CHAPTER 43
One Link, Leads to Many.
The Museum of Science was far from its old days of being a family attraction in the city of Boston, it had become dilapidated, haunted with essences of death- though surprisingly, it remained structurally sound to a well off degree, even if the building was blown out.
So far, through what Sanford and the Deathclaw had seen- the second floor employee offices and demonstration rooms were where the Gunners and their apparent- 'Clients' -chose to make their stand.
PMPMPMPMP
-"ACCK-!" -The Gunner flipped like a pinwheel with misting carbon fluorescently trailing from the fatal wounds in his chest- the body thudded on the tile floor.
"YAH!" The Deathclaw tugged back, hard, with her hand- and the final corpse slouched heavily against the plaster wall before her- Sanford and her stood in a windowed chamber, where the floor was COVERED in corpses.
There had to be at least fifteen people here- fifteen Gunners, Sanford didn't count until he started to lazily drag his eyes about the cadavers- but they were all here, faces frozen, or blown off, their bodies ruined, broken.
Even though the fight was over, Sanford was still breathing heavily- his arms had a bit of a tremor to them- in a near whisper, he radioed over to Hancock and told him to enter the museum through the same door they had breached.
Everytime Sanford shifted his boots, an arm or a leg would be slacked over, or out of the way- the massive suit of Power Armor towered over the mounded dead like some scion of oppression, of defiance maybe.
"...Monsieur'?" The Deathclaw asked, nodding for the doorframe they had entered in order to enact the massacre. "...Let's not stand in it."
"...Yeah."
At one point in the past, the good old past where people were civil, and things like... THIS, weren't even real- this rectangular office had been a board room of some kind, probably once had a long table for all the museum heads to sit at, a big marker board on the end of the room with some boring guy in a suit standing next to it, talking about revenue.
Sanford liked that idea. Let's talk about something stupid like that, something BORING.
Revenue for a museum, why the hell not?
Sanford liked boring.
CLK!
-He stopped watching where he put his heels down, and a bone wetly snapped down there.
He shut his eyes, and exhaled through his nose in a long hiss from the stuffiness it usually suffered. The man blinked a few times and soon was out the doorframe of the room, back into the crisscrossing orange halls for the staff cubicles of the upper floor.
The Deathclaw was hunched in order to compensate for her slightly larger size in the passways- she watched him slowly materialize from the interior of the staff room- his armor's rear highlighted, silvery, against beams of light from the windows overlooking the ruins of the parking garage from before.
"Han'? Are you in yet?"
"Hello?! ECHO! I'll make the Communist's soil themselves with my whale-chanting! wwwWWWAAAHHHHHooOOOOO-!" Sanford rolled his eyes and cut the link.
"Yep. He's in the lobby."
"Now that we've killed all of them, we still don't have a man named- 'Hark' -unless, he's amongst the dead?"
"No these were all mercs'." Sanford sighed- looking back inside the office. "What a day."
"Wiping out small armies isn't a past time for you, mon ami'?"
"...-Why do you excessively use that, huh?" He suddenly snapped. "'Mon ami'- 'Monsieur' -I'm pretty sure people in whatever France used to be didn't use it that much."
She looked at him for a long while, her face unreadable, even with the elongated reptilian features being in dominance- he could at least tell her expressions all the time, and this time it was blank.
"Would it make you feel better if I said- 'Sorry'-?" She asked indignantly. "Does my speech BOTHER you?"
"No-! I never said- fuck it, don't jump down my throat."
"Don't jab at me and not expect one in return."
"I didn't jab, I asked a God damn question."
"I'm not doing this right now," She growled. "Stop talking."
"That's just the answer right?" He nodded smartly. "Yeah, sure, I like killing people, it's a fuckin' fun thing for me to do, right?"
"I never said that, grow up."
"Excuse me?" He roared, stomping closer to her- the hall actually shuddered. He had an angle in his stance as he kept it going. "What the fuck was that?"
"GROW. UP. Monsieur'." She snarled dully- blinking at him.
"...Yeah, yeah, that's really it, you understand, you GOT it, dontchya'?"
"Let's get the usiner', and drop this entire thing."
"You mean just to run away from it, right? Now that we're on this page, might as well point that out, right?"
"You're talking nonsense, I don't have the PATIENCE, for it." She barked.
"Apparently you don't have the PATIENCE for a lot! Seeing as you just run away from so much!"
