So with Fallout 4 coming out soon, super hyp with that, I wanted to add some things that I think will be present in the new gen games. This is good because it helps with my overall story arc. A little less action in this chapter, hope you enjoy!
Chapter 9
Tyler and Luther are working the handles of the rial car while Nick and Clover attempt to quiet Maria. Well, Nick at least is trying, Clover gave up half an hour ago. Nick is still not sure about the strange woman, and neither Luther nor Tyler have given much insight as to where she came from. While he would like nothing more than to tear the woman with the strange haircut a new one for her snobby attitude about the baby, Maria has kept him busy since they left the pitt. While the crib they found her in is a wonder of cryo technology and could probably keep her perfectly preserved for days, Nick isn't sure he is good enough with the technology to properly monitor her life sines. Thus Maria has been out of the crib for the majority of the trip, and she has been a handful.
Nick hadn't realized just how difficult taking the girl along with them would turn out to be. At the time, he had been so focused on making sure that Ashur and anyone else from the pitt never again managed to cause such misery that he hadn't considered what may have been best for the small girl. Hell, he hadn't even thought to look for any sort of baby milk, diapers, or formula or anything in that case. Luckily Luther had and had nabbed a a few weeks worth of child supplies from the mansion before they even came across that man Luther and Tyler called Wernher.
Nick had no idea who the man was or what made him dislike him so much, but from what he was told about the bastard later he was glade he hadn't trusted him. Maria lets out a loud cry and he sighs. He reaches into the nearby footlocker and takes out her baby bottle. He mixes together some formula and picks lifts her out of her crib. He attempts to give her the bottle, but she pushes it away feebly and cries even louder. "Shit." he mutters tiredly. All of that, all that fighting, killing, and mayhem just to get stuck with a fucking whelp. He again offers the girl the bottle and again she refuses it.
"Fuck," Clover shouts from the back of the rail car where she is curled up at Tyler's feet, "will you shut that little bitch up! I am trying to get some sleep!"
Nick's tempter flares, "I don't know what she wants damn it! I have offered her the bottle, she cries! I try and put her down for a nap, she cries! At least I am trying! If it were left to you we would have left her in a dumpster back there! So if you are not going to help, the least you can do is keep your whore mouth shut!"
The woman stands and whips out a wicked looking sword. "Call me a whore one more time boy, and I will feed you your own fucking genitals!"
Nick opens his mouth to shout back, but Luther interjects. "Enough!" he roars in a commanding tone that makes everyone, even Tyler, jerks back in surprise. Luther, unlike Maria, had been totally silent since leaving the pitt, occasionally looking over at Nick with a worried expression on his face. Nick watches as Luther steps away from the levers that operate the rail car and walks over to him. Luther holds his hands out for Maria, "Give her to me." Wordlessly Nick hands the child over. He watches as Luther turns himself so that his body shields Maria from the wind and picks up the bottle of formula. Luther takes the top off of the bottle and dips the end into the formula before screwing it back on and offering it to her. Nick watches, unbelieving, as the girl takes the bottle and drinks contently.
Nick, along with the others, watches in amazement as Luther gently rocks back and forth on his feet and hums a gentle lullaby. Once the girl finishes the bottle he continues to rock and hum. Nick can see Maria's eyes getting heavy and so he pushes the cryo crib to Luther's feet and opens the top. Luther crouches down and places Maria gently in the crib and proceeds to swaddle her in the blankets, as if he had done it a hundred times before. The little girl yawns once, then falls asleep. Luther closes the top of the crib and activates the cryo. He taps in a few keys and stands back up. "There, that should keep her for a few days. I set the timer so the crib will automatically open in a day for her to be taken out and burped." He looks at Nick and winks, "I will leave that to you."
Luther rejoins Tyler at the hand crank and Nick falls back into a sitting position. "Shit," he mutters looking up at Luther, "I never knew you were a mother type person." His tone is dark and there is contempt there as well. Even he is taken aback by the harshness in his own voice, but he says nothing to take it back. Luther, however, does not look offended.
