CHAPTER 44
Door Opens, Mess Comes Out.
Sanford wasn't wholly unaware of what was happening in the Commonwealth when it came to the mysterious organization calling themselves the 'Institute' -and he also wasn't entirely oblivious to what was going on with the debate of Synthetic people.
From what Sanford knew, Synthetic people had been a pre-War IDEA, not an actual implementation of technology and thus reality- and the only people that had discovered and replicated the robotics and industrial equipment necessary to build them was the Institute.
Modelling synths after people had been a thing for years- probably half the time Sanford had been exploring the wastes- there were horror stories of synthetic copies that had infiltrated towns and settlements across Boston and even beyond- all to report back to the Institute and their insane quest for pre-War technology.
No one really knew, including Sanford- what exactly the Institute was hoping to find throughout their myriad of operations they sponsored and ran to acquire massed amounts of military and industrial grade robotics and machinery- some thought they were building a super weapon.
A few times, and, this was very VERY rarely- Sanford and Hancock had come across signs, and even full blown interactions, that proved the Institute was very real and very active in Boston. They had gotten into shootouts with men made of metals and wires- Sanford first thought, years ago, that they were modified Assaulttron types, or some kind of home-manufactured model that hadn't existed before the war.
But over time as the stories of synths became more and more clear to him- Sanford was finely shocked over the course of several weeks of revelation, that the things he had shot full of holes were elements of the very 'Boogey-Man' everyone in the Commonwealth was afraid of.
There were an uncountable number of bandits and Raiders all over the place who wanted Sanford dead- the Gunners wanted Sanford dead, and if the Super Mutants had the capacity to remember ANYTHING past the last shit they had taken- they would all want Sanford dead too.
But Sanford never knew if the Institute had ever been aiming for him.
He'd caused disruptions with synths they had operating around, but, outside of that, Mr. Tobs had never touched upon breaking the Institute.
Hell, he'd never focused on screwing up the fabled Enclave- and they had showed up trying to put a bullet in his head anyway, so, maybe these synth makers weren't so far off.
Whatever the case may or may not have been, Sanford wasn't so eager to let his guard down, about this mysterious man calling himself- 'Robert Cannary' -which for some reason, sounded... Familiar to him, but, he couldn't place it.
He knew he'd heard the name before- and it didn't have a good tone coming from the person he'd heard it from- so Sanford's immediate profiling told him that this character was a trouble maker, and the problem was, he was thoroughly exhausted on patience today... Hark's splattered brains all over the desk in the back of the room was testament to that.
Bnk-CNNRRK-! -Sanford wrung the tips of his armored fingers as deep as they would go in the storage hatch's top hinge division- the hatch, rusty, and having been slammed shut- creaked terribly from the force.
"...Mighty bad headache after that one." -Robert commented, muffled, from behind it.
"HMMMPH-!" Sanford heaved with effort. "-JESUS-! HE'S-ALMOST-ASANNOYING-AS-YOU!"
"Nobody asked for your opinion on the matter!" Hancock snapped back. "Open the door and let's rescue the closet-man!"
"-HHAGH-! RAGH-!" CRKK! bm-bmbmb-bmmm...bm... -The entire chunk of steel ripped right off the hinges, and catapulted right past Hancock, rattled on the grated floor, bounced once, and settled a flat disturbance against the common texture of the ground.
Sanford arched his back and huffed from the stretch- he peered over inside the rectangle-like opening he had torn into the wall- squinted, and gave his night vision filters a second to cooperate.
Inside the shadowy little storage locker- a man, average height, was tied to a small, foldable, metal chair with several links of basic run-of-the-mill rope- a tether over his wrists behind the head of the seat, over his ankles, and over his arms and torso.
-However, the extreme tie-up wasn't what got Sanford's jaw to drop- it was the fact that the face smiling at him, was that of one of those old synthetic soldiers that he had just taken a trip down memory lane to recollect for.
Glowing blue eyes of electronic origin, a face mishmashed with curling plates of synthetic metal, steel, and exposed circuits- he was dressed in an overcoat, brownish-black in color, it was matted and beat up, kind of like his face and overall hide.