"..." The Deathclaw had her top chop curling in this twitching recede- it was a little thing, nothing dramatic, like bared teeth, or an outright sneer, or a frown- it was just a lip twitch. She was livid enough that she felt like hurting him. "...Fuck you."
"Mmhm. Yep. Fuck me, you got it."
"That is right, le connard'."
"I don't even wanna' know what the hell you just said," Sanford dismissed. "Though I suppose that would go ten times over, seeing as you know so many dead fuckin' languages."
She clenched her jaw, and stalked down the hall ahead of him without a word- her tail swayed slowly behind her, and her claws were draped over her knees because of the hunched stance she was forced into.
Sanford watched the reptile vanish around a bend they had taken that lead closer to the lower floor- he stood upright, back arching, with clenched fists, and a screaming shadow of rage overtaking his logical thinking.
His arms quivered with how much he clenched his fingers- he snapped his gun off the mag' grip on his hip plating, held it one handed, and followed with a lumber in his step.
It added to the overall- 'Overflow' -feeling, he would word it as- this powerful surge of animation, the adrenaline from the life-threatening hell from before, the emotion that built up so much that it caused you to physically shake.
Sanford was so angry at that moment- he was stressed enough that he wasn't thinking clearly, and so, here she was, she said something on a whim that tapped his temper, and she hadn't even MEANT it too- and now he had responded twice as nasty.
The hallways were shockingly quiet after this little exchange- and he thought of it as shocking, because not even a few minutes ago, they were roaring with gunfire and screams of the dying.
They had had to fight their way through several corridors of the staff rooms and what looked like little laboratories for sample testing and miniaturized examples of larger exhibits- Sanford had to raise his boots several times to avoid crunching more bodies choking the halls.
Most of them were Gunner, but every now again, another of these mysterious men in the black leather would stick out like a sore thumb in the piles- Sanford had an eye to each of them as he passed.
"Sir!" Hancock's voice still sounded like it was echoing in the background. "I picked up more of them down here on the first floor! West side!"
"...Opposite of us?" He sighed after a minute.
"Yep!"
"Figures."
"Quit complainin', pansie'!"
Sanford was soon trotting down the same flight of steps they had used to reach the second story area- he passed the bodies up there again, and the stairs quietly echoed a tiny- bm bm bm bm bm -pattern as he footworked down it quickly.
Hancock was floating before the two dead that had been killed behind their little makeshift cover of the seating rows- now that Sanford wasn't hurling all over the room in a hectic firefight, he was able to see the corpses in somewhat detail.
There they lay, blackened, pock-marked where his rifle had skewered them- two guys, one with a mowhawk on his otherwise shaven head, right down the middle of the cranium, his temple compressed to the floor.
"Woo! You screwed up their shit, sir!" Hancock laughed- Sanford heard a tiny squeak as he stepped off the last of the stairwell, and realized that his robot had been draining more engine coolant on the corpse to the right.
"The bodies already wreak and now you're pissing on them?" Sanford groaned. "God damn it, Han'."
"Ha-HA! Take THAT! And then stick it up your little Red October hole, COMMIE'!"
"Where's the Deathclaw?"
"Eh? OH, yeah, the Chameleon- she went off, that-a-way!" Hancock jabbed his buzzsaw for the exhibit doors down past the stairwells- deeper into the center space of the building's first floor.
Sanford glanced down there and saw a set of gray double doors swung wide open- there was some sunlight coursing through from the shadows beyond.
He checked his armor's readings, and saw that the new heartbeat signatures were coming from that general direction- which meant that either, they had found yet MORE Gunners, or it was these highwaymen freaks that had apparently worked up the caps to hire them.
The suit gave off four confirmed separate life signs- this had to be it, the last of them.
"Are you gonna' help me clean house or what, man?" Sanford grumbled.
"Wha-?! But SIR! We're in the museum- OF SCIENCE!" Hancock cried. "Haven't we already soiled the prospect of education enough?!"
"...What?" Sanford blinked.
"-WHAT, is right! Education is for pencil-pushing, basement dwelling, womenless sack-lickers from Britain!"
"...I can't... I can't even understand what you're- What's your buff with the English? What'd they do to earn your little anti-Communist rant?"
"ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!"
"...Obviously."
"Obviously indeed! Let's go make Democracy proud and spill the blood of our misbegotten victims from dumb-fuck land! HA-HA!"