"Hey," Tyler grunts, "the kid does have a point. I have know you for a long time. Never saw you act that gentle with anyone. What, marital duties tied in with genocide and using humans as test subjects?" Nick has no idea what Tyler is talking about, but notices that Luther bristles at his words. Luther does not speak, but the gentle look he had while holding Maria is gone and has been replaced by an unreadable mask.
Nick grumbles under his breath and dangles his legs off of the edge of the platform. He looks out at the horizon. Far behind them he can still see the orange haze of the pitt. As they were leaving fires were raging everywhere. It also sounded as through there was still plenty of fighting going on. He thinks of Midea and the kindness she showed him. He hopes she is alright, and that she finds a way to actually make things better for the other scabs. He looks down at the his feet and the earth rushing past beneath them. He rolls his shoulder, feeling the fresh scars on his body stretch. He refuses to grimace as small twinges of pain flare from some of the more painful wounds. While part of him feels as though he has abandoned the scabs and the others in the pitt, the rest of him hopes that they can't control the fires and that the whole place goes down in flames.
Turning his gaze in the direction they are traveling, he attempts to remember the wasteland he was taken from. It is strange. He has only been gone for a few weeks, but it feels as though it has been an eternity. He tries to think of some good memories, he tries to convince himself that he wants to go back, but all he can think of are the raiders who captured him, the people who tried to kill him, and the fucking slavers who sent him to the pitt. The anger that has become such a familiar part of him recently surfaces. He wants a place where he does not have to fight for his life. He wants a place where he feels safe. He looks over at little Maria's crib, and is envious of her. She has such a place. While in her crib nothing can touch her. She lives on, unaware and unaffected by the harsh world outside.
He growls. A low, rumbling sound that comes from the back of his throat. He pushes his palm against the metal flooring of the rail car and it makes an empty echoing sound. The sound immediately brings memories of the vault to his mind. Pictures of the long, dark, metal hallways fill his mind. The faces of all the people he ever knew swim in his eyes. Even there, in the place where he was born, he had never felt safe. He had always hid from the others. To avoid what they thought of him. He tries to imagine how they would all react to to seeing him now. Covered in the dirt, sweat, and blood of the wasteland. They would drive him out again. The only one who would even try and look past the outside would be...
Amata. Her face fills his mind, blocking out the faces of all the others. He pictures her, wondering if she has changed any. How long has it been since he left? A month, two months, a year for all he can tell. He thinks about her, remembering all the trouble she used to get the two of them into. The spark in her eyes whenever she came up with some prank they could pull on the the vault bullies. What would she think of him now? If she looked past all the dirt. All the the sweat. All the blood. Does he know himself?
He closses his eyes and concentrates. His name is Nick. He came from the vault. He was forced to leave because of his dad abandoning him. He as to find his dad and find out why. He travels with Tyler, Luther, and now a woman named Clover and a baby named Maria. He can't remember if he has enough caps to fund the trip to GNR where his father supposedly went last. The trail is cold now. He has killed. He has killed a lot. He has killed others who were scabs, slaves, and he did it for revenge. He got his revenge. He liked getting his revenge. It felt good. He opens his eyes as he realizes what Amata would think of him. She would cast him out as well.
Tyler lifts his nose and sniffs at the air. Something has changed. The wind has been moving over them due to their speed, but now it is moving faster. He looks down at the sand and dirt rushing by beneath the rail car and can see small swirls of dust swishing by the tracks. He looks out at the horizon, and his eyes widen as he sees the distant haze that can only be one thing. He steps away from the hand crank and rushes over to the foot locker. "Tyler," Luther shouts, "whats wrong?" He does not answer, he just points at the cloud in the distance. A few seconds later Luther is right next to him, helping him frantically search the locker.
"What," Cover asks nervously, "what is the matter lover?"
Tyler finds the gas masks and stands back up. They don't have filters attached to them. "Shit." He looks at Clover. "A Dust storm is coming our way. Look." He points out the now obvious wall of radioactive materials approaching them. "We need to find some filters for these masks or we are done for."
