Motley Mutants: Post-Apocalyptia

by Jem Cottage

"Gather round, oh tired and disillusioned waste-folk! I implore you to tune in those antennas, I welcome you to pop open those cans of Potato Crisps, and I require you to huddle up next to those beautiful beaus and honeys of yours; for I, MC 'Anonymous' Valley Chey, have come to regale you! I bring detailed word of just how everyone's favorite wasteland vigilante crew came to be."

4. Chapter 4 - Intrepid Squad

Motley Mutants: Post-Apocalyptia Ch. 4 - Intrepid Squad

+ Traversing the roads of a post Great War world is not an easy thing to do – At least, that's what Knight Captain Ryan Dutch had repeatedly tried to explained to his superiors at Richmond HQ in an effort to persuade them towards any course of action that didn't involve sending he and his crew of 3 soldiers all the way to the Carolines. They had only just gotten back from a resupply mission in the Commonwealth, before they were given new orders to resupply the BOS base dubbed Fort Duke to the south. Yet, as with most issues in the Brotherhood, once a commanding officer makes a decision, it's final. Dutch's team was a loyal one, however, and so the orders were received with mere groans, swears, and reluctant gear-packing, as opposed to open insubordination. After a few short hours of prepping for the trip they boarded a vertibird due south. The vertibird's Lancer Pilot told Cpt. Dutch that the furthest he was permitted to go was to the Virginia/Carolines border, after which he and his team would have to make the remaining 50 miles of the trip on foot. It wasn't standard, Dutch thought, although it wasn't completely unheard of either. The Brotherhood's forces being spread so far and wide meant that there were limited resources available, which included vertibird air time.

The crew of 4 slept through the 2 hour flight and awoke to an obnoxious red light and its accompanying siren signaling that they had landed. "Rise and Shine!" Yelled the Lancer pilot over his vertibird's dulled chopping. Knights Hutchison and Phillips were the first to enter their, respectively, blue and red accented T-60 power armor frames. As they stepped into the armor and extended their arms and legs through the hollow frame, the suit's open back clamped shut behind them and sealed itself, removing any chance for radiation poisoning to occur. Once they became acclimated to their expensive suits' interiors, they hoisted two 500-pound metal crates of cargo into the air and loaded them to one another's magnetically-charged backs for ease of transport. Dutch was the last to leave the vertibird, allowing him to give the pilot the signal to leave once he did. As the chopper pulled up and away, Cpt. Dutch couldn't help but feel a little stranded; every direction he turned to, looked as barren and dilapidated as the last. His green T-51 power armor's heads up display was equipped with a map of the local area, which he used to mark the specific coordinates that he had been given. He signaled for the team to begin its march south, and the trek began. Dutch's second in command, Jennifer Shipley, who was unburdened of any cargo, dug into her side pack and retrieved her long-range radio. Dutch grinned when he heard the end of Roy Jones' "Butcher Pete" vibrate throughout the dusty afternoon air, and although he couldn't see her face through her yellow-striped T-45 power helmet, it didn't take x-ray vision to know she was smiling too. The two had long ago grown close from years spent traveling in each other's company, and consequently they trusted each other more than either one of them would've preferred. After an entire day's worth of walking, Dutch peeked at his HUD clock: midnight. He decided to call it a day, and the delivery outfit named Intrepid Squad made camp. They had made up a fair bit of ground during the day - nearly 15 miles - and Dutch was happy with their pace. At this rate they would reach the Fort in just two more days if they marched from dawn till dusk with minimal breaks. Sergeant Shipley lowered her radio's volume to a hum, hoping its soft tunes would help them all rest; they would need it.

+ Rocky was confused. In truth, he had been in a rather perpetual state of confusion ever since his abduction and subsequent LEO procedure. He knew that once, perhaps not long ago, he was a man named Rocky, and he knew that somehow Rocky had likely been captured and transformed into a super mutant. But that's all he knew; just a name, and a vaguely implicated history. He didn't know if he belonged here with the Brotherhood and Liona, back at Warrenton amongst Boston's mutants, or elsewhere in the wastes, in some place that he couldn't remember, where perhaps there was a family that missed him or property of his own to tend to. Regardless, he decided, it didn't really matter at this point, for he wasn't Roc the super mutant or the man that preceded him. He was just Rocky.

During the daytime he was given leave by Liona's request to wander throughout the Fort Duke courtyard and even enter many of its stone buildings, so long as, by Elder Cyrus' request, he be closely monitored and followed by a high ranking Knight. The Brotherhood citizens he met usually showed extreme trepidation even while discussing what he saw as trivial matters. One such interaction occurred when he spoke to the Botany scribes and inquired as to exactly how they were able to grow so many diverse plants in such a stale climate. The eldest one of them, a woman somewhere in her mid-fifties whose scowl served to age her severely, had ignored him and called away her younger scribes, warning them to stay away from the mutant for fear of his disagreeable appetite. Irritated and bored, Rocky wandered on, hoping to find someone who would be willing to talk to him, until eventually he did.