The creature grinned with metal teeth that were missing in portions.
This... Robert, thing... Then spoke.
"Hiya'."
"... What. The. Fuck?" Sanford said after a quick pause. "You a synth?"
"-pppfffFFTTT- HAHAHAHA! HA!" Robert burst out into laughter- his metal teeth now exposed from his wide-open mouth, his electronic eyes actually flashed brighter. "-HA-HA! Wow, my friend, you know how many people have asked that same question? It's crazy!"
"...What are you?"
"I'm human! They're all bionics, medical and augmentation class! Trust me."
"...You have too many to be human."
"Technically. I have some unknown freak to thank for them. I'll explain to you if you want- but you know, can you do me a solid? And untie me? Really, I'm an alright guy."
"What was his name?" Sanford tested, nodding for the corpse in the back of the room.
Cannary leant forwards as best he could in the bounds- peering past Sanford's hip into the rear of the chamber- he noticed Hancock floating there and gave a quick wink and a little- 'How are ya'?' -before squinting at the dead body of Hark against the front of his own desk.
"You shot Hark!" Robert announced with a grin. "Bastard had it coming I suppose. You find the synth casks?"
"Maybe we did." Sanford alluded.
"C'mon, brother, I'm with the Minutemen," Robert smiled with his synthetic face. It was creepy looking. "Agent Robert Cannary, full time investigator and reporter, part time lazy mope in Diamond."
"You live in Diamond?"
"That I do, friend."
"Prove it."
"Mayor Jompson never takes off that stupid suit, and he always greets people at the gates with a healthy- 'Welcome to Diamond City!' -announcement."
"That the best you got?"
"...A digger are we? I like diggers. I dig for the truth a lot, myself-"
"Prove it." Sanford interjected coldly.
"...Uhm... Right," Robert's smile died away.
"HOLY WITCH-TITS! You're ugly as all unholy FUCK!" Hancock cried out all of a sudden- just noticing the bionics literally making half of Robert's very head, and his body beneath the coat. "That's Commie-killin' ugly! WHOA!"
"...Heh, THANKS." Robert grinned a full set of metallic teeth. "Thank you, fellow metal one, THANK YOU. Now, uh- proof? You said? Mr...?"
"No name until I see proof."
"...Alright, alright... Check the top drawer on our late friend's desk over there," Robert nodded to the side of the closet for Hark's corpse outside. "You'll find my militia service badge, my personal investigative badge, AND, you'll even find my security pass for the guards at Diamond."
Sanford was already behind the desk by the end of that sentence- he gave Hancock a quick- 'Watch him' -and then gripped one of the little drawers before slacking it open.
There was some paper-based trash piled on top of a neat little stack of flat, metal items- Sanford crumpled it all in a wad of paper and tossed it on the floor nearby where it pattered away softly. There indeed was a silver patch of steel- and on it was the insignia of the militia's own 1st Company- a pair of eagles each gripping a colonial era-musket with the American flag on a banner between them.
Sanford examined the badge, pinching it between two fingers, and raised it to his helm's lenses- twisting it left and right- he saw, etched on the back-
Robert. D. Cannary. Specialist Branch.
-And nodded with some security in this evidence.
There was a plastic chip that was broken off some kind of keychain- it had Robert's name printed in some kind of laser-burned pattern on the back- and it had a picture of Fenway's base diamond on its front- so that was the security pass.
And then the final item- was a golden, old, rusty, green-tinted, pre-War badge of some kind.
Sanford held the other two finds in his other gauntlet, picked up the badge- and looked at it closer.
It was an old Park Ranger's badge- and the badge number and info showed a carving of the state of Pennsylvania, and it read- DCNR -on the top. However, written in black over this, haphazardly and roughly, was- Robert Cannary, Detective, Journalist.
-Sanford creased the corner of his mouth line and 'Hmphed' to it.
"Park Ranger of Pennsylvania, huh?"
