CHAPTER 49
Emergence.
Only in a world of radioactive wastes, mutated monsters, and people whose skin had fallen off- would the folks of Diamond City react the way they did to the Deathclaw being brought inside the stadium.
The crowd didn't really... DISPERSE, per say- even after the Mayor, Sanford, and her walked around the dirt plaza for a bit, just trying to acquaint her with being in these peoples' company, and likewise. She was looking around at everything whilst Sanford carted her about- she was intrigued by the hanging Christmas lights that draped over the street lanes unevenly, and in singles or tied clusters.
She kept finding her eyes glueing to the 'Tree' -that Sanford had called it, by the side of this store area in the rear center of the plaza- she was a bit annoyed at not being able to examine it, as, she didn't particularly care for socializing with the people around this little city.
She wanted a peaceful coexistence- pleasentries between her and humans hadn't existed before Sanford, and she actively did not see it expanding any more than that for herself- thus she was perfectly comfortable with the prior and nothing more.
But Sanford insisted.
"Don't you think if they interact with you a bit, they might be a bit more comfortable?"
"Non." She admitted honestly."I do not. Look at me, Sanford, this, does not match with humans."
"You matched with me." He smirked over his pauldron as they strolled down the side of the plaza- peering in at some of the shopping stands and the fearful appearing owners.
She glanced down at him, flexed her jaws so her teeth would grind- and then looked down at the dirt of Fenway's ground level- she tried to ignore the fact that half of the Diamond security force was practically orbiting around them at all times.
They trusted Sanford, that was why she was IN the city to begin with- anyone else, and they would've shot her without question.
But it was Sanford, the guy who had helped Diamond and several people in it out of many sticky situations- the guy who had saved people, helped the miltia, who, even though Diamond was tenuous with- they respected greatly.
On that, Brody and Roe had left shortly after it was obvious no fighting was about to break out- but according to Liham, they still had five guys from the Minutemen in Diamond's clinic towards the east of the stadium yard, wounded by the Gunners he and his companions had wiped out.
The soldiers loyal to Fenway's protection were on a sort of extra duty- the same amount of guys had never really left the plaza at any point- they hung in the backdrop, by the sides of storefronts, or in alleys, and all of them watched her like hawks.
Sanford made it a point to again put himself between her and the line of sight the guards all had on her- so as they strolled down the fronts of the lined up scrap shacks, the wooden buildings with their opened fronts lined with stalls- it was the Deathclaw who was observing all the goods, not Sanford.
The crowds hadn't really dispersed either- at least, all the YOUNG people.
Sanford noticed a lot of the people from the initial convene had just walked down to the mouths of the street lanes connecting the plaza to the deeper sections of Fenway's middle- and then they stood there, bickering with each other in groups of five or six, looking into the plaza from afar, at him and her.
Sanford's armor made a whining sound towards the knee joint of his left leg everytime he took a step- it was only loud enough to be noticeable to him- so after a bit he blink activated some integrity scans in his helm's HUD.
While those ran, he noticed he had outwalked the Deathclaw by a few steps- he saw her looking under the cloth roof of one of the stands- and inside was a young man- he had tan skin, bulky lips, black stubble on his chin all the way up to his ears in a hairy curve along his jawline.
He was wearing a baseball cap for the late Red Sox- and he had brown eyes, and they were wide as this massive reptile stalked out from the side of his vision, and overtook everything in front of his stand with her large size.
"-H-Hi-!" He said louder than needed- growing stiff as a board. "-W-Whatever you want- TAKE IT, on the house!"
"Am I really that intimidating, etrangere'?" She sighed, blinking with disinterest at a small assortment of handheld items on the wooden top of the stand's counter.
The man was quaking so hard that he couldn't muster a response.
All of the items he had here were electronics parts- a lot of stuff for radios or communication equipment- he had an old RobCo Tube Tester and a box of pretty decently conditioned Sylvania brand tubes, a few Hytron ones too- nice selection if you needed the parts.
"Fixing a radio, girl?" Sanford laughed, peering over her one arm as he stood beside her and examined all the tubes.
"Non'. Browsing, Je ne sais' pas'." She shrugged.