"They're afraid of you. You know that, right?" Called a familiar voice from behind him. It was Paladin James Reese, whom Rocky still had yet to see outside of his gilded and caped armor. It reminded him of why super mutants called the Brotherhood soldiers, 'Metal Men'. Rocky surmised that he must have been the Soldier assigned to him.

"Yes. I know." Answered Rocky, returning the Paladin's stare.

"Well I'm not. Do you know that too, Mutey? I suppose I should be, considering how many of my brothers you've probably killed - eaten even - but I'm not." Even distorted through his helmets electronic speakers, Rocky could feel the soldier's pain lightly veiled behind his words intended hostility. Perhaps he was right, Rocky thought. Perhaps he had, in another life, killed Reese's siblings in arms.

"I understand your pain, Paladin. It's true. I have killed many of your kind in the past." Rocky attempted to apologize.

"Is that a goddamn threat, mutey?" Reece pressed his rifle's barrel into Rocky's stomach.

"It wasn't a threat. I truly am sorry." Rocky insisted. The Paladin removed his rifle from Rocky's gut, and gave him a 'keep it moving' sort of nod.

Wherever he went thereafter he could feel Paladin Reese's palpable animosity trailing closely behind him. He wandered on for a bit longer but, as day light tends to do, it eventually surrendered to nightfall and Rocky retired along with it to his now more hospitable domicile.

Since his discussion with Daughtry outside of the Steel Chapel, Rocky's living conditions had changed for the better. Firstly, he had been given a much larger bed, the largest that Liona could find in the entire base, in fact. It nearly fit his whole body too, except for his ogre-like feet which hung off the side. Additionally his lights turned off and on with the flick of a switch, which he found to be a welcome change, and he had even been given a new change of clothes: an 8XL white t-shirt that fit him snug and a pair of long black jeans. Try as she did, Liona couldn't find any shoes that fit him, but Rocky didn't mind wearing his old brown leather boots. For a prisoner, he was actually pretty cozy. Liona hated it when he called himself that: a prisoner. He had asked her once, "What am I if I can't even leave my room without an armed soldier following my every step?" To this, she had no reply. If he were being honest though, it didn't particularly bother him, at least not how he knew it should. He knew that to be confined and stripped of one's free will is a generally undesirable circumstance, but as he didn't know what he would do nor what would become of him had he escaped back into the wastes, it was strangely comforting knowing that someone wanted him somewhere, regardless of their reasons.

He was about to attempt his most favorite pastime (sleep) when he heard Liona's trademark knock at his door. Before he had a chance to answer it, the curly-haired scribe came bursting into the room.

"Rocky, hi I…I should have waited for you to open the door. I'm sorry but I…" She seemed to be almost out of breath.

"You don't need to apologize, Liona. What is it?" He could see that she was struggling to conceal something rather large behind her slim profile.

"I was going to say, I…Well just look for yourself." She tossed a jacket through the air and onto his lap. Rocky gathered it in front of himself to get a better look.

"So…What do you think?" It was a sleeveless jacket, stitched together from many smaller pieces of jean clothing. Some parts were black, others ranged from light to navy blue, and in the center of the back was a perfectly circular piece of white cloth. He thumbed over the few dark depressions in the circle; they reminded him of something, although he couldn't remember exactly what. "Those are craters." explained Daughtry, who had noticed his curiosity. "That's the moon. Uncle Leo sort of had a fascination with it. That was his jacket. I remember him telling my mom how he wished he had something as wonderful as the moon to give her in return for the kindness she showed him. He was kind of corny like that, ha-ha. On the day of his one year anniversary here with us, she stitched that jacket together and gave it to him as a present. Come on, try it on." She smiled briefly, as she commonly did, while Rocky slipped into the jacket with surprising ease. "See, it fits perfectly…" After a moment without a reply she began to worry. "What's wrong? Do you hate it? You hate it don't you."

"No, Liona, it's great - perfect - it's just…" Daughtry's brow furled while the scientist in her tried to diagnose the issue. "The other day, when you first brought me into the court yard, a small girl ran up to me. She smiled at me, and called me 'Uncle Leo'. I smiled back, because her being happy to see me made me feel good, but, I knew that I was not who she thought I was. Liona, I'm not Leo." Rocky removed the jacket and laid it beside himself on the bed. Daughtry quickly recollected it.

"No one said you had to be, Rocky. I…I get how you must feel. Me telling you all of these things about my mom, the scribe, and her friend, the super mutant. About how they planned to save the wasteland. That's a little too much pressure for anyone, let alone someone in your situation. It's just that I've waited such a long damn time for someone like you to find their way here. And I know that there's a lot of good that we can do together, Rocky… You don't even have to be my friend if you don't want to." The scribe smiled at her own joke.

"It's a bit too late for that, I think. Thank you for the jacket, Liona. This means a lot to me." He reacquired the jacket from Liona and slipped back into it. "So… How do I look?"

"You look…like a giant green man wearing a jacket. I'll see you tomorrow Leo- I mean, Rocky." Rocky smirked away a chuckled as she left the room. He turned off the lights, removed his clothes, and finally was able to partake in his favorite pastime: Sleep.