"Well you're not supposed to read the writing CARVED in it!" Robert whined from inside the storage closet. "Is that enough PROOF for you? Heavens! I thought I was the investigator that interrogated people!"
"What were you doing here, Rob'?"
"...Brody, you know him?"
"He told me about you."
"Yeah, him. He and his friends in his little Company, got a tip, that a planter was here, and, low and behold, there was, and they caught me."
"What were you gonna' do if you DIDN'T get caught?"
"I took notes, marked the location on my map, all of which Hark burned," Robert sighed. "I was to return to the militia camp down south, show them everything, and let them handle the shooting."
"How many of these 'Planters' have you guys busted before?"
"We destroyed one's inventory a few months ago," Robert rolled his eyes. "Another one got away, and then, you shot him in the face just now."
Sanford bundled the badges in his grip, he looked at them in his grip for a second- rounded the desk and was standing before the storage closet again. Inside, Robert looked up at him with a bored expression, disinterested.
"...You get 'Caught' a lot?" Sanford grinned.
"Yep." The bionic man smiled expectedly. "Now, uh, that's it's pretty obvious I really don't have a bone to pick with you, can you PLEASE untie me, friend?"
"I'll think about it. How many synths did this Hark fellow have?"
"Ugh- I don't know specifics. He's been doing it for almost a year, he's got to have a bunch."
"What were you and the Minutemen going to do with them?"
"Keep one sample, destroy all the others."
"Hmm. You think Brody will come back for you? We bailed him and his boys out of a firefight, and they ran off without a word."
"Did he have civvies' with him?"
"Yeah."
"That's why. Good old Brody. Left me in a sticky situation myself one time when he went off to help a town near-"
-"Usiner? Have you seen San-?"
All talking in the room just ceased when the Deathclaw showed.
She ducked through the doorframe, stepped over the blasted remains of the Protectron, stood there in all her scaly, tall, imposing glory- her yellow eyes narrowed at Sanford as he met her gaze, and then they widened when she leant over and saw the hog-tied half-bionic man on the chair inside this little storage cell.
Awkwardly, she blinked as Robert literally turned a shade paler than the white-ish plates of synthetic metal that had been welded and built into the reconstructions of his skull.
"D-Dear G-God-!" He stuttered- the chair clattered about. "DEATHCLAW! Oh heaven- DEATH-CLAW! Are you both stupid?! IT'S RIGHT BEHIND YOU! I KNEW IT! IT'D BE SOMEONE RESCUING ME THAT KILLED ME ONE DAY-!"
"You're right, half-metal guy!" Hancock screeched- raising all three of his arms. "IT'S A DEATHCLAW! IT'S GONNA' EAT YOUR FACE! RUN! RUUUUNNNN-!"
"AAAAHHH-! AAAH-! OH MY- OH MY GOD- UNTIE ME! AAAHHH!" clmclmCLK-CLKCNCK-BMM-bmm "-aaAAAHHHH! OH GOD!"
-Robert had thrashed so hard in his chair, that he had toppled over- and Sanford actually started chuckling as he watched the poor bionic man roll around like a trapped worm in his tethers on the floor.
"You're an animal, Han'." He chuckled.
"THAT'S RIGHT, PORCELAIN MAN! DANCE! DANCE FOR THE HAN'! AH-HA! HA-HA!" Hancock cackled. "-Nah, don't sweat it, no need to change your closet panties-"
The robot waved his buzzsaw dismissively- the equivalent of a person brushing it off with their hand- he gestured to the shocked, and silent Deathclaw with a point of said weapon.
"-She's trained! Completely harmless! Isn't that right, Chamellow-Yellow?"
...The Deathclaw's right eye jerked thinner for a moment, in this tiny twitch- before anyone knew what was happening, Hancock was hurtling through the air-
BMMMK!
CLCKclmclcmclmclcm...
-Where he then planted against the wall in the south of the chamber, and collapsed in a metallic heap on the grate floor with the trademark sound of a sack of empty cans.
The robot lie down there, and the Deathclaw quivered with rage- her tail sweeping the air left and right behind her.
