Talon Mercenary Headquarters? There were only 7 of them in the supposed headfuckingquarters. That took less than the time it took to get here. 7 heads lay on the floor in front of him; their bodies scattered around the room in parts. There was a bullet left in the Blackhawk so Knox fired at one of the lights hanging from the ceiling, bathing the room in dimness. Inhaling the strong scent of fresh blood, Knox closed his eyes as he leaned his head against the wall, sliding down on it until he sat on the floor.
"Hey, man. Stand down and take a rest, will you?" Knox said, his voice sounding strained and breathless. Somewhere to the right, Charon sat down, grumbling something he couldn't catch. The man always did that grumbling thing. At the moment, Knox's nerves were frazzled and his hands were shaking as he patted his body for cigarettes. Fuck it. The packet was empty. He crumpled it and threw it somewhere; it landed with a soft thud. He gnawed on his lower lip, as it craved a cancer stick.
"Boss?"
"Knox, Charon." Knox opened his eyes, focusing on his bodyguard who was watching him intently in the dimness. "You got a stick? A cigarette?" Charon slid his shotgun to his back as he walked over to one of the desks. Knox could hear him rummaging through things; a bottle crashed onto the floor into pieces. Knox laughed while Charon grumbled at the recklessness. When he strolled up to Knox, he held out a cigarette between his ruined fingers. In his other hand was the slim packet where the cigarette came from. Knox took the offered stick between his teeth, lighting it in an instant. Charon held out the packet and Knox stuffed into his jacket. At the first inhale, he let out a low sigh of relief. "Thanks," he grinned, showing bloodstained teeth; he had cut his own lips with his sharp teeth. "Appreciate it." Smoke spirals floated past his lips. Charon still stood in front of him until Knox patted the space next to him which meant 'sit here, man'. Charon obeyed. Those pale eyes never left him. It was strange but Knox could differentiate that gaze now, from everything else. It felt like surveillance, impersonal and passive, sliding just on the surface. Like the Overseer's brand of surveillance. Yet, Charon's gaze pierced past the skin, digging into him like he was on display – and Knox was rarely being observed like that. He stared back.
'His company is rather refreshing isn't it?' Yes. Very refreshing, Ahz. He remembered the barkeep's warning spoken in an almost fond tone. 'But don't mistake his brevity for stupidity. That would be very unwise.' It kind of felt like he was in the wrong or something, like him sitting here was something evil enough to warrant him being called an evil bastard. At the third puff, Knox stood and limped over to the desk, looting for useful things. He didn't particularly care. It was just a habit. If he happened to find more scrap metal, at least, Win would smile a bit more - which would make Carol smile more, indirectly making Underworld a brighter, happier place.
On the wall where the desk was wedged against, there was a massive hole. Charon made that. Knox ran his fingers around the crack, touching and stroking the unforgiving jaggedness. He picked up more bullets from the desk and another packet of cigarettes. He asked if Charon wanted any of the other junk. His bodyguard did the shrugging-rolling-his-shoulders thing before picking up a bottle of purified water. Knox went close to him and placed Stimpaks into the ghoul's hand, fingers brushing the palm. Again, he thought of the many ways why Charon felt different. Was this a killer's hand? Was this what it felt like when a mercenary became a ghoul? Yet, Quinn didn't feel like this, did he? Quinn's hands were rough, calloused, yet kind and gentle. Charon felt… unforgiving. Unfailing. Unflinching. Exactly how his shots with his gun were. There were no second chances. He was the epitome of justice in the Wastes – no apologies, just a blow to the head. Knox smiled at the thought.
"You're injured…" Charon's voice trailed off. Some part of Knox was waiting for the designated salutation while the other part was chastising himself for even considering that.
"Yeah…" Knox coughed out black smoke as he traced the cut on his chest that was caused by a well-timed tire iron. "I don't fucking care at the moment." Knox gave his bodyguard a smile as he pressed bloodstained fingerprints onto important-looking papers – contracts for the killing of Knox. He smirked and let out a chuckle. Picking them up, he shoved them into Charon's face. Charon took his eyes off Knox for a minute to skim the lines on the document; not a single emotion flashed on his face. Stoic and uncaring as ever. It was hilarious. "People want me dead," Knox summarised the gibberish on the paper. "Think you can stop them from busting a cap in my ass?"
"I shall watch your back as best as I am able." A slow smile spread across Knox's face but it didn't reach his eyes. Charon stared down at his employer, and then gazed back at the paper. Knox noticed the way Charon shifted forward slightly, towering over him as he read the fine print on the kill contract. Damn, he was tall.
"They want me dead cause I saved a town from being nuked." Knox set the kill contract on fire, still holding on to it till the flames stung his skin. The ashes dropped to the floor. "Fucked up, isn't it. The world is fucked up." The cigarette hung loosely from the corner of his mouth as he spoke. He just realised he hadn't gone back to Megaton for almost a year.
He took out a combat knife from his pack and started carving up the bodies. He wasn't particular about the knives he used. As long as they could cut, they were fucking blades in his book. Skilful fingers made an incision down the middle of the chest, straight and unwavering. The bonesaw came out then and Knox peeled off the epidermis for fun before ripping off the rest of the layers of skin. Fresh blood pooled on the surface, then made shiny trails down the sides of the body. He separated the meat off the ribs, the pectoralis major, the latissimus dorsi; some cannibals would like those. 'It tastes best near the bones' or so they say. Knox, almost reverent, snipped out the heart. It lay dead in the palm of his hand and he gave an experimental squeeze causing crimson to dribble out over his fist and onto the floor. Thick, deep red. Gesturing with his other hand, Charon handed him an empty IV drip packet which he filled with blood. Knox licked his lips as he set it down. It looked bloated and inviting. He punctured the stomach, all through the lining, making gunk escape the muscle. A small smirk made its way to his face as he gutted the body like it was a Brahmin. Doc wanted the liver. Kidney. Heart. Brain. The works. Sounded like he was making a sandwich. The body was flayed open like a frag grenade had set off within it. Knox pushed back his hair as he shifted to work on the next body. Red smudges tinted his face.
After saying goodbye to remaining pieces of the dead, they left. Knox checked his pip-boy to set them on the right direction. If they were lucky, they'd reach home by nightfall. Heh. Home = Underworld. When had that happened? As he let his eyes wander lazily over the terrain, Knox plunged a Stimpak into his wounds, feeling the muscle stitch itself up. It felt so clinical, yet the needle felt good.
"Be cautious," Charon's voice came at him. Knox nodded as he threw the empty syringe down onto the ground together with the spent cigarette. He took a few glances of the scene he left and imprinted it on his mind. That was what the Talon Company would find when they returned.