+ Intrepid Squad had hit the road before sunrise, hoping to get a head start on the day. The trip had been a tiring one, consisting of two and a half days of constant marching, punctuated with a few brief breaks for meals and other necessities.

"Time?"

"You're really gonna start with the whole 'are we there yet?' bit, Jen?"

"Dutch. The time?" Shipley pressed. He looked at his HUD coordinates and noted the time to destination.

"We're about 5 hours away."

"Oh shit, that's a new record, gotta be, Ha-ha!" Announced Hutchison, nearly toppling over during his excitement.

"Yeah, even that pretentious mole-rat Cyrus will have to toss a few extra caps our way this time." yelled Phillips from the rear of the formation.

"We'll be lucky if that asshole even receives us this time. As a matter of fact, I don't think I've ever even seen the guy. Not in the half a dozen times Dutch and I've done this trip." Countered Jenny.

"Whatever man, I just want to sleep in a bed tonight, and maybe get some mirelurk soup from Chef's Commissary."

"Shit, you've got that right, Phillips. That's the one way that they've got the Richmond HQ beat. That Holtsman dude sure knows how to cook an irradiated beast up right." Hutchison agreed.

"Wait, hold up you guys." Shipley stopped in the middle of the formation. "The radio's picking up a new signal…I think it's that bat-shit radio girl we heard last time. Let me turn it up." The group loosely huddled around to listen to the portable radio.

"Hello gals and pals! It's Anonymous Valley Chey here, and in case you're wondering, the answer's yes: I do know that stating my given name just after claiming anonymity is a direct contradiction, but hey, it's my show so shush the hell up. Anywho… I've got some news people. News people. News, what a weird word. Neewwwss. I wonder how many times I've said that line. 'I've got some news people. I've got some news. Ha-ha, aww geez. I've gotta be losing listeners by the second. Right, the news. It seems that the ongoing hostilities between our foreign guests have apparently, ceased. Yeah seriously, like, I promise. The big green ugly dudes and the blue tin-can lookalikes have stopped killing each other. My sources tell me, and by my sources I mean my highly-experienced and finely-tuned feminine intuition, that there's some kind of truce thingy going on. Truce. Truuuce. That's another weird one! Yeah so with that soliloquy out of the way, I leave you with this: The Ink Spots' "I don't want to set the world on fire". Little late for that, isn't it?"

"Now that chick, is crazy." Decided Hutchison, with a chuckle.

"Oh, I love this one! Turn it up!"

"Hey skipper, did she just say 'Truce'? Between the mutants and the Brotherhood?" Shipley asked, ignoring Phillips' request.

"I haven't heard anything about it. Not that brass would bother telling me anything so important to begin with." Replied Dutch.

"You don't think that Elder Cyrus would broker a truce with…mutants, do you? Is that even possible?" asked Jenni.

"Guys, I mean, she's obviously just an overly eccentric radio host. Don't you think it's possible that she's just saying ludicrous things on the radio for ratings, or something?"

"'Eccentric' 'Ludicrous'…Raymond, where in the hell are you from, saying shit like that? You grew up in Megaton just like I did. Stop talking like a Tenpenny Tower soundin' mother fucker."

"Oh, I'm sorry that my vocabulary consists of more intelligent words then 'shit', 'fuck', and 'balls' Mike! Why don't you try reading a prewar book sometime? Y'know, the big ones without all of the pretty pictures!"

"Cut the chatter you two. The adults are trying to have a conversation." Snapped Sgt. Shipley, who easily outranked the two knuckleheaded Knights.

"I'm not sure, but it doesn't sound good. There's no way that Elder Maxson, or any Elder from the commonwealth to the pacific for that matter, would give the okay for something like that."

"And even if they did, what could they possibly have to offer the Brotherhood? It just doesn't add up." Jenni Concluded.

"Uhh, guys. Is that our ride?" The group collectively followed Phillips' extended index finger. At the end of it they saw a Brotherhood vertibird heading right for them.

"What the hell…" Dutch whispered.

"I could cry. No more walking!" Hutchison yelled. The vertibird quickly decelerated and perched atop its protruding landing gear. Through its open sides they spotted a tall slender woman leaning out of it while holding the handle of the vertibird's 50mm mini-gun.

"Hello. Are you the Richmond HQ's dispatch team? Sent to deliver two 500 pound crates of supplies to Fort Duke?" Her voice struck Dutch as odd. Not the tone of it, but rather it was the way she talked. Da-liv-uh. She didn't pronounce her Rs correctly, Dutch thought.

"Yeah, we're Intrepid Squad. Who are you? Did you come from Fort Duke?" Replied Jennifer, while Dutch was lost in thought.