"I'd say to take a pill, but, you're a robot."
"Monkey-man!"
"Screaming arcade machine."
"CRAP-THROWING FLEA-EATER!"
"Obsolete."
"...Take it back."
"Nope."
"FUCK YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR! TAKE IT BACK!"
"Nu-uh." Sanford was already walking away.
"THE FIRST AMOEBA, THAT SPAWNED YOUR FAMILY LINEAGE- HAD A DICK THAT DIDN'T WORK!"
"Cells don't have dicks, Han'."
"WELL THAT ONE DID! SEE?! HA-HA! God even DESIGNED your family to start out as living phalic symbols!"
"At least I wasn't designed without any balls."
"...Y-You... YOU... YOU COLD HEARTED, BASTARD, SUNUVVABITCHCRAPSHOOTIN'-" Hancock got so animated, a spark flicked out from one of the rivets on his chassis. "-I'LL SHOW YOU! YA' FRIKKIN' UNDERDEVELOPED BABOON!"
CLK!
-A tin can from somewhere off the ground bounced off of Sanford's armor.
"TAKE THAT!"
"Ow. My pride." Sanford was ducking through the doors.
CLklckclckl
-A small rock that time.
"FEEAAARRR MEEEEEEEE-!"
BMK
-Sanford growled, slammed the doors behind him with two deft arm movements.
Shaking his head, the man took a moment to shift away from the gray, metal entries- he turned around, and actually took a step back at the sheer mass of what he was seeing.
The room was... GIGANTIC.
It was rectangular in shape, it extended up four to five floors- like a giant shopping mall, each level was barred from the center rectangular space by metal railings and plating- there were tens of old smaller exhibit rooms, shops, kiosks...
The place was massive, the floor was a gray tile and it still had some reflective sheen to it despite being as old as it was- a huge skylight was above at the top of the building's height- sunlight streamed in from a frame of bent aluminum, and shattered glass.
Trash and pieces of debris were scattered in a thin, massive coating about the floor over the entire room- and shards of glass shined up at him as he scanned the tiles, and then scanned the walls ahead, saw into the shadowy interiors of all the showrooms.
This was one of the entrance wings to the museum.
He glanced left, and saw down several feet, a whole row of automatic glass doors down an extension in the chamber- light caressed the space they left translucent with ruined girth, or no panes at all.
A big, shadowy giant- a quadruped, that Sanford was initially startled too- faced the doors down there as a guardian against unseen intruders, and a greeter to swarms of now absent guests. Missing sections of its ribs, a horn, and several toes and teeth- the skeleton of something Sanford had forgotten about, stood on a pedestal as large as a truck.
It was a triceratops.
After all this time, the skeleton still persisted.
Weathered, cracked, brittle, and missing portions... But it was there.
Sanford found himself trotting through the trash-strewn floor towards the big, long dead reptile- he traced the remnants of the tail curling in a 'C' shape from the base of between its hind legs- the feet placed in a dramatic spread-out pose to make it look like the dinosaur was tensing for a lunge, or a leap.
He saw the Deathclaw standing beside it- her head raised, arms lazily hung, as she gazed upon the long head of the dinosaur's great skull- its dark eye-sockets being the only thing to keep contact with her irises.
She didn't react as he quietly stepped towards her in the looming silence of the wing- the only sound being his boots sifting through cardboard, wood, pieces of stone and glass.
He watched the side of her head, in between of which, he glanced about at the floors above the first floor, and the staircases that spiraled up to them- he had the rifle in a one-handed hang by his hip. Since the scans were being quiet, he wasn't too concerned.
He was beside her, and the suit shifted as he expanded and contracted his chest in a great sigh.
She didn't even glance down at him- her yellow eyes locked to the skull of the dino' skeleton before them- her tail was draped, still, behind her, and her chops were curled down in a frown.
He blinked, and spiraled over to face it too.
...And together they just... LOOKED at it.
...It really was massive, he couldn't imagine such a beast walking around, well and alive.
...
...He started tracing some of the cracks on the bones, the sections of the ribs still left.
"...Torosaurus." -She suddenly muttered beside him.
Sanford swallowed- he didn't move a muscle, tried to look at her from the corner of his vision- remembered the helmet, and stopped trying.
"Triceratops." He croaked in correction.