Both of them looked up at the stand's owner, who was still quivering behind the counter- he wasn't even looking at her directly anymore, he just stared straight ahead, praying they would leave.
"You look like you're about to shit yourself, man." Sanford cocked his head.
"-S-SORRY." The guy blinked. "I'M SORRY."
"Ugh, c'mon, before he keels over."
"Sur'." She snorted- insulted, even though she knew she didn't have a right to be.
They trailed away from that stall, and Sanford pointed at the noodle place in the center of the square- he noted how the small crowd that was circling around the plaza, as it usually did, was completely bare in the immediate vicinity of where they stood- though interestingly, there were some folk who didn't seem to care.
There was a Ghoul that literally walked right past the two of them as they turned around- he was a rough appearing fellow, he wore a black hoody sweatshirt, the hood lowered, his bare head with its disfigured skin completely visible- Sanford noticed a crucifix chain hung over his neck and over the breast of the sweatshirt.
Some people, he figured, had seen it all- maybe a Deathclaw browsing stalls in Diamond was pretty tame.
Huh.
"You wanna' try a bowl of noodles?"
"-'Noo-Dals'? That sounds like a disease."
"You don't know what noodles are?"
"I always referred to them as pasta," She said. "What makes these special?"
"It's raman," Sanford grinned. "Asian dish, I've heard. It was banned in the U.S. a little before the bombs fell, but, looks like it's come back after all this time."
"You sound surprised, Sanford, I thought you knew this place." She pointed out as they strolled over.
"I do. I've been here several times," Sanford nodded. "I still think it's amazing, especially with the guy running it."
"Who owns this place?"
"Billet."
"Who is 'Billet'?"
"Quiet guy, not the judging type- he shouldn't have a problem with you."
"That's awfully confident of you to say."
"Hey, listen," Sanford admonished. "There was a Super Mutant that traded some stuff in this market a few years back, and I tell you, he left with at least three bowls of Billet's raman in his gut, just like every other good natured visitor here."
"A MUTANT?" She blinked. "They're on par with dogs, Sanford."
"A lot of people would say the same for Deathclaws."
"...Touche'."
"What is that French for?"
"You don't understand the slang of 'Touche'?" She hummed, amused.
"No-no, I get that. But what about literal translation?"
"It's a term used in fencing, with blades, monsieur'."
"Oh. I knew that."
"Mm."
She was looking more at the little lit up Christmas tree that was by the half-circular stand's flank as they neared the edge of an oak counter- polished cleanly, despite having been torn from another wing inside the stadium structure itself years and years ago.
There was an open overhang that acted like a sort of hollow shack right behind the counter, there were cooking ovens with stoves gridded with bubbling pots, countertop frying stations with grate dishes sunk in bubbling oil- the WHOLE place sounded like it was bubbling.
The Deathclaw noted as Sanford leaned his gauntlets on the edge of the wood- that the whole counter creaked.
A pair of people, a young man and woman, both abandoned their seats nearby on swivel bar chairs lining the stand's front- they vanished into the crowd when they saw her and Sanford- taking their noodle cups with them.
She sighed.
"Billet, how are ya'?" Sanford smiled- raising a gauntlet as a darker skinned, burly man stepped up behind the counter.
She looked down at this newcomer, the proprietor of the little business here- she smiled, making an effort to not use her teeth- and Billet blinked stupidly, before smiling back at her.
Billet nodded, grunted at Sanford.
She cocked her head at the lack of speech- she glanced at Sanford curiously when he started ordering.
"Just a small cup, Billet, for my friend here."
Billet smiled, nodded again, nodded at her, grunted, and then went into the back where he tended one of the many bubbling pots.
Sanford watched the man cook in deep thought, he glanced at the bar stools nearby, shifted in his Power Armor, looked at her and remembered that both of them would've probably snapped them in half.
He hated standing.
"...Why doesn't he talk, monsieur'?" She mumbled, leaning over to him, and eyeing Billet's back- the plad red shirt he wore highlighted at the front with a white apron over his chest and belly- he was a big guy, looked tough.
