotch!"
"Excellent aim, Sanford," She chuckled. "-Though, curious... I thought Super Mutants lacked the ability for procreation?"
"...When was the last time you've ever met some freak who actually pulled down one's shorts to CHECK?"
"...Fair point, monsieur'."
"We should finish him off while he's down."
"You have the honors, Sanford."
"I've got just the thing for him..."
Metal clunked about and shifted- Sanford reached over his back, dropping his picked up rifle, he came back with the Nukalizer in his grip- he adjusted his other gauntlet underneath its muzzle handle, he cranked the top so that the three barrels shifted in rotation for the ones beneath it.
The Nukalizer gave off its usual- BEEP-BEEP -for confirmation of readied fire- Sanford shook it a little to hear the sloshing of Nuka-Cola Quantum in the still-loaded bottle, and nodded at her.
"Let's fry him."
-0-0-0-0-0-
It wasn't that the chieftain didn't understand WHY he was being beaten, or even how the stupid little 'Metuul Mahn'- had outmaneuvered him and caused him such injury.
The thing that made the large, experienced, combat-hardened Mutant angry, and infuriated, was that it was a simple human, a HUMAN, prey, meat, something his boys hunted down to eat like cattle. It was horrific- the knowledge that he was losing to one of those animals.
He'd been in the Wasteland for decades, killing things, eating them, gathering weapons and bionics to augment himself over the years... and not once had he run into a human that had given him this much of a run for his money.
The chieftain was in trouble- he was blind, and his thoughts were swimmy, because, unknown to him- the bullet had damaged the inside of his skull, fractured it, if you will- and only by the mutated genes that kept his cells regenerating constantly was he able to live through this injury.
He was in the worst of pain he had ever experienced- it was raw, and it was real. Most of the time, things that tore into him were not even felt, or were pin-pricks- laughable little things, that no human technology had been able to surpass with him.
Bullets? Pfft. He'd been shot so many times he'd lost count.
Blades? They got stuck in his skin whenever others had tried to stab him, and that meant he could just pick them up and break them in two.
Rockets, even? No, no he had always been smart enough to stay away from direct hits- the shrapnel was about as effective as bullets against him- which meant it did nothing, really.
All this time he had beaten every single living thing he had come across- and he had gathered Mutants to his cause wherever he went... He was a demigod of the wastes... And yet, this one man, this one little human in a special suit, was changing all those years, all those victories, all that success, in a single night.
That wasn't fair.
He didn't accept that.
He was too GOOD, to be done in by a lowly human.
-Now if only he wasn't blind in one eye, his head wasn't experiencing an earthquake, and his stomach didn't hurt so much- he would've set about hunting down and smashing the runt AND his little lizard pet.
But all the chieftain could do was thrash about- hopelessly wait for his sight to come back when it never would.
He was a sitting duck, dead in the water.
"AAAGGH! AGH!" He bellowed, thrashing about. "-I'LL FIND' YU! I'LL FIND YU! I'LL- I'LL-!"
"Hey! Hulk's Demented Cousin?"
The chieftain stopped thrashing, kicked his legs with thundering flops- and tried to sit up.
The giant, green, muscular humanoid looked comically storybook-ish' as he righted himself on his backside, the launcher arm shifting and creaking by his side- he glared with his one good eye at the human as he stepped forwards from the dark.
Sanford had in his grip the Nukalizer- which, while the chieftain didn't know what it was- understood that it was a big gun, and that it would be the end of him.
"...HOOMAN..." He grunted, panting, blood still pouring from his caved-in eye. "-NOT... POSSEEBUL..."
"Don't believe it? Here's a memo, you fuck. This is for taking Han' away," Sanford compressed the Nukalizer's trigger. "Merry Christmas."
-The Mutant might've tried to stand up with shuffling arms, flailing legs- but at the end of the day, it mattered naught.