"Stupide' petit' batard'." She spat. "Je ne' peux pas traiter'avec vous deux!"
"That's right! LOVE ME!" Hancock laughed from the floor over there.
"...UGH!" She pouted- it was pretty funny- how GIRLY she looked, crossing her lumbering arms over her gut- she looked back at Sanford. "...-You know, connard', there's a collection of coffins hanging from the ceiling back in that chamber, right?"
"We were just discussing that, tootse'." Sanford nodded for Robert. "Rob', Ms. Angrypants- Ms. Angrypants, Rob'."
"...I-Intellectual type, h-huh?" Robert struggled to regain composure from down on the floor- his eyes craning heavily to look up from the side as the flank of his face was pressed against the steel of the ground- the chair legs stuck up behind him, comically.
"Yes, synthetic." She squinted.
"Not synthetic- uh- bionics, lots of them, replaced half my body."
"I'm not sure I care. What are the circumstances here, connard'?"
Sanford was tempted to ask for her to stop calling him that... BUT, seeing as he un-rightfully snapped at her earlier over this kind of thing, he decided to just deal with it.
"He's the Minuteman agent we were told of. He got caught." Sanford shrugged.
"I assume that, is Hark?" She nodded to the body behind him.
"Uh-huh."
"You didn't question him?"
"I did. He was acting as a 'Synth Planter'- for the Institute. He was helping them kill people and replace them with synthetic duplicates. He deserved what he got."
"No debate on that." She said. "What do we do with him?"
Sanford looked back at Robert.
"...I guess, we... Untie him."
"Thank goodness," Cannary sighed, shifting his face so that the more bionic side was flat against the metal. "It smells like motor oil down here."
Sanford unclamped the cutlass blade he had by his hip- he didn't power it on -he knelt inside the storage cell- struggling with the bulk of the suit for a bit- quickly worked the edge of the blade in small a cutting motion across the ties on Robert's wrists.
The rope slid off- and the wannabe' journalist sighed in relief as his palms pressed against the floor on either side of him.
"Good lord, thank the Maker- I'll tell you, if I didn't have all the synthetic muscles I would've gotten a horrible-" ssSNP! -Bmbmbm- The rope keeping his torso locked to the back of the chair snapped off a little suddenly- Robert was cut off mid-speech with his chin getting butted right into the metal. "-OW-I meant to say... a CRAMP. -Augh, hell..."
"Let's go, man." Sanford cut the link over his ankles, and stepped back- watching as the bionic man slumped over the floor from the chair, crawled up onto his knees, and heaved a great breath of relief, sitting up. "You alright?"
"Never been better! Mr...?"
"Sanford."
"Mr. Sanford? What kind of a last name is THAT?"
"It's just Sanford."
"Sure thing." Robert stood up in a flash of motion- he had this big, overconfident smile on his robotic-like face- his eyes seemed brighter again, like when he had laughed earlier- he glanced at the Deathclaw, and the robot on the floor- opened his mouth to speak, paused, and finally asked- "This your usual, uh... Group'?"
"It was just the robot a few weeks ago." Sanford sighed. "Listen, that Hark guy? He said he had other men out in the city- what are they doing out there and when are they coming back?"
"-You know, it's a good thing the three of you got and killed HIM, when you did, because-" Robert stopped mid-speech, blinked, and frowned. "-Wait he already sent them out?"
"This was a planned thing? He said patrolling."
"OOooohhhh- SHIT." Robert leaned his head back- cursed at the ceiling. "That bastard already went and started it without me!"
"What are you talking about?" The Deathclaw asked.
"It's a Synth Plant!" The detective almost cried. "That was one of the things I had heard when they locked me in the wall! Hark was sending out a team, for a job, and the reason it's REALLY bad, is because that job is in Diamond!"
"Diamond City?" Sanford interjected. "How so?"
"They were going to kill someone," Robert held his hands up. "Replace them, with a Gen 2' Synth, because- this isn't good, friends!"
"Who were they going to replace?"