But throughout all that toughness, he roughly hummed some old tune to himself as his arms worked back-forth, here-there, he had a small foam cup of stringy noodles ready in mere seconds- and steam rose from the top of the container on the metal counter inside.
"He had a stroke, he can't talk." Sanford stated. "I've never heard him talk before."
"A stroke?"
"Yep. Fifteen years ago, if you want to believe Liham, the Captain before," Sanford nodded. "Few years before I ever showed up. But he's a good guy, quiet. I feel bad for him... But, um... Hey, he makes good noodles."
Billet stepped over and put the cup on the counter, with a plastic fork's handle sticking from its contents- smiling at the two of them.
Sanford dug into his rucksack for the caps- but Billet held his hands up and waved him away, shaking his head- he grunted.
The Deathclaw observed Sanford freeze with his gauntlet still in his rucksack- he dug a bit more, retracted, brought his hand up to the counter, opened it, and put down a small wad of ten caps anyway.
"See you around, Billet." Sanford nodded- taking the cup.
The Deathclaw bowed her head, and the two turned away.
She was impressed how the man hadn't even flinched to her presence. She felt bad when it looked like he was about to cry when Sanford put the caps into it despite protest.
"Alright, so here's how this works," Sanford chuckled, twirling the handle of the fork, gathering up some lengths- steam was frothing up- he liked the smell, reminded him of when he was a kid. "You twist the fork to wrap the noodles on it, and you eat it over the cup."
"I'll reason with it, Sanford." She rolled her eyes playfully, reached over and took the cup in a light pinch between three of her fingers- he watched, impressed, as she pinched the handle of the fork between her other two digits.
It was funny, watching the large reptile work these little wares meant for slightly smaller humans.
"You've gotten much better at handling things." Sanford noted as she sniffed at the interior of the cup- looking up at some of the lights hanging between the buildings over the plaza. "You like the Christmas lights?"
"THAT'S what those are..." She sighed. "I suppose."
"I haven't seen them up in years."
"I like their tree."
"Christmas tree. We used to set them up in houses across the country, families and all that, would decorate with them with ornaments, lights..."
"Ornaments, monsieur'?" She dragged the fork out from the tip of her snout- snorting at how hot the noodles were, but other than that, it didn't seem to bother her.
"Yeah, colored spheres, candy canes, glass stuff... I miss Christmas."
"We have it here, au moins'."
"What was the last part?"
"-'At least'- monsieur'." She responded between bites.
Sanford watched the cup gradually become empty- and she drained the broth out with a quick tip over her ajar maw- there were some people in the stands that leant out and watched her eat the raman in a sort of fascinated wonder.
He smiled as she handed him the empty thing and the fork- taking it in his grip, he laughed at her.
"You like that stuff?"
"Mm."
"Raman, and Salisbury," He shook his head. "I can't figure you out, girl."
"What's wrong with those?" She hummed as they trotted towards the lane into the deeper sections of the town at the left.
"Nothing." He stated. "It's just interesting, a Deathclaw liking those things."
"Mm."
"...So... Nyx, huh?"
"Mmhm."
"I'll try to keep it in memory, I just... I've become so used to calling you- 'Ms. Angrypants'," Sanford joked. "It'll be awfully hard to break that habit."
"Vous me' torturez'." She harumphed.
"What does that mean?"
"Torturer."
"Nah, that's Han's job... And... Where exactly did he go...?"
chsk-CCSSSEEEEEMMMMMMM -
-A blare of broadcasted static, whining audio equipment, Sanford slouched his shoulders and looked up at the far top of the northern walls of Fenway in dismay.
"...Oh Christ, he found the microphone." He grumbled.
"Could this prove problematic, monsieur'?" She muttered.
"No. Just annoying."
-CCHSMMM- CKM
CM
CM
-...bmbmbm...
bm...
bm
-"-AHEM! H-HELLO? Hello, monkeys?! This thing on?! PERFECT! This is General Hancock! Forefather of the great Patton and Montgomery- 'cause they got their anti-Commie' badassness from ME! Ha! -Anyway quick message today-"
-There was a pause.