"Yes! We've come to make your lives a little bit easier." E-zee-uh, Dutch sounded out phonetically. "Please begin loading your gear and the cargo so that we can make our departure." Jenni turned to Dutch for an answer, but before he said anything Phillips and Hutchison had already begun loading the cargo along with their power armor suits into the Vertibird's cabin. Although he didn't recognize the woman's accent, she did fly in on a Brotherhood vertibird. And they were close enough to the base that it did make sense for them to send a vertibird, but if they had, why hadn't Shipley been alerted via long-distance radio? Dutch flashed Shipley a nearly imperceptible hand gesture, and they walked up to the downed bird.

"Where'd you get such an odd accent from? I've never heard anything like it." The leader of Intrepid squad asked.

"I've been all over the east coast, sir. Grew up in the north, near Big City." Dutch glanced over her shoulder catching a glimpse of the co-pilot's wrinkled face under his helmet.

"Yeah? I've been there too. And who are you, I didn't know they let Lancers fly at such an advanced age." The pilot stayed facing the windshield, ignoring Dutch.

"Sorry sir, Cliff's not much of a talker. But I assure you he has his pilot's license just like the rest of us." Dutch looked back at Shipley who stepped away from the vertibird and reached for her laser pistol.

"Lancer pilots don't receive a license. But of course you don't know that. Because you're not a lancer pilot." The woman smiled, but just as she began to look as if she wanted speak, her facial expression switched to that of a grimace as she swung the mini-gun's heavy metal barrels into Dutch's armor. To her astonishment, the massive weapon merely bounced off of the retro-futuristic power suit without leaving a dent. He grabbed the false pilot and tossed her at Phillips and Hutchison who struggled, but eventually subdued the frantic woman. The female pilot withdrew her pistol and aimed it at the unarmored duo of Knights in the vertibird. Shipley, who had been eying the cockpit since the start of the exchange, was far quicker and better practiced on the draw. She sent a sizzling red laser straight through the female pilot's helmet.

"Marci!" Shouted the first pilot who attempted in vain to free herself of Hutchison and Phillips' grasp. The male pilot exhibited symptoms of a man consumed by shock and terror after seeing this. He whaled loudly before taking in shaking breaths. He placed his palm on the dead woman's exposed cheek, hoping with his everything that she would react to his touch.

"She drew on us. Don't try anything stupid old man." Shipley commanded.

Trembling down to his very core, he slid his hand down her arm to her fingers, and to the weapon they still held. "Clifton no!" The subdued faux pilot shouted just as the one she called for drew the pistol. With a sudden bang, his briefly experienced mourning was over; as was his life.

"Holy shit, dude." "That's just…that's just dark man." Hutchison and Phillips agreed.

"I had to do it, she…she was going to shoot. I know she was." Shipley explained as confidently as she could.

"Alright, alright. Enough. That's not important right now." Dutch ordered. "What is important, is this: Who are you, and how in the hell did you get your hands on a Brotherhood vertibird?"

+ Wasteland nights always seem to be a bit longer than their bright counterparts, like they're being drawn out somehow. As if whatever malevolent deity who had long ago decided to scorch the earth's surface and mutate its inhabitants, now seeks to render it even more treacherous by postponing the perceived safety of daylight. But if daylight is a shepherd's guiding hand, then that makes night's bleak darkness a wolf pack's hunting ground. For be it an evil being or an innocent one, who hears a stray bump or an inexplicable screech in the night's distance, is it not towards that of their darkest fears where their minds stray? Towards the grotesque and the putrid: a Vampire, the Boogeyman? When in reality all that lurks behind them, silently stalking in the shadows, is a man. A Brotherhood Sentinel, in charge of an elite squad: The Cavaliers. The Boogeyman has no fear, for he has no peer. He is the scariest thing in the dark, and so he craves its cold caress.

– That was his speech, or rather his pitch, mailed in envelopes long ago to persuade any selected soldiers to join his Cavaliers division; a small yet specialized and efficient task force led by himself, Sentinel Darion Rockwell. He can remember spending far too much time writing, editing, and rewriting it again, until finally he arrived at what he thought was a decent and brief speech, with the right amount of compelling metaphors and prewar horror references. Despite this valiant effort, he knows of course that no amount of clever writing or moving speeches can save his men from what they intended to do tonight. As a Sentinel, a rank only surpassed by Elder Maxson himself, he's permitted to come and go with his Cavaliers as he pleases, and to lead covert missions throughout the D.C. area as he sees fit. In his short tenure he had already led several dozen missions ranging from data and technology recovery, to seek-and-destroy missions. The mission he planned for tonight was by far his team's favorite: mutant hunting. A newly formed mutant force said to have come from the north, had been kidnapping Capital Wasteland citizens from Tenpenny Tower all the way to Old Olney. Ironically, there were even reports of a few slavers from Paradise Falls being snatched and dragged off to become slaves themselves. As luck would have it, one of the many slaves managed to escape and make his way to the Brotherhood. Shortly after arriving and being given safe haven within the Citadel, he told a tale of a relatively small force of mutants who had managed to supplant the former inhabitants of Evergreen Mills; an entire army of raiders.