"...Mm..." Their voices, even so low as they were- resounded several times across the nothingness that festered throughout the wing. It was haunting.
"..."
"..."
-Her heels hissed on the floor, and the Deathclaw slowly stalked off behind him- her tail flicking in the air behind her.
"...Where ya' going?" He asked, glancing over.
"Over here." She kind-of called back.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to talk to you."
...So Sanford just kept looking at the stupid fossil. He didn't turn around to see where she went, he didn't call back to her.
...He just looked at the big dino' skeleton, and dwelled.
...CLK
CLK
CLK
-Understand, that with each click of metal to metal, Sanford's shoulder jerked.
CLK
CLK
CLK
CLK
-"...Can you stop?" He mumbled.
Hancock reclined from where he had been jabbing his friend with his buzzsaw- focused all three ocu-lenses on the triceratops skeleton too.
"Holy shit, it's like watching paint dry." Hancock observed. "Ancient, dusty, cracked, and brittle... PAINT."
"I guess."
"Are we killin' these screw-ups, or not, sir?!"
"Yeah."
"Get your act together and change your panties! We wage war! FOR DEMOCRACY!"
"...-How many, did we say there were, again?" Sanford asked quickly.
"Four pube-chewers exactly! Sir."
"Let's go."
"RIGHT BEHIND YOU! ONWARDS- Oh, hey! Where's Repti-Smack?!"
"I dunno'."
"Shouldn't we find her?"
"I dunno'."
Sanford had walked around the side of the triceratops' display pedestal.
Hancock levitated in the spot for a second, glanced both ways, and raised the joints of his three arms all at once- before zooming off to follow his friend- the equivalent of a shrug.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Sanford had spent most of his natural life surviving. That was a fact, an obvious one- thoroughly proven throughout the last few weeks especially.
Outside of brief alliances, one-time deals of convenience with groups of people with similar mindsets- all Sanford had was his wits, his self-implemented talent, his robot friend, and a whole world filled with things that wanted to kill him for the sake of killing him.
He'd seen and met so many different kinds of people throughout that time- all those years -and they were kind of like wind waves, they came and went, and each left their own mark on him in their own way, some for good or bad.
Some of the marks were neither.
Some of the impressions that were left in Sanford's mind, his soul, his heart- he didn't know what to make of them... And those were the marks he feared more than any of the negative ones, the ones that filled him with anger or resentment whenever he thought about them.
The people that he met, that left him with a void of neutrality...
...They were rare.
Sanford had met people he passionately had hated- and it wasn't the childish term of hate- you know- 'Oh jeez', I hate that guy.' -it was the kind of hate that spurned mankind to things like murder, or destruction, spreading of strife.
Sanford had found people that were bare bones evil. Lost souls that didn't care for the well-being of those around them, lost souls that sometimes took it a step further and didn't care about themselves either.
So Sanford could safely, and confidently say- that he HATED, people who worked like that.
He'd seen their handiwork, the results on the environment around them, he'd heard them speak, he'd seen them destroy, he'd seen them revel in all of it. Thus, he hated them. With every fiber of his being he hated them.
He didn't fear, people he hated.
He didn't fear them at all.
He certainly didn't fear people he enjoyed, people who were good, had a sense of justice or civility, maybe both.
He didn't fear the honest people.
But the people he just could not understand, the people that did things he didn't comprehend, couldn't wrap his head around, or meld with to conformity in his daily thoughts... Those people scared him.
They scared him because he had seen so much, done so much... And somehow, you're telling him there was a soul out here he just can't understand? That was like telling an undisputed professional of a historic subject, that there was something they had never gotten in their entire life about the same thing they lived for.
It was mind boggling, confusing, daunting.
That was why Sanford just couldn't bring himself to find that Deathclaw.
She frightened him, in a sense.
No, her claws didn't frighten him, neither did her strength, her toughness, her temper, her speed, what she WAS even...
...She just confused him. He lapsed in his mindset over the last few weeks.
He wanted to push her away today. And even though she frightened his heart, his spirit- he didn't know why he did what he did. It just happened, and he went with it.
The dead, irradiated world kept turning no matter what.
Today, Sanford didn't have any more patience.
"-DON'T SHOO-"
PMPMPMPMPMPMPM
-Three figures were revealed from the receding shadows- their arms flew up, bodies went rigid- mouths opened as far as they could, eyes widened- and then they all fell onto the concrete with bands of pulsating crimson, carbon energy whisking from fissures in their chests and guts.