"-...BITCH CAKES!... HA! Ha-ha! HA-HA! AH-HA! YEEAAAHHH! TAKE THAT, AUTHORITY! STICK IT TO THE MAN! U.S.A.! U.S.A! U.S.A! United States for the bitch cakes! HA! ...That'll be all."
-cshk- CCSSSSSSEEMMMMM
CHM.
A few people gave Sanford nasty looks.
He was too busy laughing to really care.
"...Jesus CHRIST what an asshole!" Sanford bawled. "Ha-ha-HA! Oh man... Just- Ha!"
"Certainly a unique one, the usiner." She grinned. "He's harmless to these people."
"Han's a good guy," Sanford agreed. "He's out of his God-damned motherboard, but, he's a good guy."
"A robot?"
"...I think, there is some pretty life-like shit going on there," Sanford said. "He's alive to me."
"I wasn't disagreeing."
"I know."
"...You still have some blood on your... HANDS, monsieur'."
Sanford looked down at his gauntlets after he tossed the cup into a wrought iron waste basket nearby.
They still had drawling spatters of dried crimson from what he had done to the other Deathclaw.
"...I'll have to clean them when we get home." He grumbled.
-"HEY! Check this out!" -Came a smaller voice from the street nearby.
Running between two shacks was a group of... Children. A rare thing today.
There were four of them, they couldn't have been older than five, younger than eight- they were dressed in the stitched-up commons of pre-War clothes most of the people in Diamond wore- three boys and little girl.
Two of the boys had brown hair, one had blonde, the girl had black- they were all cute little innocent things- a far cry from what happened outside of Fenway every day.
"Afternoon, Mr. Tobs!" One of the boys greeted when the four of them stopped by his ankles. "Where'd you get the suit?"
"It looks wicked!" The girl added.
"-Hey guys, uhm... I found it, believe it or not." Sanford smiled. "-Uhm, Nyx, this is, uhm..."
Sanford stepped aside to reveal his Deathclaw a bit- who, now, had her yellow eyes fixated on these four tiny people before her- because, as she looked them over, they simply fascinated her.
These were human young... Children, babies. She had never seen any before in her life.
"Alex!"
"Neil."
"Stacy."
"Kyle."
-All of them greeted her without so much as a blink.
The innocence and naivety of children could overlook the appearance of a Deathclaw.
What anomalies the world worked in today.
"-B-Bonjour'." She opened a hand.
"You have an accent!" Stacy observed excitedly. "Is it Belgium?"
"-F-French." The Deathclaw interlaced her fingers at her belly- she looked at Sanford for help, who was completely fine with letting her sort it out on her own. "-Last I read, Belgians spoke French too."
"Really?!" Kyle cried. "Wow."
"Can I pet you?" Neil asked.
"Ahm," The Deathclaw took a step back- she was actually pretty uncomfortable. "-I-I would prefer to not be- 'Pet'."
"Awwwww..." Neil frowned.
"Can I ride on your shoulder?" Stacy asked.
"...W-Well... I..."
"-Hey, Nyx," Sanford nudged her from the side. "It might look good if the kids can't get enough of you. Just saying."
"...I'm not sure... monsieur'."
"You can handle me without hurting me," Sanford said. "You'll be fine, give the girl a boost."
"Yeah! Mr. Tobs got boring after awhile!" Stacy laughed.
"Hey! I gave good 'Whoosh Boosts'!" Sanford defended jokingly. "Have fun with Nyx, I'm gonna' go talk to someone."
"-Have FUN-?! You're LEAVING me here?!" The Deathclaw moaned.
Sanford had already vanished down another lane.
Nyx hung her hands in the air, draped them and huffed- she looked down at the little creatures by her feet- she saw Neil looking at her taloned toes in wonder.
...They were cute.
"Can I ride on your shoulder too?!" Kyle asked excitedly- hopping around down there. "It'll be so cool! Like riding a dragon that can talk!"
"...O-Okay. Okay, here, hop on my hand." She bent down and offered up her open palm- laying it flat on the ground before Stacy.
The little girl's tiny sock-covered feet were with the weight of a feather on the Deathclaw's hand- Stacy balanced herself by gripping at the thumb and pinky- and she smiled, giddy, as Nyx lifted her arm, and subsequently the child, into the air.