"They snuck into the raider camp and quote, 'tore their leader's head off in his sleep'. He claims that after the raiders awoke to see this they elected, or chose - however raider leaders are chosen - a new leader. He too was found dead, in his bed, without a head, the next morning. The camp of raiders, fearing for their lives, began slaughtering one another out of shear paranoia. Soon they had cut their own numbers down to half of what they were, leaving them vulnerable to an attack. And that's when the mutants struck." Sentinel Darion spoke to his second in command, and trusted advisor. A former Knight who now titled, First Cavalier James Reese.

"Doesn't that seem a bit too clever of a strategy to be have been devised by a bunch of green uglies, Sentinel? Ghouls sure, but not mutants." Reese replied.

"I know. It doesn't make much sense. But what's bothering me is how this slave came to know any of this in the first place. Perhaps he was a raider there and was imprisoned, as the mutants so often prefer to do as opposed to killing outright."

"Well, he's clearly lyin' sir, or at the very least he's exaggerating significantly. Probably in the hopes that we would hear of such dangerous and intelligent mutants and come running to save his friends. Just like those damn wannabe aristocrats over at Rivet City tried to pull on us that one time, remember? The muteys probably just came in force one day and wiped out the raiders there, just like they've done a hundred times before." Reese seemed convinced, but the runaway's story still clung to Sentinel Darion's mind, nagging him and trying to defend its legitimacy.

"He says the camp of mutants has grown slightly but still remains relatively small. I need you to issue orders for the Cavaliers to prepare for a night op. We will attack with our own force tonight, and we'll see exactly how formidable these mutants truly are." Darion smirked cheekily at Reese who returned it along with a chest salute.

"Ad Victoriam, Sentinel."

"Ad Victoriam, First Cavalier."

Rocky's eyes opened suddenly. It was not from fear, but from his first and completely foreign sense of nostalgia, that he began breathing heavily. He felt as though he was out of place in his own room, and for the first time that he could remember, he wanted to cry. He had been so happy for a while during his dream, so full of purpose and belonging. His overwhelming melancholy was interrupted by Liona once again knocking at his door. "Liona" as he spoke she walked into the bedroom seeming much calmer than she had been during her last visit.

"Rocky, good morning. How are you?" She didn't know it, but her presence served to soothe him.

"Good morning, Liona."

"You don't look so hot, Rocky. Are you feeling alright? I'm sure I could get Head Scribe Rourke from the infirmary to come take a look at you." Rocky thought for a moment of sharing his dream with Liona, he wanted her to understand the way he felt, but he wasn't even completely sure that he knew how he felt yet.

"No. I'm fine. It's just…I just woke up, is all." He lied.

"Ok, whatever you say. Anyway, I know it's early but I need you to take a walk with me. Someone has requested your acquaintance."

"Someone, who?" Rocky was curious, as he hadn't spent much time with anyone other than Liona, unless Paladin Reese's stalking counted as quality time. The Scribe didn't answer, she just walked out of the room to wait for Rocky to get dressed. He lazily slid into his jeans, his boots, his t-shirt, and finally Leo's Jacket. When he left the room, he realized that Liona had been unaccompanied by any Knights, which he took as a good sign; perhaps they were beginning to trust him after all. She led him out of the barracks building, through the courtyard, and to the Steel Chapel. Before they entered through the open portcullis gate, she stopped and turned to face Rocky.

"Don't speak, until he speaks to you. And when you do speak, be sure not to give him any reason to doubt your rehabilitation. The Elder has been a staunch supporter of the LEO program ever since the beginning, but that won't stop him from ending it as soon as he sees reason to do so. And remember, this is a man who has been fighting Super Mutants his entire life. If it seems like he doesn't like you, that's because he doesn't. But even he came around to Uncle Leo, so there's at least a little hope there." Rocky nodded and they began the long walk through the spacious interior of the Steel Chapel. Half of the room's original seating had been ripped out, and replaced with stations for Brotherhood Scribes and Knights to perform both civilian and military tasks simultaneously. To his immediate right and through one of the many open station entrances, Rocky saw a smithy tinkering with a broken plasma rifle and a box of spare parts. In an adjacent cubicle there were several scribes arguing while pointing at miscellaneous pieces of paper and various pre-war text books. Further along and to his left he saw a class room full of young, homogenously dressed children working diligently on reconstructing a protectron robot while a yellow robed Scribe, their teacher he assumed, silently hovered over them and observed their work. The entirety of the building was illuminated by a dozen magnificent chandeliers, hanging from a ceiling that was so high up that Rocky couldn't see where they were attached. At once he became all too aware that he had been walking through the chapel for what seemed like an exorbitant amount of time. He looked over Daughtry's head to the front of the room, which still seemed far, and saw a narrow grandly designed room perched at the top of a brief staircase. After a bit more walking they eventually scaled the stairs and halted before a man in his fifties, who was dressed in a robe much like Liona's except it was blue in color, and heavily armored, complete with a set of steel pauldrons. His robe was cut short at the knee, where a pair of dark leather pants and boots could be seen. He noticed their approach and rose from his throne and desk, where he looked to be typing a long-winded letter. "Greetings Senior Scribe Daughtry."