"I only found out because I overheard them talking about it! I don't know the target!"
"We should get over there and warn them.
"PFFT! Fat-chance, brother! Diamond security turns away- 'Whackjobs' -like yourself who speak of such nonsense on the spot!"
"Well they know me, I've helped them a lot, maybe they'll listen to me."
"What do you mean they KNOW you?" Robert squinted. "What makes you think they'll listen to YOU? They don't listen to me or anyone else."
"They know me, I was the guy who shot the Hawkers gang full of holes when they attacked the gate, you weren't there for that?"
"I was inside." Robert nodded. "Years ago, that one... You turned an entire firefight? You're saying?"
"-SAN' OF THE FORD', ROYALLY SKEWERED THEIR ANUSES!" Hancock called from the back of the chamber, still sprawled on the ground. "IT WAS AMAZING! U.S.A! U.S.A!"
"-We need to get there," Sanford clamped the sword to his hip. "Hark said there was a team of six, how many do you think there were?"
"How many guys did you kill?"
"...A lot? I don't know..."
"Then it's probably five or six, yeah."
"You live in Diamond, right? How do you think they'll get in?"
"They're most likely targeting someone who frequents outside the walls..." Robert was thinking. "...Oh lord- I-I think I know who."
"Who is it?"
"We need to go-"
"No-no, don't gimme' that crap," Sanford stepped forwards. "Name them, and name their position in the city, c'mon, man."
"-Jess, her name's Jess- she's a would-be' journalist, always running around outside the walls- I-I couldn't THINK of a better target!"
"What about the guards?"
"They always travel in squads, Hark's people are cowards, they'd sooner hide!"
"Are you confident in this assumption?" The Deathclaw asked. "I don't think this warrants anything good for confusion or wrong choices."
"It HAS to be her!" Robert nodded. "It just has to be... Hold on, lemme' get my gun-"
"What gun?" Sanford interrupted.
"My magnum- scoped .44, thing's a beauty!" Robert chuckled nervously- walking, for the first time in days- he stumbled past Sanford, the coat he wore billowing behind him slightly.
csk-Chk
-He got behind Hark's desk and tore open a larger, bottom drawer- he came back with the handgun in his bionic right hand's grip- it was a polished, silvery .44 with a custom made scope- and the gunsmithing didn't look so half-assed, at that observation.
"Where'd you get that?" Sanford nodded as Robert used his finger to pop the cylinder, and lightly scroll it to check all the rounds still being present.
"Found parts for it, made the rest, my friend," Robert used his thumb to click the hammer down. "I'm armed and dangerous. We should hurry."
"We're just... LEAVING all of this here?" The Deathclaw asked.
Sanford and Robert looked at her, and then looked at each other.
"...I didn't think of that." The detective admitted sheepishly.
"...One of us should stay here," Sanford turned to his companions- he saw Hancock levitating off of his fallen self, and floating beside the Deathclaw, arms draped in seeming sadness to this news. "Han'?"
"...Oh, FINE. Dump me off as usual! PAH! You all just can't handle how much of a badass I am!" Hancock ranted, rolling his ocu-lenses. "I can see it now! Sanford's gonna' get shot in the dick! You wanna' know why? BECAUSE THE HAN' WASN'T PROTECTING HIS PANSY ASS!"
"Hancock, shut up." Sanford sighed. "We'll come back-"
-"I'll stay."
"-...Really now?"
-The Deathclaw just put it out there, and Sanford sounded like he didn't appreciate the idea- and while that wasn't debatable, her ability to care what he thought about anything right now was in the question heavily.
The reptile stood her ground, and angled her head at him when he held his arms aloft.
"Han' always gets guard duty,"
"-FUCKER!-"
"-So why can't you come with me and Rob'?"
"Because I do not WISH to." She stated dryly. "I'll be fine. Go be a hero."
Sanford stood in the chamber with this cold feeling of being placed on the spot- he had a blend of anger, anxiety of what he had started, and confusion on what his next course of action would be.