All that was relevant to the recollection of the next few moments, was that a blinding light lit up the corpse-strewn camp from its flank, and a roaring scream like that of a massive jet-engine howled out into the night.
wwwwWHHHHMMM-
BBBBAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH
-The flaming tear-drop excursion of pulsating flame shot out, and within seconds of its birth, the great Super Mutant chieftain was reduced to an unsavory, and crispy- pair of legs attached to a burnt pelvis that had more blackened brown to it than green.
Sanford angled back, struggling to keep the beam firing straight- grinning wickedly the entire time this physical ultimatum roared from the rather small weapon in comparison, in his arms.
PPPPHHHHWWWWWMMMMF-
PPUH
-The Nukalizer went quiet, and Sanford released the trigger.
The great plumage of blue fire snapped away all at once, and he stumbled a step back from the lack of force being omitted from the weapon.
Sanford stood with the gun still pointed forwards- the barrels hissing, glowing a magma-like orange- the faint whisper of caressing, and cooling metal was evident throughout the quiet night air. Opening his eyes after a heavy blink- Sanford saw the heartbeat counter on his scans had now dropped to zero.
He looked ahead, and winced at what he saw.
The chieftain was just... GONE, from the hip up. All that was left was literally a pair of big, green, bulbous legs and a blackened patty of burnt flesh and bone that had been his hips- the very earth around the body was blackened, and some shards of glass were scattered about from sand that had dotted the ground.
A pair of rocks nearby had a tendril-like stain drawing down their sides of pure black- and beside the Mutant's remains, was a small, elongated, trail of ruined scrap metal- all that was left of his bionic grenade-launcher arm.
The Super Mutants, were all dead. All gone.
"...I... LOVE, this gun," Sanford whispered, chuckling- he reoriented a straight stance, and he patted the top of the Nukalizer with twin PAT PAT -metallic thwacks of his gauntlet's fingers. "We got him."
"YOU got him, monsieur'." The Deathclaw stepped up beside him, and hissed at the blackened remains of their foe. "Disturbing."
"Nice and crispy."
"Stop that," She laughed. "That's just disgusting."
"Hey, well, we got him! We got the Mutants!"
"Mmmm."
"Woo! Aren't you excited? That was, like, cool!"
"...-'Cool'-...?"
"Yeah! We're unstoppable!" He turned and held his arms aloft, letting the Nukalizer cling to his suit's rear cuirass again with a hollow clunk. "We're a good team."
"Yes, monsieur'."
"...I wish Han' were here to gloat all annoyingly and such..."
"Just for that reason, monsieur'?"
"Nah, just for him to be here. He would've had some snappy comment for this jerk." He gestured for the body. "...Hey,"
"Yes?"
"You wanna' raid through their stuff?"
"...I suppose?"
"Yeah, let's take their shit! Dumb bastards thought they'd eat US? No sir!" Sanford stomped past her, laughing loudly- now jubilant, at their victory.
The Deathclaw stood in her spot for awhile longer- she smiled at the center of the camp where he ran off too, and then she looked down towards the piled remains of the chieftain again.
She cringed.
Was that all this Wasteland had for them? Fighting? Death? It was all it had had for her alone.
She grumbled, and licked at her fangs, looking down at her clawed feet.
Perhaps it wasn't worth the dwelling- she'd been dwelling for years, and Sanford had been making her stop, so, again, PERHAPS, she should be grateful for that and use it to her advantage.
She gazed at the corpse a bit longer and turned around to follow Sanford- as, he could shuffle through the Mutant's things all he wanted, SHE, however, just wanted to lie down and take a God-forsaken nap already.
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Even through the excitement he felt, the adrenaline rush bottoming out for a well of proud relief- Sanford was sweating up a storm inside the armor as he retraced his way back through the Super Mutant camp to its center.
He had a big, stupid grin on his face the whole way- practically laughing at every single dead Mutant he passed.
It had been exhausting running around back and forth, shooting at them, being shot at- he was kind of used to the stress of combat, if you could ever accurately describe someone as being 'Used'- to near death experiences. But it was still a toll on his body- he felt tired.