Three Gunners, all unarmed, lie dead on the concrete- and in the doorframe they had been facing, Sanford Tobs expressionlessly lowered his weapon, and leaned inside the frame to check both flanks.
When all was clear, he stomped through the archway, and Hancock was beside him once more with such free space.
Behind them, an exhibit hall branching from the previous wing, lead to a service chamber through a once locked maintenance door- and inside that door, here and now, it was revealed as a large stairwell of concrete, leading down into the depths of the basement levels.
Old metal boxes and stacks of flattened cardboard meshed with smashed wooden palettes in two stout piles on either end of the concrete chamber- the bodies were strewn before the first steps, and the stairwell lead down into a maw of blackness, straight ahead, no curls or turns or anything.
"Boiler rooms." Sanford muttered- stepping over the middle corpse of the three- the suit lurching at the higher arcs of its boots. "This guy is probably down there."
"No offense to the badass scumbag whacking," Hancock commented behind him- glancing down at the three dead men. "-But weren't the three stooges here trying to surrender?"
Sanford didn't respond- he was down five steps before Hancock zoomed ahead to stay behind him in the descent.
...bm
bm...
bm...
bm...
-Sanford's boots echoed down the stairwell forlornly- he switched on his night vision filters- and through the grainy black, he saw now a sealed metal bulkhead- one of those sliding mechanisms that were common in Maryland- he wondered what it was doing here.
The crank looked operational, and as far as he could tell, the door wasn't locked, or stuck.
"Check that out." Sanford said lowly. "I didn't think those were even around here."
"Surprises everyday! In the land of asshats and dashingly handsome 'Bots!"
Sanford flicked his eyes between the scan readings and physically looking at the door over a few times as he reached it- now that they were at the bottom of the stairwell, they now stood in another rectangular cell, the walls snaked with several trails of ruined wiring pipes.
Directly above their heads, a ventilation cap, rectangular wide- hissed a small cloud of dark steam from within its ancient shafts- Sanford discovered the little noise and was looking at the pre-War invention and its functionality in wonder.
"I'm going in." Sanford said finally. "This guy's either gonna' earn himself a shot in the head, or he'll surrender- I'm satisfied with both options."
"LET'S FUCK HIM UP! CHARGE!"
Sanford gripped the crank on the door, the metallic sleeves for his fingers creaking lightly against the steel as he clenched it- then he shoved to the left.
cccCRRKK-!
-The wheel shoved, turned once, and as Sanford stepped back, heard the industrial pulleys and locks inside the door mechanism shifting away and spinning- he raised his rifle and aimed down the sights.
clmclmclmclcmlcm-SHM-BM-Bmm
-The door slid away in two halves on either side, unfolding into its storage slots in the frame.
In all his time here, the only other instances of finding passages and networks like this had been in some of the pre-War military outposts he'd visited- but other than that, this kind of industrial architecture was limited in Boston.
-Not that it, of course, MATTERED... But it was an observation that did pique Sanford's interest- what were military grade framed tunnels doing underneath the Museum of Science?
He stepped through the frame, and the suit's heels clunked against floor that wasn't concrete, but steel, and gridded with tiny vent holes. He looked down at the transition- and then across this new space.
It was a hallway- it extended a few feet ahead, broke in two directions, a continuance north, and a tunnel heading right- the walls of the pass were block-like with varying levels of vents, electric boxes, they were snaked with pipes, some still hissing small jets of propelled steam.
Sanford started to trudge ahead- and Hancock's thruster leveled out behind as the robot kept a steady aim over his shoulders.
The passage was eerily quiet- Sanford's imagination started running as they neared the breakaway turn to the right- what if this last life signature, this last person, was some kind of a mutated freak, and it turned out they had already shot the REAL leader, and this was just some hermit outcast living down here?
It was a possibility- one time, he and Han' had gone inside a building a group of people were living in- they were just there to sell some of their scrap- and Hancock got nosy and started rummaging through a storage closet, inadvertently opened an automatic door to a cellar no one had seen before- and let out a swam of Feral Ghouls that had been trapped down there for decades without anyone knowing.
The only good news out of that stressful day was that they managed to shoot all of them without any of the people in that group getting hurt- though, they both had to lie about HOW the Ghouls got in to keep it more civil in discussion afterwards.