"Greetings, Elder Cyrus. This Is -"

"This must be the most talked about mutant in all of the Carolines." He interrupted. "I know all about you. I was told a while ago that your name was Roc, but I hear you now prefer to be called Rocky. While I must say, I do approve of the new name, I find that a man's- or a being's, actions tend to carry far more weight than do his preferred name or title. Don't you agree, Rocky?" Asked Elder Cyrus, staring directly passed Liona, at Rocky.

"If names and titles are purely a form of vanity, and therefore not to be relied upon for judging someone's character, than why do you accept the prestigious title of 'Elder', and demand that you be addressed as such by your subordinates? No, I think that there is plenty of weight to be found in the names and titles that we give ourselves, Elder Cyrus." Rocky volleyed back to the clearly stunned Elder. Liona was beginning to say something, perhaps to refocus the conversation, when Elder Cyrus spoke up.

"Oh Liona, you have outdone yourself with this one! Did you teach him all of that yourself?"

"No I didn't Elder. The LEO procedure simply restores a super mutant's mind slowly back to that of a humans. Specifically, the human they once were."

"Well then, he must have been an ornery one back in his time, huh? I like him. You see Rocky, I spent my entire life up until the age of 49, thinking that all super mutants were just giant green dummies, made for nothing more than target practice." The Elder slowly began walking towards Rocky. "Until about 6 years ago, when I met one that truly amazed me. A former man turned mutant, who taught me about the strength of your species. I've no doubt that Liona's told you all about Leo. He was a spectacular asset to the Brotherhood, and it was a tragedy what happened to him. Now all I want to know is if you too can be a spectacular asset, Rocky. 'Cuz I'd very much like it if you could be." The Elder and Rocky stood in front of one another. The Elder was a relatively tall man, standing well above six feet, yet even he was comically short in comparison to Rocky. Rocky noticed the Elders eyes begin to trail away from his own, peering passed his shoulder and towards the entrance. Rocky turned around to see what had caught Cyrus' eye. Quickly approaching was Paladin James Reese, followed closely by a band of Knights, escorting a lonely prisoner. They stopped before the staircase, and Reese spoke.

"Elder Cyrus -" He offered a chest solute. Cyrus did not return the gesture.

"What is the meaning of this, Paladin? Who are these soldiers?"

"Behind me, is the delivery squad named 'Intrepid', from the Richmond HQ. They were sent to deliver supplies to -"

"Elder Cyrus, it's an honor to meet you. I'm Knight Captain Ryan Dutch, the leader of Intrepid squad. We were about a day away from making our delivery, - we were making great time in fact - when this little faux Lancer outfit came flying in on a huge Brotherhood vertibird, telling us that they were sent to pick us up and bring us here. I quickly discovered the truth and we commandeered the bird, and brought her back here where we assume she belongs."

"And did you manage to bring the cargo here in one piece?" The Elder asked.

"Yes sir we did, thanks to Knights Phillips, Hutchison, and Sergeant Shipley here." Replied Dutch. Elder Cyrus walked down the stairs and right up to the prisoner.

"Who are you, sweetheart?" He asked.

"My names Agrippina, sir."

"'Suh'? That's an odd accent you've got young lady. Where are you from Agrippina?"

"Nowhere important mister." He turned his attention to the Knights.

"Do you know where she came from? Who she's working for, where she got the vertibird -anything?" Elder Cyrus asked Reese and Dutch.

"She won't say much, Elder." Replied Dutch.

"She may not be saying much, but I know that vertibird, Elder. It's a modified model. It's equipped with twin Gatling lasers instead of mini-guns at its sides, and its cabin is twice as large as a common bird's." Reese pointed out.

"Montecrief." The Elder huffed.

"Yessir. I believe so."

"Well, Lancer Captain Kellard will be happy to have her back. As for this one, you can take her to her new home. Don't worry Ms. Agrippina of Nowhere, it's got all of the amenities. A blanket, a bucket to shit in - it'll be just superb for you."

"Wait, Elder Cyrus." The Elder looked at Rocky. "What's a Montecrief?" Several of the Knights in Intrepid Squad stepped back and reached for their guns, now noticing the hulking mutant behind the Elder.

"He's a man, or, he was at one point. Now he's a ghoul who leads a gang of slavers. He's been as annoying as a cazador sting on the ass. He captured one of our vertibirds awhile back, and he's probably been using it to send his ghoulified slavers all over the Carolines in search of new towns to pillage and people to enslave." He turned back to the group of weary travelers and signaled for them to take the prisoner away.

"Hold on just a minute." Rocky scaled the stairs, stepping between the captive and the Elder. "I think she can be of immediate use. If she was hired by this Montecrief, then she must know where to find him. We could have her take us to him, and we could solve this matter today."

"I'm sorry, is that a super mutant talking right now?" whispered Knight Hutchison.

"This must be a part of the truce we heard about." Phillips whispered back.

"That's assuming the young lady will help us." Cyrus glared at the prisoner named Agrippina.

"For my freedom." The prisoner proposed without hesitation.