The reptile brought her palm to her left shoulder- and Stacy clambered about with the stamina and agility of a small monkey- she was on her scaly flank, and she sat there, and leaned an elbow on her horn for a minute.
"Thank you!" She said politely. "This is so COOL! Kyle! You gotta' try it!"
"Yeah-yeah!" Kyle held his hands up.
"Can I come too?" Neil asked quietly.
The Deathclaw's tail arced behind her a few times- she was practically purring.
"Of course, here, on my palm."
-0-0-0-0-0-
Sanford didn't have to go far into the streets of Diamond to find the building he was searching for.
Nestled in an alleyway, of sorts, from the wider, more traversed dirt lanes was a squat, one story shack that was rectangular in shape, and had light streaming in through one square porthole that was covered with a tan curtain inside.
The red door was shut, and above it, right after the top of the frame, was a glowing set of green letters- reading- 'Detective Cannary' -the 'E' in 'Detective' was flickering, and going out. Sanford could see it was homemade, the sign and all.
He had never visited the office of the detective that had persisted in Diamond for as long as he had been a frequenter of its streets- and he had never actually met Robert in person before today- but it was interesting to him, a little disturbing- that it took this long to meet a guy who was in walking distance the whole time.
The path that Rob's office was on was a little darker because of some taller structures nearby that shrouded the little lane in shadows- and since the sun was actually starting to go down, it didn't improve the lighting.
A single streetlamp- an electric lantern hung from a post jutting from the wall nearby the window of Robert's building, provided the only real bulb of amber brightness.
The armor creaked as he stepped up the two wooden steps before the door- he wrapped his knuckles three times, and the whole structure rattled from the weight of his armored gauntlet. Sanford cringed, and waited patiently.
The doorhandle squeaked, the door lurched and light from inside the building scythed out into the dark street- now forming a humanoid shadow of Sanford's form on the dirt behind him.
Robert stood there, his hood down, his coat taken off to reveal a patched-up hoody over his torso- he smiled with those synthetic plates making up most of his face, and his icy blue eyes flared brighter.
"Mr. Sanford! How unexpected! Come in- come in!" Robert stepped inside, holding the door- and Sanford muttered a thanks, ducking inside the frame, and standing in the center of a small, cramped little lobby.
Robert shut the door- and some papers on the floor fluttered from the motion.
"Oo-! Apologies, brother- I'm a bit of a messy housekeeper." Robert tsked to the stray documents and notes that littered the lobby's gray floor.
"No problem, Rob'." Sanford smirked. "I'm not expected? After all that? I was wondering where you went."
"-Well as you can see, friend," Robert ushered him to the left, through another arch, into an office- where a wooden desk was towards the rear wall, strewn with a small mound of papers over its top- there was a laptop monitor half-submerged in documents, a number of those cheap little audio record devices stacked on the edge of the right top. "-I'm not exactly a social butterfly, if you will."
"Neither am I." Sanford said awkwardly. "Bogged with work or something?"
"Pardon? Oh! No-no-no, NO, no..." Robert laughed- wheeling an office chair from the lobby, and placing it behind his guest- the chair had a whirlwind of feather-like debris following across the floor in its wake as the wheels rattled against the tile.
Sanford stepped off to the side- Robert was behind his desk again, fidgety- the bionic man watched in fascination as the back of Sanford's suit literally 'Folded' open, and the spinal plate just behind the helm, the holder of the suit's core- bumped against the ceiling with barely enough room to accomodate it.
The real human beneath the armor kicked his ankles and came around from the X-01's side- he was cringing at the stretching of his muscles- he nodded at Robert.
"Weird moment when you see someone out of the war gear, right?"
"Indubitably." Robert laughed. "You look smaller!"
"Yeah-yeah, Power Armor does that."
"Mr. Sanford, we never had a moment for proper introduction, you know," Robert held a white, synthetic hand over the desk, and Sanford gripped it briefly, shook it down once. "Robert D. Cannary, detective, journalist, reporter, trouble maker."
"Sanford Tobs, scavenger."