Robert worked with people enough to sense what was going on- and despite the whole thing being between a man in Power Armor, and a six-foot tall reptilian mutant- the detective looked between the pair, raised his hands, and pocketed his magnum.
"I'm going to look around the first floor, let me know, friends." He stepped round the desk, stood in the center of the room, and smiled sheepishly up at the Deathclaw.
She tore her gaze from her lock to Sanford's helmet lenses- glanced at the bionic man -and stepped aside slightly to leave the doorframe clear.
Robert nodded, smiled, gave a little- 'My thanks' -before slipping past the reptile's flank and into the tunnelway beyond.
"This is your choice?" Sanford finally asked.
"Mm."
"-Will you be here when we come back?"
"... I don't know."
"...Fine." Sanford stomped past her to follow Robert too- without another word. Hancock levitated beside his newfound ally for a bit, and flew past her on the other side without a comment.
The Deathclaw idled in the chamber for a few more minutes, listening to the hiss of steam from all the air vents- she kept her eyes on the desk ahead, and the slumped over body of Hark, the apparent dealer of synths across the Commonwealth.
She snorted- and shut her eyes.
She felt like crying again.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Before they made for the stairs that lead to the entrance wing- the three of them had checked inside the storage locker that Sanford and Hancock had found- with the Type-7 casks still hanging from their chain links above on the pipes, idly swaying in the draft as before.
Robert assured them that the synths inside wouldn't be activated unless Hark, or a representative of the Institute themselves- showed up to type in the right codes on the pads, AND managed to get them down without Hark's men.
Sanford took some convincing for an unusual matter as well, while they were in this chamber.
"I don't want to chance it, let's fry them." Sanford suggested. "Me and Han' have energy weapons, it'll pierce right through."
"NO-! No-nononono-" Robert stuttered. "The Minutemen, will have a FIT, if they find out you wrecked the live samples!"
"What more, is there to understand from these things, outside of the fact, that we just need to fucking SHOOT them all?" Sanford snapped. "Hostile Institute-loyal synths, that's what we're talking about here."
Robert was unmoved.
"Please hear me out, friend- the militia, NEED, those synths! AT LEAST, one of them intact! I promise, when we solve this issue by Diamond, I'll let you blast all of them full of holes after Brody takes one of the casks! I promise!"
...Sanford almost refused outright- but, he figured, stopping whatever Hark's men were doing by Fenway was more important, and they were wasting time. He accepted this strange prerequisite of the Minutemen and their agent.
It was unusual, and Sanford didn't like it, but what other option did he have? He could've just shot them all anyway, but, Robert probably would have a fit, and if they were getting into a fight, they needed to be top shape.
So Sanford left those casks under the Deathclaw's eye.
-And speaking of the militia's little agent...
...Robert was a pretty... UNUSUAL, fellow, for Sanford to consider.
He was pretty closed up about himself throughout the whole time the three of them traveled through the first floor of the museum, even though Sanford wasn't really asking anything- not really taking any time to sightsee or consider their surroundings.
Robert apparently had been held prisoner inside the museum for several days, and Sanford had already combed most of the first and second floors scouring for Gunner survivors- both didn't query the other on it, figuring they had each seen enough of the place.
Though the detective, or, at least, he CALLED himself a detective- was very adamant about nods to Sanford and his team's singular effort of wiping out the contingent of Gunner soldiers that had been present throughout the grounds.
"We got in a really bad firefight with the others a few miles away from here." Sanford said when Robert queried it. "They had a Sentrybot."
"God damn," Robert shook his head. "You people are nuts."
"Not even the half of it, electro-lux!" Hancock stated jubilantly. "We're the team of unbeatable ASS-KICKING!"
"Right...?"
Sanford found his dark mood lifted slightly to watching Cannary's mortified lack of understand to the Mr. Gutsy- he chuckled and nodded at Hancock to lay off the shouting a tad.
"So, ROB'," He felt weird addressing him with the nickname. "Where did you come across a badge from Pennsylvania? A ranger badge at that."