"Hmmm…It's a deal. But not today, Rocky. You'll go tomorrow with Paladin Reese and a couple of these Knights here and you'll take this thief with you. We'll call it your first mission as a Brotherhood of Steel soldier, and should you be successful, I'll name you and this thief here free. Sound good?"

"A Knight." Rocky answered.

"A Knight? Fine, you'll be named a Knight, why not."

"Why not? Elder Cyrus, he's an abomination! How could he -"

"For now Paladin, show Captain Dutch where he can leave his prisoner." Elder Cyrus walked back up the stairs to his throne room. "Oh, and Liona. Take our green friend here and find our young Quartermaster Heyward. I believe he has a couple of gifts for him. He should still be tinkering with his toys in the Foundry." The Elder returned to his steel throne and began typing on his terminal once again. The group of Knights marched away together, leaving Liona and Rocky alone.

"Well, that went well…I think. Follow me." Liona politely directed. She led Rocky all the way to the front gates where she turned left and into the Steel Chapel's first station: The Foundry. Inside, the man that Rocky had seen earlier tinkering with a plasma rifle was now nowhere to be seen.

"Hello…Dalton?" They could hear a loud rummaging noise coming from behind the steel island in the middle of the room. Trying her best to avoid all of the spilled nuts and bolts on the ground, Liona walked around the island where she spotted a hunched over figure pawing through several boxes of miscellaneous weapon components, and listening to a portable radio through homemade earphones. Liona stifled a giggle with the palm of her hand.

"DALTON!" She screamed. Her voice echoed out of the Foundry and up to the high ceilings of the chapel which were originally built to promote such vibrant acoustics. The thin yet surprisingly muscular smithy jolted suddenly banging his bandana covered head on the steel slab he used as a workspace. He tore off his headphones and scowled at the gleeful scribe.

"What the hell Liona! Why do you always…What the fucks a mutey doing here?!"

"Hush you tawdry tinkerer. Have you no manners?" Liona joked while barely attempting to keep a straight face as Dalton continued to rub his sore skull.

"I'm sorry. Wait, no, no I'm not. You come in here, to my place of work, and you, you scream like a maniac, you make me hit my head, and on top of it all, like right on top, you bring with you a giant green killer! So I ask again: what the fucks a mutey doing here!?"

"Jeez, calm down Dalton. You don't get out much do you? This is Rocky, and he's not just any giant green killer. He's my giant green killer. Now stop being so rude before I sick him on you!" Daughtry flashed Rocky a smile and a wink.

"He's, he's that new LEO mutant then huh. Yeah I know about him, Elder Cyrus told me you'd be needing your weapons cleaned and fixed. Sorry dude, I'm just not used to seeing…well, you know what I mean."

"It's fine Sergeant Dalton. All I care about is if you have my weapons or not." The short Knight's smile was just as rusty as his workshop, and the opportunity to show off the fruits of his labor prompted him to display it.

"One sec," He darted underneath his steel table, and continued talking from beneath it. "Cyrus gave me these a few weeks ago and I, well like I said I was only supposed to fix any damages they had on 'em and spruce 'em up a little, but I couldn't help myself. I had to fix 'em up Dalton style!"

"Oh god, please stop saying 'Dalton style'. You sound like such an imbecile." Liona said, ridiculing the Knight who was at least ten years her senior.

"What do you mean 'Dalton style'? Have they been upgraded?" Asked Rocky.

"'Have they been upgraded?' he asks. My good man— err…mutant I mean, that is only half of what I've done!" Liona shook her head and rolled her eyes in response to the goofy smith's theatrics. He finally rose from under his worktable and laid two items upon its surface: a leather sheathed cleaver, and a heavily modified battle rifle. "Feast your mutated eyes, Rocky! Unless you can actually eat with those things, in which case, don't dude. That's just gross."

"Dalton!" warned Liona, though Rocky simply laughed at the queer smith. He picked up the cleaver first and slowly withdrew it from its sheath. "Now that, is a beaut'. I spent awhile just getting the blood stains and grime off of the handle until after a while I just said, 'F it' and tore the old one off. I replaced it with a metal one which I coated in leather and stained so it's a bit sportier as you'll no doubt notice. As per usual for Dalton style blade refurbishes, I took the old one and reforged it myself by utilizing a pattern welding technique incorporating different kinds of steel and iron rolled on top of one another like one of those chocolate thingys with the cream in the middle of 'em, you know what I mean? Anyway, I even added a circular pommel so's you can smash craniums to your enlarged hearts content. Oh! I nearly forgot to mention the best part! Take that cleaver, and aim it head-first down yonder towards those target dummies." Rocky did as the blacksmith asked. "OK. Now pull the circular pommel backwards until you hear a click, then twist it clockwise." Rocky pulled the pommel ring back until it clicked. He turned it like a key until it would rotate no more. "OK. Now the fun part. Do you see that little button that just got uncovered at the top of the handle? Aim accordingly, and then press that bad boy." Rocky hovered his thumb over the button, aimed until he thought the blade was level with a dummy's head, and pressed it. The handle kicked back as the cleaver blade was propelled at bullet-speed towards and into the dummy. Connecting the handle to the blade was a long braided metal cord. Rocky guessed the next step, and pressed the button again. The blade came zooming back, cutting through the air until it found its way back into the handle just like a roll of retracting measuring tape. Rocky laughed at the impressive modification and turned to the smith to express his admiration.