In coordination with his aching body, that jocular tone flat-lined right off his face when he passed the bonfire pile again and was reminded to what the Mutants had been doing before they crashed the party.
The thudding footfalls of his suit stopped, and he stood before the bloody puddle that was repugnantly being absorbed by the now crimson soil beneath it- he looked at the mangled skull and the bones, and Sanford breathed out heavily and sighed.
His eyes locked towards the top rim of his cuirass, and he suddenly didn't feel all that pumped up anymore for the few moments he took to reorient himself with what he and the Deathclaw had just stopped.
The night was quiet, lacking of gunfire and screams- and Sanford had been longing for that for however long they had been engaged in combat.
Now that it was here, ironically- he was getting a whole bunch of negative vibes in his system.
He thought on it, and he nodded at the skull in the bloody puddle.
He wanted to... SAY something to it, to HIM, or HER, or whoever that skull had belonged to.
He had to remember that, to him, it was just another gruesome reminder, a static thing- to show others what kind of mindless animals the Super Mutants really were- but once upon a time, that skull, and those bones, were a person.
"Every time I see a dead person, or, PARTS of a dead person... I'm shown again and again just how violent our world has become..." He had been talking to Hancock about it, years and years ago- he said those exact words.
"But it's just a pile-o-bones, sir! It's not like I'm gonna' drain coolant on them or anything!"
"Hancock, always keep in mind- that pile of bones, at one point, used to be someone's baby," Sanford responded seriously. "Someone's child, someone's father, or mother, or aunt or uncle, or just a friend... You gotta' respect that."
...Sanford believed he respected that.
"...For what it's worth, I wish we got here earlier." He muttered- perhaps to himself, or perhaps to the puddle of blood and the skull... He didn't give himself further debate on it by directing it specifically. He didn't know who it was too, it just was what it was.
He sighed again, and slowly trot past it towards the concrete court he had been taken to before- the one with the work buildings that he hadn't a chance to search through.
Now that the Mutants were dead, the place was a lot more quiet, a lot more peaceful- despite the horrible things that had happened here obviously.
There wasn't even a breeze in the darkness anymore- just the overhanging ambience of miles of land that were devoid of any motion, it was disturbing and also serene at the same time.
Sanford stepped over to the edge of the scorch marks around the edges of the rectangular pit drop that he and his friends had been tossed into when they had been captured days ago- he saw only blackness, and imagined that most of that cellar probably caved in because of the nuke.
He gave off a considering- 'Hm' -to it, and stepped around the porthole towards the larger of the work buildings- the only one that looked like the Mutants had stored things in- the others looked pretty empty.
Sanford imagined they used the other buildings as fortifications- the Mutants had a thing with living in pretty bland little structures that were either already made of metal, or were bolted several times over with layers of scrap.
Other than the still lit bonfire towards his rear- there was only a pair of worklights that had been lit on either side of the main building- they were tall and black colored, with rectangular bulb-lids, they shined a faint hue of brightness over the court.
At one point there had been a small three metal steps that lead up to the dented and wrecked doorframe of the metal building- but it was long gone, probably broken off by the chieftain when he mis-stepped one day.
The whole little building rattled when he put a boot on the edge of the interior floor, and lifted himself up with a creak of steel.
There was a pile of metal furniture- desks and filing cabinets and whatnot, stuff you'd find in an office cubicle -in the corner of the building's rounded interior, broken, smashed. Sanford raised a brow to a shelving unit that was FILLED with guns. Lots and lots of guns.
"Jack-pot." He smiled, stepped over to that first.
It had four shelves, aluminum, rusty and old- each was piled with a lot of crap- weak weapons that Sanford specifically steered clear of, and this disappointed him.
There were a lot of copper weapons- makeshift guns that Raiders and highwaymen and other common, petty lowlives slapped together in excuse of finding real pre-War guns. These 'Pipe-Weapons'- were pretty low on hitting power, they had terrible accuracy, and the only thing they were good for was noise at the worst of times.