Clover joins Luther in searching the locker. Tyler goes over to where Nick has fallen asleep with the girl's cribs wrapped in his arms. He gives the kid a small kick to the legs to wake him up and tosses a mask to him. "Put this on, don't ask why, just do it." Nick grumbles but pulls the mask on. Tyler pulls his on and turns back to Luther and Clover. "Come on damn it," he shouts, "they would not put masks on this hunk of shit without filters!"
"Got them!" Luther shouts over the now howling wind. He stands and tosses two to Tyler before pulling on his own mask and helping Clover with hers. Tyler attaches his filter and takes a deep breath of the pure oxygen filling his lungs. He turns to the kid and grabs his face, which causes the kid to squirm and curse at him. "Hey," Tyler shouts over the wind, "this is me trying to save your little fucking life pussy! Again! So stop struggling and let me put this damn filter on your fucking mask!" He finally gets the filter on and gives the kid a hard shove. "Seriously, what the fuck is with you all of a sudden?" The kid glowers at him and he does not wait for an answer.
He turns his back on the kid and grabs the crank again. He heaves down on it, struggling to get the rail car moving fast again. Their momentum has slowed drastically. Now he can barely get the mechanisms moving again. The rail car is quickly enveloped by the howling winds and stinging sand. Luther joins him and they pick up speed. "We need to get into cover before the tracks are buried!" Luther shouts over the wind. Tyler nods and together they struggle to keep the car moving. Nick appears through the haze and joins Luther on his side. The three of them keep the car moving, but Tyler can tell they are slowing down. He can't see his hands anymore, and he hopes that Clover and the baby are still on the car.
They crank and crank. The winds keep howling. Tyler's arms quake. His teeth are gritted and every heave feels as if it may be his last. He can feel small pieces of radioactive dust working its way into the cracks of his armor. The small flecks burn like tiny embers stuck to his bare skin. All around them there is the eerily green glow of the radiation carried by the storm. He heaves and pulls his side of the crank down. As he does, his grip slips and he falls forward. The crank comes up to meet him, slamming into his face and shattering the glass of his mask. The filtered air is sucked out and almost instantly dust and sand start filling the space.
Blood spurts form his nose and eye and he can feel his consciousness slipping. He tries to stand, pushing himself up onto his arms, but the crank comes back down and slams into the back of his head. He falls onto his face and does not try to move again. He attempts to cover the mask, hoping to keep some of the radiation out, but he cant. Bits of glass, dirt, and sand cut at his face. He attempts to call out, but his mouth is stung by the sand and his voice is carried away by the wind. He can feel it. The radiation is in his skin and lungs. He can feel it burning through him. What a shitty way to die.
A hand suddenly latches onto his ankle and drags him backwards. Clover's face swims before his unfocused eyes. She wraps a blanked over his head, shielding him from the storm. He imagines he can hear her voice. Calling him lover like she always does. He smiles, feels some blood trickle out of his mouth. An angle. An angle made of killing and curses. If he is going to die, at least it is with an angle that fits him perfectly.
The foot that he must not bite comes at him. He leaps back and growls, baring his canines. "Mutt." the voice of the master chides. He shrinks back into his cage, not sure what he had done to make the master made this time, but still angry at the foot that he must not bite for trying to make him hurt. "Come out of there," the master yells, "fighting time!" Fighting time. Words that mean to kill. He stalks out of the cage with his head lowered. He sniffs the air. This place is new. He has not fought here. New place. New fights. New hurts.
A hurt comes when the foot that he must not bite lands on his flanks and forces him forward into the new fight bowl. He lowers his head and sniffs again. He can smell the other now. Burn. Rot. Dead things. That is the others smell. He does not like the ones that smell like this. They do not stop. They keep fighting, keep hurting him, even after all the hurt he gives them should have made them stop. He growls low in his throat, and the people watching mutter with words he does not understand. Some he understands, fighter, good teeth, strong legs. All of these praise him. He hopes the master hears and gives him a treat that he must not beg for later.
The cage door across from where he is in the fighting bowl opens and the other walks in. Death, decay, rot. The other does not look like it should. It looks like the hurt took it a long time ago. Others like that should not live. They should belong to the hurt. That way they would never be able to give him any hurt and he would only have to fight others like him for treats. The other does not sniff, he has no nose left, but it howls. It is not a good sound. Not the hunting noise it should be. The other comes for his throat, to give him some hurt.