"It's an absolute work of art, Sergeant." Rocky complimented.

"And the smiths head grew two sizes that day…"

"Shut up Liona, there's nothing I can do about the size of my head. It's genetic, you know that. Anyway, Rocky, as for the battle rifle, boy are you in for a treat! I refurbished all of the wooden furniture on it, I added a sling, an angled fore grip, and a couple of spare ammo pockets on the stock. As for optics, I threw away that cracked hunk of garbage you called a scope, and I mounted a green dot reflex sight. I even slapped on a laser sight of the same hue to boot." Rocky strapped the cleaver and its sheath around his waist. He then reached for the "Dalton Style" battle rifle. "Oops. One sec." Dalton snatched the rifle before Rocky could and removed the loaded clip with an audible "ding" sound. It shot out and onto the table. "Sorry, I was just testing it out earlier this week. Shoots armor piercers like a dream though!" 'A dream.' Rocky thought. He still hadn't told Liona about his dream. He hadn't told her about Darion Rockwell, the Cavaliers. He tucked away the thought for later and picked up the prewar battle rifle, with all of its post war modifications. He shouldered it and aimed it downrange.

"This feels…better. You enlarged the trigger guard as well, so it could actually fit my entire finger. That's a clever touch, Dalton. For a human, you're not such a terrible smith." Said Rocky.

"Uhh thanks, I guess. For a mutant, you're not so mean and scary." Dalton offered. Liona hopped down from the workbench she had been sitting on and headed for the entrance.

"Alright, let's go Rocky, before you two start liking each other or something."

"Later Liona! Later Rocky dude!" Dalton called after the departing duo.

They walked outside and soon found themselves sitting at their favorite bench.

"So. Knight Rocky. Where'd that come from?" Liona joked.

"I sort of had a dream this morning."

"A dream? What kind of dream?"

"The kind where you're convinced that it's real. That everyone in it is real and everything you see is really there. Almost like it was too real to be a dream, more like a memory."

"I think I know what you mean. What happened?"

"I was remembering a speech first. Maybe reciting it, or writing it I don't know. I wasn't me though, at least, not a super mutant. I was a human. I think I can remember my name now."

"You mean you're name's not Rocky?"

"Well, it could be that Rocky was a nickname or something, but no. I think my real name is Darion Rockwell. Have you ever heard of him?" Liona sat back in her seat and thought for a short moment.

"No, I don't think so. Is that all you can remember?"

"No I was…Sentinel. They called me Sentinel Darion Rockwell. I led a team of Brotherhood Knights called the Cavaliers. Paladin Reese served with me, as 1st Cavalier."

"The Cavaliers? I've only ever heard stories about them… Rocky, this is amazing! He'll be able to tell you everything! So that's why you wanted to be knighted." Liona remembered.

"If what I remember is true, then it's here where I belong. As a Knight."

"This reminds me. There's one more thing that I need to show you."

Rocky accompanied Liona on a long walk to her laboratory, and down its main hallway to the end. To the left of the room where he had been held in, there was another room just like it. Liona unlocked the door and walked in, and Rocky entered the room as the lights turned on. Inside, through a glass window, he saw a familiar trio of mutated faces staring back at him.

"Cerberus!"

"When you first came-to after the procedure, you asked me, 'Where's Cerberus?'. At the time, we didn't know this creature's name, so I had no idea what you were talking about. We found it just before we picked you -"

"I want to see them." Rocky interrupted.

"Rocky… I don't think that's a good idea. You may have been rehabilitated, but they're still just mindless beasts."

"Liona. They're loyal hounds. They've been at my side ever since Roc's first memory. Cerberus never liked hurting anyone, or anything. They wouldn't harm a molerat unless it had my throat in between its teeth. I'll protect you, I swear." Liona knew that she shouldn't release the hounds, but despite her best judgment she walked to the glass door and entered the passcode into the terminal anyway. She then ran back to the entrance, and took cover behind Rocky's massive frame. The three-headed hound head-butted its way through the released door and blitzed Rocky. They tackled him to the ground and bombarded him with licks from all directions. Liona, beginning to relax a little, reached a tentative hand out towards the hounds. Rocky stood and wrapped Liona in his arms to show she was a friend. Cerberus's triplet heads sniffed her for only a moment before giving her hand the same treatment they had given Rocky's face.

"They're…kind of sweet." She said.

"They are the only thing from Roc's life that I cherish. The only thing of beauty he ever encountered."

"Aww, I didn't know you were such a romantic, Rocky!" Rocky's dark green pigmentation was enough to hide his blushing from Liona, and he was thankful for that. They played with Cerberus for a while longer, before eventually saying their goodbyes and locking him back up. Before they departed, Liona told Rocky to get some sleep and to meet her at the Steel Chapel in the morning.