It would figure that these Mutants had the biggest stockpile of the things that he had seen in a long time- even more than some groups of Raiders piled up.
He lightly sifted through them- anticipating that the Mutants hadn't been smart enough, or caring enough- to unload and safety-pin all of them before just throwing them all here- the last thing he needed was a stray shot hitting him in the eye or some shit like the late chieftain.
He didn't find anything really good- he grumbled, and lifted a pipe-made rifle up from the top shelf's edge- he found a few magazines stacked under it, and he leaned forwards for a closer look- realized what it was, and nodded.
"Alright, at least there's something..."
SMG ammo, for the one gun that still worked- alright, he'd go for it, it couldn't hurt.
Stuffing them in the rucksack- he checked the other side of the chamber, and he came across a pile of actual mattresses- like, several mattresses, all worn and grimy, piled together in a big heap- this was obviously the makeshift bedding of the dead chieftain.
There were some fetishes that had nails driven through them hung over the wall next to this bedding- mostly skulls of varying type with a nail in their foreheads- but there were some robotic parts, a mummified Yao Guai claw.
Sanford saw another metal desk- this one actually in once piece- and on top of it was a rather rare sight.
There was a computer, body, keyboard and monitor, all in one- and it was humming lowly, which meant that it still had some functionality.
Sanford cocked his head at it, and stepped back towards the doorframe of the building.
"...HEY! Deathclaw, you out there?"
"Coming, monsieur'." -Came from ahead.
"I'm getting out of the armor for a bit- I stink like hell."
"...Needed information?" She frowned, materializing from the amber glow of the bonfire, and stalking around the rectangular pit drop. "Anything of use in there?"
"I found a computer, I was going to see if it worked."
"I'm sitting for a bit... Maybe sleeping." The Deathclaw huffed, and the ground thudded as she fell on her backside, and leaned against the wall of the building by the side of the doorframe- she blinked tiredly and angled her head over to look at him.
"Alright, I'll keep it quiet."
Sanford backed out of the frame, blink activated the proper runes in his HUD- and eventually he was stepping out of the suit's unfolding back- the cuirass blooming, the arms unfolding at the rear and the legs too.
The frame parted, and he slipped out, covered in sweat, a tired expression on his face.
He stepped around the suit's flank, waited for it fold closed with a confirming bleep- he noted how weird it looked with all the weapons magnetically stuck to its hips and the Nukalizer over its back- a real ragtag scavenger's suit. He liked it.
He grimaced at some roach gunk still flecked dryly on the suit's hide- he delved in the rucksack on its thigh and came back with a water container- probably his last one. He really needed to get back to the Gas Station- he and Han's rain filtering tank was probably full there, in addition to the other supplies they'd stockpiled.
He tried not to think about it too much- was still drinking out of the container as he stepped over to the computer monitor.
The screen was black, cracked at the corners and grimy- the cream-colored body of the machine was browned with age, speckled with dirt and dust, cracked in some places, and thin arms of cobwebs waved at him from the back air filter vents.
He pressed a square power button just below the screen- and he watched the computer hum a bit more, and the screen turn a light shade of dark drab green.
White text flittered to life-
+++POWER+++
+++++THANK YOU FOR USING, ROBCO'+++++
+++++USER: SIGN IN- JEMMINGS, HANK-WELCOME+++++
+++++PROPERTY OF- 'HAVEN' INCORPORATED, MANUFACTURED BY ROBCO' PLANT 667-D'++++++
+++COMMAND?-
-A few choices came up beneath that- but Sanford was preoccupied with the names he read on the top of the page.
Who was Hank Jemmings? The original owner, no doubt... But was he in relation to whatever this Mutant camp had been before the bombs? Probably.
And the Haven Corporation... Sanford knew about them from before the bombs, two-hundred years ago... They were being investigated for... Something, he forgot what. Obviously, there was no need for an investigation now- they were all dead anyway.
Looking down at the selection pages- Sanford saw a FIELD REPORTS, choice- and a- DIG SCHEMATICS.