"From Pennsylvania, of course." Robert spoke over his shoulder whilst they moved for the shattered, glass doors of the entry wing of the museum. His blue eyes were highlighted in the dark of the place- it was creepy, having the left one beam over the shadows of his coat's top flank.
"Pennsylvania's a crater."
"Not the northern borders."
"How'd you get to the northern borders without going THROUGH the state?"
"Easy, the bionics saved me."
"Why were you going through Pennsylvania anyway?"
"It wasn't my choice," He shrugged. "I had a job, BIG job,"
-Robert continued to speak as he stepped through one of the panes that USED to hold one of the glass doors of the front entry- Hancock flew out after him, and Sanford paused in the shadows of the sunlit lobby to turn around and look back.
The expansive wing sat before him- as if sad to see him go, despite the fact he had littered the interior of the museum with dead people. He kept thinking about the Deathclaw.
"-Hey, San'?" Rob called from outside. "Where are you, brother?"
"Comin'." Sanford half-called.
I hope she doesn't leave.
-Well if he wanted that, why didn't he apologize to her? Even if he thought she was wrong, even if she said some nasty things too... It was irrelevant, the apology just would've patched it up, because they were supposed to be on the same side.
The last few weeks had earned this fascination of her from him- so, even though, emotionally, she confused him, frightened him even- it was a drug of sorts that both made him rise and fall within the mental roller coaster of his mind.
He didn't want to leave her, just like he DID want to apologize to her.
But he stepped out after Robert Cannary and Hancock through the frame anyway- against his judgement, and he reasoned it was for urgency to save someone he didn't even know living in Diamond City.
Either way, he felt horrible, he felt tired.
Every time he killed someone, it just... It didn't feel right, even if they were horrible murderers... It was like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle you got in a hobby store, but with no image on it, completed- and every time he enacted the power of death, another piece floated away into the abyss.
-Glass flicked off the aluminum when the armor brushed some of the trailing edges of the shattered pane- Sanford stood in the sunlight, and he watched Hancock as the robot prodded his shoulder pauldron with his buzzsaw again- CLK -and Robert was going down the first flight of steps down to the entrance grounds ahead.
"Are you okay, San'?" The detective called back- boots meeting pavement of the little divider isle between the two flights- the steps of the next flight were then clacking beneath his heels.
"Don't worry about it, sir!" Hancock reassured, floating down with Sanford at his side as he descended the thin little concrete flight. "I'm sure Croco-Taco' won't be goin' anywhere!"
"Maybe." Sanford reached over for a railing subsconciously- remembered it had long rusted away -and put his arm back down by his hip.
The expansive little plaza and garden section around the front of the museum looked like one of those haunted forests you saw in the fantasy storybooks depicting witches and evil trolls. Everything was brown and black, draping, dead. The grass was tan, the pavement of all the walkways, cracked.
Glancing over his shoulder- the huge building of the museum's front looked quite sad underneath the gloom of soot and damage masking its brick hide everywhere- there were portions of the ceiling and walls missing all over the place, all the windows were shattered, it looked terrible.
Just like the rest of the city.
Disappointing, what man had done to himself.
-Sanford hoped they could see what else was still in there, they hadn't even seen most of it.
"You seemed awfully comfy walking around my friend back there," Sanford said when he caught up to Robert at the foot of the last flight. "Deal with Deathclaws before?"
"I've been chased by them a few times." Robert nodded. "That case I took, to go through Pennsylvania? I got jumped by a mother and her babies in the blasted woods up there- not a nice day for me."
"And that didn't reinforce your fear of them?"
"Oh it did, but I met an intellectual myself one time, a really big fellow, he only knew one word, and that word was- 'Dunk' -it was all he said, too."
"What do you mean an 'Intellectual'?"
"Intellectual Deathclaw, friend. They're pretty common out west, I've heard."
"...I guess Boston just isn't a good place for them..." Sanford blinked in surprise. "So, you... Traveled, with a Deathclaw too?"