These tunnels reminded Sanford of Ghouls... Because these were the same tunnels crisscrossing under D.C., and cities like Pittsburg, Baltimore, Norfolk, Charlotte, the like- and those places were notorious for their East Coast industrial status when all the industries were moving West.
All the old industrial and military setups had Ghouls in them, because they were resilient, and the people inside them during the bombs usually were mutated and ruined instead of being outright killed.
Terrible, if you thought about it.
Sanford checked down the right pass with his gun aimed ahead- he saw another doorframe, opened, leading into a square chamber- and he heard something... Weird, coming from down there.
...It sounded like something metal, swaying.
Like a chain or...
"-Han', you getting this?" He mumbled.
"Aye."
"C'mon."
They covered the short tract to the right- and when Sanford reached the frame, the first thing he did was peer UPWARDS, and what he saw did a variety of emotional things to him- he felt intrigued, disturbed.
Hanging from several industrial pipes that intersected the ceiling of this new chamber- there was what looked like... Coffins.
They were metal, rectangular, and black in color- they had small control panels and screens on these aluminum plates on their right flanks- like a console of some kind -and they moved in ghostly whispers because of all the venting drafts flowing about the room.
There had to be at least twenty of these man-sized things hanging in two rows up there.
"Oh my God," Sanford mumbled. "Han', look at that."
"HOLY OYSTERS! Well, smack me upside the ocu-lense and call me a supporter of Detroit!"
"What is it?"
"Those look like Type-M7 government standard issue containment casks!"
"...You're right." Sanford admonished. "I forgot about them."
Long ago, the U.S. Army used these freezer casks to transport scientific evidence, or results from weapons testing, and there had been rumors they were using them to transport experimental organisms and robots before the war.
But Sanford had no idea what they were being used for here... Especially by the people that apparently had them.
He broke his stare to these casks, and looked about ground level- there were stacks of wooden crates on the other end of the room- an aluminum desk, a pile of what looked like electronics and spare wire coils on top of its surface.
Sanford ran a scan on the casks- and he came up with an anomaly.
"...Is that a robotic signature?" He asked as Hancock pulled up another scan of his own.
"Negative!" The proudly proclaimed. "That's Artificial Intelligence!"
"What the..." Sanford narrowed his eyes. "A.I. with mechanical recognition, but no life signs, and no robotics signs... What does that equal?"
"Beats me, sir."
"We'll have to ask our friend about this." He said, minding the one heartbeat still being picked up deeper north.
Hesitantly, they left the chamber of hanging military storage casks.
They went down the tunnel north.
Another bulkhead.
The heartbeat was coming from right behind it.
Sanford gripped the crank, twisted it to the right, and stepped back with his Laser rifle brandished.
SHM-BM-bm
-The door folded away.
"WARNING. INTRUDERS, DETECTED-"
PMPMPMPMPMPM
-Sanford sprayed the figure with a quick burst- metal screeched, bolts of flashing electricity sparked everywhere and lit the darker chamber ahead white for a moment.
The body tumbled with a rattling of scrap, clunking of metallic limbs on the steel floor.
The robotic voice that had spoken drawled away in a tiny garble of static- Sanford stepped through the frame, aimed around the chamber with a quick sweep, and then looked down at his kill.
It was a Protectron model- the scans just... Didn't pick it up. What a time for an electronics glitch.
"Sir! Behind the desk!" Hancock snapped. "No one gets the jump on- THE HAN', and lives! C'MON, FUCKER! STAND UP AND FACE YA' DEATH WITH A LITTLE NON-PUSSY'NESS!"
"Stand with your hands up, and I won't blow your head off." Sanford called when he lined up sights with what Hancock did.
The chamber was mostly devoid of clutter- aside from a series of shelving units lined with more scrap electronics and some packaged foodstuffs- there was some tower-based computer equipment rolled in the left corner, three pieces in total- and an aluminum desk was in the rear center of the room, it had a monitor on it, and the last life sig' was coming from right behind it.
Both man and robot kept their weapons leveled with the desk.
"Let's go, prick." Sanford snapped. "Five seconds, and your dead."
"...Alright, look, buddy, don't... don't shoot, a'ight?" -A pair of grimy hands raised up from behind the desk, and soon a full man was back there- full height, with a shaven head, shaven face, dirt matting a lot of his features.