He leaps away, avoiding the hurt for now, but he knows there will be hurt later. He circles, hoping the other will expose its flank, but it does not. The other whirls around and leaps at him straight on again. This time he is not quick enough and the other's teeth latch onto his leg. He howls as the hurt spreads in his leg. He brings his head down and rips at the other's stomach. The taste of the rotted flesh is not good. No good for eating. He rips into it anyway. He hopes that he gives the other a lot of hurt. The other does not release his leg. He latches his jaws around the other's rib cage and wrings his head. The other's clamp on his leg is ripped away, with a lot of hurt and his own leg, and he lashes about.
He beats the others body against the dirt, not letting up until the other goes stiff. He releases his hold for a second, but right away goes for the throat of the other. This is the best hurt. The best way to give the others to the hurt quickly and make the fighting stop. The other does not whimper. It just goes to the hurt. He likes to think that he helps the others like this one by giving them to the hurt. It has to be bad, being covered in rot. It has to hurt all the time. Going to the hurt all the way must be better than living with it forever.
The hand of the master that gives the treats grabs him by the scruff of his neck and pulls him back. He does not resist, he does not wand the foot that he must not bite to give him any more hurt. Hurt from the others is okay, that is fighting. Hurt from the master is very bad. When the master gives him hurt, he had done something wrong and he deserves it. The master shoves him back into his cage and he lies down. He licks his leg. Licking does not make the hurt go away, but it helps. For a long time the master is away. His stomach makes sounds that scare him and he wishes the master would return with the food that quiets the beast that lives inside of him. The outside gets dark as the big shiny goes to its cage and he curls up, believing that the master has forgotten him this night.
He starts to rest, but a light shines into his cage and he stands. The master is back, and there is another of the two legs with him. Master opens the cage door and calls him out. Something must be wrong. It is too late for the master to be feeding him. He slinks out with his tail between his legs and his head low, hoping that whatever he had done wrong is not bad enough for the master to give him any hurts. "Sit." the master commands. He does, but he does not lift his head.
"Well, he does not look all that fearsome now." A new voice says.
"He is," the master says in his firm voice, "you saw him in that fight. He is worth every cap. I assure you. You will not find a better dog. For guarding or for fighting. He is very well trained. Obeys orders well."
"Will he listen to me?"
"He should, just give him the treats I showed you. Give him those a few times and he thinks you are his new owner." This is true. He has had other masters before. Each of them so different. The first who was so gentle and loving. The second that was so demanding and strict. The third that was strange and never had him do anything. Then this master. The one he as been with the longest. The one who makes him earn his keep and fight. The one who does not shy away from giving a hurt whenever he does something wrong.
"Fine," the new voice agrees gruffly, "I will take him." There is a clinking of the small metals that the two legs like so much but are not good for eating and the master walks away. The two legs who owns the gruff voice bends down and lifts his head, making him look in his eyes. "You belong to me now, mutt." the new master says. He understands, but has no way of showing it. "You probably will have a lot of getting used to to do. Oh well, here," he says offering a treat, "have one of these." He takes the treat and chews it happily. The new master tells him to follow and he does. The new master takes him to a tent and orders him to sleep at the door, he does.
When morning comes, he watches as the master folds up the tent and loads it into a box which is then given to one of the two headed four legs that he is allowed to eat but only when dead or cooked. The master tells him to follow the two headed four legs and they all start walking. All day the walk. They leave the fights behind. He wonders, if this new master will have him fight in bowls like the the old master did. He hopes not. He did not like all the hurt from the bowls. The two headed four legs is unsure of him for a long time, but then gets used to him being around. He decides he likes the animal and that he will not eat it even if it is dead or cooked. What a strange new life he has. Every day filled with walking and the gruff voice of the master who has not yet given him any hurts. This life is better. He will keep it.
So here we are at the end of chapter 9, approaching chapter 10. I wasn't sure about using dogmeat's perspective and was even more unsure about how to write it. If you liked let me know, if you think I should keep it, let me know. Hope you guys like it, stick around to find out what becomes of Tyler, if he lived that is...