There was a ringing in his ears when he woke up yet again. He couldn't even remember why he'd fallen back asleep, but, this time, there was a tall, angry ghoul standing with his back to him. Eros groaned as he turned over, but didn't flinch as his head throbbed. "Hey… hey, big guy. What's the word?" He wouldn't respond. Eros lay silent until Doc Barrows finally entered, at which point he attempted to get out of bed, only to be forced back down by the tall ghoul. "What the fuck is with this guy, Doc?"
"This is Charon. I've asked Ahzrukhal to have him watch over you to make sure you don't do anything stupid again."
"Again?" No one responded and he huffed. "God, well, as fun as this is, lying here and everything, I'm crazy hungry. Got something for little ol' Erry, Doc?"
'Charon' wouldn't look at me, but Doc at least chuckled a bit before he handed him some angry-looking meat, presumably one of the parents of 'Charon' by how red and fucking quiet it was. "So, kid," Doc started, sitting on a stool nearby, "you want to explain why your head is half crushed?" Eros furrowed his brow. "Figuratively."
As Eros bit into the devilish meat, he shook his head. "I got ambushed by some raiders. I was trying to find the Museum of History on my Pip boy," he swallowed dry hunks of flesh and radiation, "and they saw the light."
"Do you remember what they did to you that injured you?"
"They were all over my damn legs with some knives and," he ripped angrily at the meat again, "they did stuff to my head – kicked it, hit it… you know."
"Well, that explains the drooling," Doc mumbled. "I've been doping you up with Med-x and Stimpaks for awhile, so you should be fine now."
"Awesome. So, I can go? Do you know where the Museum of History is?"
"You're in it, kid." Eros stopped chewing and sighed. "This is the inhabited section, Underworld."
"Crazy, man. Well, do you know some chick called Carol?"
"Whaddya need with her?"
"I've got a letter for her from a guy named Gob." Doc laughed softly and shook his head.
"Short-term amnesia. She's up the left staircase."
Eros nodded and slapped a hand onto Charon's hard shoulder. "Well, thanks for keeping him from the clutches of death, man." Not even a glance.
Carol was easy as hell – a smile, a nice word, and the promise that Gob was doing damn well. She was bouncy and grinning before she'd even opened Gob's letter, and he could feel a glare from another ghoul girl who was fervently waiting tables of slobbering ghouls on the brink of feralism.
Gob was one of the first people Eros had met fresh out of the vault. He'd kept his eyes down and called him 'sir.'
"Can I get you something, sir? Anything?"
"Um, what've you got?" He got a little more comfortable in his stance.
"Anything you want, sir. Beer, Vodka, Scotch…"
"Can I get some Stimpaks, please?"
"'Please?' You ain't from around here, are you? You ain't gonna hit me or something? Yell at me, maybe? Not even berate me a little?"
Eros laughed, which made the ghoul tense up. "Of course not, man. You been sleepin' with my girl or something? I haven't got anything against you. Why?"
"Come on, smoothskin. Look at me. Everyone here gives me shit for looking like a corpse."
"I don't know – I kind of like how you look. I find the human anatomy beautiful – and the fact that i can see your muscles is like porn for me." I'll admit, he overdid the situation a bit, but it was his style back then.
"Well, see, Charon – the use of the words "he" and "she" indicate that who or whatever you're talking about has a gender. Gender means that reproduction is a probability, and thus, a brain is generally present. When a brain is present, then a soul – or something like it – is, and this is why I get really weird about people using "he" or "she" to talk about someone I've just killed. Get it?"
Of course Charon fucking got it. The kid had been talking to him nonstop for nearly half an hour about whatever the hell came to his mind. He'd starting with his deep-rooted hatred for anything carrying a knife and it somehow turned into a one-sided existential debate.
"Look, Charon – I've got this idea about DNA. If we could somehow directly manipulate the proteins that make up a DNA strand, we could ultimately put there was was originally meant – like fixing a mutation – we could cure so much! I mean, there's cancer, mental illnesses, and other… things." Eros finished awkwardly, staring intently at his beer as he thought about what he'd said. "I mean, it's probably a good thing that the stuff needed doesn't exist, because the government and all would probably take control of it all and make everyone look and think and act the same. It'd be a goddamned Cyberpunk age, Charon."