"That's IT?" Robert gasped. "Where's all your fancy titles, brother?"
"'Don't have any."
"That's just a shame, Mr. Sanford. You should make some up for yourself!"
"I'll feel like an ego-maniac doing that." Sanford leaned back into the black office chair- it squeaked when he settled into it, supporting his arms on the sides.
"I believe, that the man who sees absolutely no importance in himself, is cowed but bettered by the man who sees a slight stroking of his ego." Robert chuckled, sitting in another swivel behind his desk.
"I accept that logic."
"What can I do for you, brother?"
"Thought I'd stop by, meet the crazy detective who almost got shot with me."
"Quite the trip, I'll hand you that!"
"So this is your office, Rob'?"
"The ugly sin that it is, indeed." Robert looked at the curtain rod hanging the drapery over the office window to the side. "I need new curtains!"
"Pretty decent for a war-torn world, though, you gotta' admit."
"Pretty close, pretty close."
"To?"
"The real deal, brother! Old lifestyle! The things people long for and never really achieve, the stuff that's not so good for a happy moment," Robert sighed. "-Ah, I'm ranting, mind it not."
"I've been coming here, to this city for so long, and I never met you before."
"I've certainly heard of you though, Mr. Sanford."
"Likewise."
"They say you're over two-hundred years old. Now my question is, how is a little something like THAT, a reality, hmm?"
"I went into a Vault when the bombs dropped, they froze me in a pod, I got out of the pod a decade ago," Sanford stated flatly. "-Never found my family, and everyone else was a skeleton."
"Your family? Goodness, it seems everyone in this blasted sandy place has lost someone, Mr. Sanford. They were just...?"
"-Gone. No bodies, no traces, nothing." Sanford shrugged. "It doesn't matter now."
"I for one won't beat a dead horse," Robert reassured. "You've heard it a million times, I'm sure- but, my condolences."
"No actually, you're the first person who has ever offered any." Sanford grinned. "I've gotten a few -'I'm sorry's'-, but nothin' much after that."
Robert didn't know how to respond to that.
"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Sanford, it's not often I have such guests as yourself in here- it gets awfully boring, and I have so many papers- and since Jess' doesn't really want to have a lot to do with me, I try to find interesting people, and-"
...Sanford was smiling patiently.
Robert flexed his fingers on the edges of the desk, and nodded.
"-RIGHT, so, YES. Y-You must have stories, Mr. Sanford."
"I have a lot of stories."
"Do tell!"
"None of them are very nice."
"...Okay, I won't press for details- even though it's my JOB to press for details right? HA! -If not stories, then what?"
"I dunno', Rob'," Sanford sighed. "I've seen the Commonwealth front to back, just like you. Man, you've been OUTSIDE Boston, what could you possibly want to hear from me?"
"You showed up at my office though, brother." Robert noted. "I'm trying for small talk. Something I believe I was never so skilled at myself."
"Join the club," Sanford angled his lips. "How long have you lived here?"
"In Diamond, right?"
"Yep."
"Good old Fenway... I've called it home for eight years. Do you- not to ask personal questions -do you remember what it looked like? Before the war?"
"Yeah."
"Do tell."
"It was really crowded, thousands of people, crossing guards, car horns, passenger jets roaring overhead. Big groups of people with suitcases leaving the subway tunnel nearby..." Sanford recollected. "...Rob', be grateful you weren't here to see that only to still be here today. It leaves an emptiness in you."
"Mr. Sanford, I can't see it that way, I would do a lot to see Fenway, the WORLD for what it used to be," Robert smiled. "Some Ghouls around here were alive for that. Most of them left though before I could ask them, but, but Mill is still here! You know Mill? Quiet guy by the plaza, always has a crucifix even though he's an aethiest!"
"He sounds eccentric."
"-Very! Very, very. I asked him- 'What was Fenway like?' -and he said to me- 'Bother someone else, Cannary'- two times in a row I tell you!"
"Some people just want to be left alone, I guess," Sanford shrugged. "I couldn't imagine living out all two-hundred of those years, must be hard, harder than I could picture."
"Indeed, indeed... But, man has persisted even in the most dire of times."