"Indeed. Like I said, really big guy, he spoke one word of English, and that was the word- 'Dunk' -Dunk, Dunk, DunkDunk, Dunk and then DUNK... I don't know where he picked it up, where he heard it, but it was all he ever said."
"Alright, tell me about him." They started off to the right- and the Charles River Dam Bridge extended sharply ahead, the small whisper of the flowing water was evident as it had been upon the earlier trio's approach.
"I saved him, by complete mistake," Robert started. "-Found him getting pummeled by a few Shellsnappers- nasty things, used to be Canadian Snapping Turtles- I killed them, he walked up to me, and said- 'Dunk, DunkDunk.' -I'll never forget it. I tightened up, looked like a billboard, really- and I just tried to walk away from him.
Guess what, though? He followed me! And as he followed me, every now and again, he'd try and get my attention by saying- 'Dunk', and I'd look at him, and forget he said it. I didn't really know how to comprehend it, right? Had you ever heard of a speaking Deathclaw before, uhm... She have a name?"
"...No, she's thinking about 'Nyx', though."
"And was that an accent I detected from her?"
"She speaks French."
"That's incredible!"
"I know."
"How long has she been traveling with the two of you?"
"-She fell from the sky and face-planted right in front of us!" Hancock proclaimed. "It was a God-send that wasn't directly aimed at killing me! HA!"
"...Yeah, what Han' said." Sanford rolled his eyes. "The En- uhm... We found her, she stuck with us."
"Aye, but sir! What about the-"
"SSH. That's the whole story." Sanford glared at his robot, who got the message, and dropped it.
"...Huh," Cannary raised a brow to the antics. "She a good fighter?"
"She's one of the best." Sanford replied.
"I've traveled the continent, brother, and let me just say now, that I've seen some weird shit," He held a finger aloft. "I've traveled with many people- Intellectual Deathclaws are just one of many."
"You've traveled with more than one?"
"I was sad to see Dunk go. He followed me all the way to the shore of Lake Michigan- two months -and then he found that lake, almost cleaned of some of the radiation and he just wanted to stay there, and I was saying- 'No, Dunk, stay with me!' -and he said- 'Dunk-Dunk.' -and then he stayed there and I left without him. Never saw him again.
A few years later I helped a group out in killing a feral 'Claw, and not too long after that, I ran into another intellectual in some town in Michigan."
"You're making this shit up." Sanford grinned when they passed onto the blackened pavement of the bridge- and ahead, the deeper sections of Boston city expanded, a gigantic sea of stone and metal towers.
"No, really," Robert admonished, his coat whipping as he glanced with shoulders and all at Sanford. "He didn't have a name either- coincidence, huh? It's a thing with non-humans, even some Ghouls have the issue- names just hold a kind of identity that someone from outside our society just can't always understand. You picking up what I'm laying down?"
"I'm picking up," Sanford laughed at the old-timey' phrase. "What was the deal with this creature in Michigan?"
"He was a Deathclaw," Robert reiterated. "Living out in the middle of nowhere in an old garage. He could speak fluent English- really cool."
"What'd he have to say?"
"He was a very angry individual, I remember... Hated a lot of stuff, used the word- 'Hate' -specifically, a lot. I didn't blame him, everything around him, people, other 'Claws, the mutant wildlife, all were trying to kill him."
"How'd you meet him?"
"Stumbled onto his garage, and then he jumped out and I just started talking to him, and he said- 'I can't kill, those who accept me.' -and I stayed there for a few days, chatted it up with him. After awhile my little positive attitude got on his nerves and he politely asked me to leave, and so I left."
"Unbelievable! What are the ODDS, man?!" Hancock cried. "We found a fellow Lizard-Whisperer! WHAT THE BALLS?!"
Sanford struck up a kind of liking to this wannabe' detective. He didn't tell Hancock to shut up that time- in fact, he just laughed at the commentary.
Cannary looked up at Sanford's taller helmet and grinned with his silvery teeth.
"Your robot's a pisser."
"THAT'S RIGHT! THE HAN', PISSES ON ALL THOSE HE DEEMS UNFIT FOR LIVING!"
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