He jabbed the arrow key for DOWN, on the computer keyboard- saw the schematics option become highlighted, and hit the ENTER key.
++++LOADING-
++RENDERING-
-A big square image of a mapped out underground complex came to view- and Sanford squinted at it, and he thought it was a Vault for a moment.
Noting his face's reflection against the monitor- he smiled at himself, and then read a small info key on the image's bottom corner.
It read -SPRINGS QUARRY- HAVEN CORP. NEW ENGLAND.
-So that concrete structuring that was just ahead of this building, adjacent to the Mutant's campsite... That was Springs Quarry.
Sanford hit the BACK key, and selected the field reports section.
A few dates came up, and he navigated between them- bending over the keyboard, using the arrows to highlight the first few and the enter key to select them.
He found the first five or so were corrupted, so he skipped them, and he tried the next few.
-We've totaled 300 able bodied people for this dig, and it's proving to be Haven's most lucrative endeavor in all of Boston. The equipment is just right, the management are competent, and we have yet to experience one injury or mistake among the workers.
Six new cranes are being shipped from New York, so they'll be here by the end of the week, and former foreman, the Mr. Jackson Mills I've been told about, reassigned himself for the project in Washington, and I still don't know why- but it did get me a chance to run the operation here, so I can't complain.
The workers have already excavated seven stories of quarry tunnels and the money is just flowing in with all the demand for concrete in Canada- the army loves the stuff, making all those bunkers. Gives us needed cash and makes us look patriotic- can't say I disagree.
-Sanford shook his head with a frown, he opened the next one, found it to be corrupted too- so he skipped a few and tried one dated nearly a week later.
-CEO's are telling us that the quarry's drying up, and it's not, and I can't get a hold of anybody for longer than three minutes to debate it with them and ask what's up.
This Jack, fellow, in D.C., the one who reassigned himself for the Headquarters Building there now wants his job as foreman back, and I'm hearing rumors that the guy had a break down and started a random project to expand the building's basement sublevels- what a croc.
I'm not letting him back in just like that, he gave me the position and here I am- he wants the job that bad? He can take it up with the A.R.' reps.
Workers are becoming a bit difficult now that we've tunneled down to the indicated depth of ten stories- the CEO's were being weird about it, ordering an immediate stoppage of drills- they took the cranes back to New York, which is just unfathomable- and now they have teams from the science department skulking around down there- they didn't tell us something.
-...That was weird, maybe THIS had something to do with the potential 'Illegal'- activity the company was accused of in the past.
Sanford drained his water container and read another file.
Workers leaving the grounds against regulations? What's gotten into these people? I've had to send in nearly fifty termination forms in the last three days- it's crazy. I don't like firing people, but, this is ridiculous- they're panicking over wives' tales.
I had some loon run up to me yelling about some kind of- 'Dark Thing' -I was appalled. I think those science teams found some kind of chemical or toxin, and they didn't tell us, and it's making people sick- I'm reporting this to A.R. immediately.
...That report was a week after the last one, Sanford found THE last report of all of them, and opened it.
CALTH CALTH CALTH CALTH CALTH CALTH-
-This weird word, this- 'Calth'- had to have been written down the page nearly a hundred times. That was startling.
Sanford quirked a brow and clicked the power button on the monitor- scratching his chin and tossing the water container back into his rucksack as he stepped over to the armor suit.
He looked at the back wall of the building chamber, and he could almost feel the quarry on the other side of it in the distance. His curiosity was piqued by this point- maybe before they left, they would check that quarry out.
Just a thought.
"You wanna' pack up for the road in the morning?" Sanford called to the doorframe.
"Sur', monsieur'..." Came tiredly from outside.
"Why don't you come inside? Instead of sitting out there?"
"...Mmm..."
"C'mon, don't do that too yourself."
"...Doing what I always do...?"
"Yeah. You're with me now, remember? Get in here, there's plenty of room- if ole' chieftain could fit in here, we certainly can."
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