"You sound like my father."
"Do tell."
"Veteran of the U.S. Army, he served in Alaska, and then Japan," Sanford said. "He came home from a garrison in Anchorage when I was three, I had never met him before. They occupied Canada when I was six, and China invaded when I was seven, pa' left for two years, drove the Reds from Anchorage, won so many medals that I couldn't count them all..."
"He sounds brave."
"He was unstoppable," Sanford nodded. "I was too young to understand that. They occupied Canada, and he covered it up from my life... He went off to fight in Japan, and he covered it up from my life, and... Then he came home, and the bombs dropped a few years later."
"Was your father an infantryman?"
"Yeah, he was."
"I never knew my father, Mr. Sanford."
"Why?"
"He was never there," Robert shrugged. "I had my mom for awhile- and, striking woman, TOUGH woman, I loved her to death! She passed away when I was young, we lived in the south for a good while, I buried her there, I took up shop with the militia when they rose up, and I traveled north on a few excursions, found Diamond, liked it, and I set up and I said- 'This is it! Home!' -and here I am."
"When did you pick up detective work?"
"I'd taken interest in the art of investigation since I was a boy!" Robert proclaimed. "Forensics, criminal science, information tracking, identification numbers and names... My goodness, Mr. Sanford, I couldn't get enough. I started taking jobs all over Diamond and I actually SOLVED them, I was so proud of myself."
"And then?"
"The militia asked me over and over and over for my skills across Boston and even beyond. I acted as a 'Spy' if you will."
"Who'd you spy on?"
"WELL, now, Brody and the other officers would be mighty upset if I told ANYONE of such conundrums," Robert held his hands up. "-T'is settled and no one was hurt, thus, I am happy, and everyone else should be too."
"...You spied on the Brotherhood, didn't you?" Sanford smiled.
"-Ah! Mr. Sanford, I have, some... fine... ALE! Yes, here we are!"
Robert came back after sliding a bottom drawer in his desk back- he held a half-drained bottle of rum, the black label faded, torn in places, and the golden letters unreadable.
Two small glasses were placed on the desk's top next to it- and Cannary gestured to the three items.
"Care to join me for a drink? Celebratory, of course."
"Rum? I dunno' if I'll hold it, but... Sure, why the hell not."
"Half a glass, then?"
"Quarter."
"Will do."
-Robert set the bottle down, offered the slimly filled glass over the desk, and Sanford took it, clinked the top tip with the detective's higher brew- they sat back, and drained the contents with two tips of their heads.
Sanford coughed, and bunched his fist over his mouth.
"-Oh CHRIST," He gagged. "-That's strong shit."
"Can't take the oldie's, eh, brother?" Robert smiled. "-Don't worry a hair on your head, Mr. Sanford, the only reason I'm not choking right now is because of all these bionics! Ha!"
"Tell me about those." Sanford put the glass on the desk. "The bionics, you said you didn't want them when you got them?"
"Ugly, ugly story that one," Robert poured himself another cup. "More rum?"
"Nah."
"Right, right."
"The bionics?"
"-I took a shot in the face, I got sloppy in my hour of need, consulted aid from an unknown source and an unknown man, and they didn't just replace my jawbone, IF, you know what I mean."
"What happened?"
"WHOLE team of professional surgeons! Swept in! Drugged me! Turned me into the D. Cannary you see before you, brother." Robert chuckled. "-I can't say I HATE them for it, but, ah..."
"...But you hate them?"
"...With every ounce of my being, I wish everyday, in the back of my circuit riddled mind, that I could find them and at least, if nothing else, ask them- 'Why? Why'd you turn me into a damned android?'- I'd be most appreciative to hear an honest answer to that."
"What do you think they'd say?"
"...Mighty excellent question, for the question, that one."
"I ask myself about my parents all the time."
"Are these the relatives you mentioned before?"
"Yeah."
"Do tell."
"I ask what they would say, if they could see me now."
"And, Mr. Sanford? What do you think they would say?"
"That's a good question..."
"-For the already asked question?"
"Yep."
"We think mighty alike, Mr. Sanford. Mighty alike."
Both men laughed.
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