Business was rather slow that day, but Ahzrukhal thanked Eden that that damn talkative kid was buying beer and scotch every 20 minutes or so. He was only letting Charon be bothered so ungodfully because there was nothing that called for Ahzrukhal's attention – such as stealing, fights, et cetra. Otherwise, he'd have had the kid thrown to the ferals and made Charon smack a few drunks around. He sighed, wishing he could see that fuckin' kid get ripped apart – probably by the mouth first.
"I guess we should be thankful that we at least don't live in a full-fledged Cyberpunk world. You know what Cyberpunk is, right? I read about it in a magazine in the vault. It was a minute movement in the 'punk' culture - it was a breed that died as soon as it started. It couldn't survive with all the 'propriety' in the Pre-war culture. Anyway, Cyberpunk was full of teenagers, mostly, and miserable old men who wrote about humanity giving way to technology and letting itself get used by its own leaders. Deep shit.
"Well, anyway, the only real difference between our current society and what was generally put out in books of that genre is the technology. I mean, I love to dabble in some computer tech every now and then, but there's very few interesting things that computer do anymore. Back before the war, I hear that they were working on synthetic people. You know how awesome it'd be to be an android? I only say that because of my whole brain theory. I mean, androids are said to have developed feelings, emotions, and stuff like that, so it's only plausible that they, despite being machines – hey, Ahzrukhal! Can I have some more scotch? – they have souls, right?
"Then the question of whether we can really call them computers or not arises. A computer's just something that computes, right? But we've changed it to mean a specific device that can output information that previously had been input. They're really no better than a piece of paper with writing on it, so how can we call it a computer? It computes nothing."
As much as Charon would have rather not admitted it, the kid at least had something new to talk about. He wasn't just rambling on about how his toe always hurts or how his psychotic rages were brought on by his dad's neglect like every other drunk in the past few centuries.
There was a moment during which Charon realized that there were no words. He could hardly resist looking at the boy to see if he'd kicked the bucket. He was, unfortunately, disappointed as the smoothskin continued; however, the words, now, were cautious and slow, as if trying to tear a response from the ghoul.
"You ever think about the senses Charon? I think about sight and touch a lot. See, I'm looking at you right now, and when I look at you, I have to process you into my brain and the information never really goes away. It's like leaving a scar on someone, but not unsightly." The kid's demeanor had changed dramatically. He was no longer talking about whatever he felt like – and his words didn't come falling out in a nearly disorganized manner. "And then there's touch. Imagine all the beauty of it – a single finger containing so many nerves, sending information to the brain about the texture, the tempurature… the pure everything about whatever it touches. Have you ever been touched, Charon? Have you ever kissed a girl?
"Imagine that – kissing. It's so damned close to the brain; it's got to be pretty damn amazing, eh? Especially since the lips are so beautifully fragile and virtually unprotected. It's like sex." He was silent again until he decided to slowly exit the bar, without a glance back at either Charon or any ghoul that had stopped killing themselves to listen to the death in his voice.
Eros felt something rising in his guts. It was primal, in his very depths. He had to hurt something – the beauty of everything was too much. He needed to see it destroyed.
The best kind of victim was always Talon Company Mercs. They always talked a good game until you held a knife near their face. So Eros took one – just one. Besides, he needed a friend when he was in this mood, and only a scared man could provide the company he so craved.
"You know, I've been thinking a lot about sex. Not the act of me having sex, nor other people. It's usually just stuff like how people change and react to certain catalysts provided by a lover's attention. Do you know what I mean?" Eros was toying with a combat knife while pacing before an armorless merc who stared with wide eyes at him.
"It's like this book I read once. There was this man – badass as hell with no damned care in the world, but, then, this chick came along and something just… changes. Then the wonder of how he acts in combat comes to mind. Does she ever appear in his mind while he's slitting some bastard's throat? Does he ever think about her while he's sneaking around trying to find a commander to kill off? It's all so glorious, don't you think?"
"W-what the fuck, man? Why're you holding me prisoner?"
Eros paused, staring straight at the squirming merc. "Blame our leaders, you fucking plebian." The merc flailed; resisted; and, eventually, relented. Eros took to work examining the lips, eyes, and hands of the body, reveling in the pure nature of their make-up.