He was wearing the black leather attire his comrades were, and he had a workman's vest over the protective padding on his torso- he was a tad short, maybe only 4.9' at best?
"Who are you?" Sanford asked- he had stepped over the Protectron's pile, and was standing in front of the desk- this man now reclined his head from how close the barrel of the Laser rifle was jabbed in his face.
"Who are YOU? You killed all my boys, my mercs', who sent ya'?"
"That's not the fucking answer I want." Sanford growled. "I have no problem dropping you dead, right here, right now- the only reason I'm even CONSIDERING, letting you live, is because I wanna' know what you're doing out here."
"You don't already know?" He sputtered. "How'd you just happen on-?"
Sanford rounded the desk- and the man gasped in surprise when he gripped the back of his neck- like holding the scruff of an animal.
Sanford tugged the stumbling man around the desk, and shoved downwards when they stood on the other side again.
"SIT."
CLMK-CM!
-The guy fell on his backside and hissed at the pain.
"-A'ight'! You're the boss! I got it! No more questions!" He held his hands up down there too. "I'm not lookin' for a death warrant today, a'ight'?"
"Then you'll answer whatever questions I have, understand?" Sanford snapped. "If you don't give me a satisfactory response, I will shoot you in the head, got me?"
"I gotchya'."
"Who are you?"
"Hark."
"How many men do you have?"
"You killed 'em all."
"You're lying. How many are in the city? You have ten seconds."
"...There's six on patrol."
"Good. How many Gunners did you hire?"
"You REALLY killed all' them... That's why I was hiding."
"Where'd they put the mortar they were using?"
"It's in the storage room down from where you came, armor-man."
"Why did the Institute hire you?"
"...Look, buddy, if I talk, they have a designated kill order on my head, it's a lose-lose for me."
"You'll have better chances if I let you go, won't you? You have five seconds."
"Come on, man, you don't know what these people do for a livin'."
"I can handle it. Three seconds."
"You have the casks," Hark roared- nodding for the hall. "You have all the info' on my computer on the desk! Lemme' go, armor-man!"
"Two fuckin' seconds and I break your skull open with Laser beams." Sanford pressed the barrel to Hark's forehead- and his face drained of color.
"-GOD DAMN IT!" Hark screamed. "WE'RE SYNTH PLANTERS! GOD DAMN IT! WE'RE SYNTH PLANTERS! GET THAT FUCKIN' THING OUTTA' MY FACE! P-PLEASE!"
"What's a 'Synth Planter'?" Sanford leaned back, but kept the gun leveled. "Answer me."
"-T-They give us a target, and a location," Hark stuttered. "We sneak in, kill the target, a-and use this... this scanner thing to take a blood sample and-and a facial scan... a-and then we input the data on one of the casks, and the synth inside- he-he- or she- walks out and l-looks like the target..."
"...Jesus Christ. You sick little shit- let me understand, you're taking money, to prolong this SHIT, that those people in the Institute are doing to the Commonwealth? Is that right?"
"-I NEED TO EAT, ARMOR-MAN!"
"Not anymore."
PMPMP-CLK!
Hark slammed against the front of the desk with blood coursing from a cauterized gash in the center of his forehead.
Sanford leant back and rolled his jaw at the computer, and then turned around and glared at Hancock.
"Fuckin' people have been spreading this problem." Sanford growled."Good riddance'."
"Well that's just great! ANOTHER problem solved by the badass duo of anti-Communism! HOO-RAH!"
BMM-BMM
"-HEY! Did you people shoot him? Thanks! I was gonna' do it, but they caught me- did, um... did Brody send you? Hello?"
Sanford and Hancock slowly turned to look at the wall to the left- and there, they noticed a small storage slot- like a removable plate that these tunnels usually had for equipment lockers.
Man and robot looked at each other.
BM BM
-The hatch rumbled again.
"-Please don't just leave me here! I can't exactly starve to death! Come on! Heeellp', please?"
"...Who are you?" Sanford asked lowly.
"Name's Robert, my friend! And I'm bound! And I could REALLY use your assistance!"
"...What do you think?" He asked Hancock.
"I say we spray it with napalm!" Hancock armed his flamethrower. "EAT FIRE! CLOSET-DWELLING BOOGEYMAN!"
"Is that a Gutsy, model?"
"NO-! No, don't... don't do that," Sanford interjected- looking back at the hatch. "Hold on I'm getting you out."
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