John was bored, bored and a little irritated.
The wonderful feeling he'd gotten when ambushing a few raiders had faded away a day ago, just like the satisfaction of saving that poor prisoner before that. He wanted more...but so far there had been no evil to destroy. There had been a few mole rats...but those didn't give him any satisfaction. All in all he was anxious to make some progress. Then there was of course the diarrhoea...
"Damn wasteland food..." He muttered as he closed the gate behind him. "Tastes like crap and a killer on my stomach..." To be fair the worst seemed to be over as his stomach was getting used to the filthy grub that seemed to be the usual in this desert, though that didn't mean he couldn't be irritated with it, it wasn't dignified dammit!
Focusing on the present John looked around with inquisitive eyes. He had actually arrived at the edge of DC! He had seen it from a distance, such an impressive sight...massive buildings stretching towards the sky, as if reaching for heaven...a testament to human intelligence. Of course it had been less impressive when he came close enough to see the damage. It had actually been a little painful, to see those impressive buildings smashed open, some reduced to nothing but rubble...
Another testament perhaps...to human foolishness?
Of course, when the initial awe of the sight had worn off he had found himself struggling in actually getting in. It seemed as if every entrance was blocked by rubble, some which actually seemed to have been produced on purpose. The few entrances he had seen were guarded by super mutants...and though he was filled with vigour of his recent victories he wasn't so foolish as to take them on with only a pistol.
So now he was here, in what remained of a subway station. The place was surprisingly untouched, obviously having weathered the atomic war quite well. If he concentrated he could even make out a few words on the old poster to his left... To the right an old vending machine stood, sparking into action before shutting down in short intervals. Amazing what durable stuff they created back then....not only the machine worked...even the lights, well most of them, seemed to be working.
Debris littered the ground, a few empty soda bottles, half a dozen rusty cans and a leather briefcase...John couldn't help but feel he was looking at a scene of chaos that somehow had been frozen in time. Who had dropped the briefcase? Had he died when the bombs had fallen? Or had he escaped somewhere safe?
Further ahead he saw a few ticket gates, a faint glow still coming from the slit where you were supposed to stick the ticked in. The booth to the right of them, a cylindrical thing of blackened steel, had probably once contained a guy who was supposed to make sure you actually paid for the trip...With a snort John crossed the area and leapt over a ticket gate, pistol in hand, like anyone would dare to stop him!
There, another briefcase, this one broken open, revealing a brown teddy bear and a burnt book. Ignoring it John glanced over to his left, seeing a worn looking metal door with the letters 'MAINTANCE' painted across it in dull red. Great, probably a bunch of wrenches and light bulbs, John really would like it to say 'armoury' instead, no such luck though. Further ahead he could see the station open up before him...
Squinting he edged closer...ahead the station opened into a wide platform from which broken escalators ran down to the main floor beneath. The platform itself had a scorched white railing...and a small wooden construct in the middle where a broken down blue car lay...some sort of display? He had of course read of such extravagance, but it was shocking to see it after the Spartan vault conditions, it was something born out of a different world.
Then he noticed the movement. Ahead of the display and to the left a man was squatting behind a white stone bench that had broken in the middle. John cocked his head to the side, the man seemed extremely gaunt and dirty...though that was quite common here in the wastes there still seemed to be something different about the man...he seemed to twitch every time he moved.
Maybe a raider high on jet? He seemed unarmed though...and eating something? Stepping closer John squinted, trying to penetrate the fog of dust drifting from the ceiling. The man didn't notice him though, too busy with his meal. Taking a furtive step unto the main platform of the metro station John finally realized it.
The man was a ghoul. A ghoul that somehow was even uglier then Gob, and from the looks of it...even worse off. Wearing only a broken pair of shorts, and exposing a rotting torso where the ribs stuck out obscenely. Poor starving bastard...it was shocking that he could even stand. John lowered his gun, that poor wretch was anything but a danger. "Hey man? I don't want to bother you but...."
Then he saw the foot sticking out from behind the bench...a foot that twitched every time the ghoul reached down, under the bench there was not just shadows...there was blood.
The ghoul turned to face him, the milky eyes were wide with madness...oh shit...with a spine-chilling hiss the ghoul raised his hands above his head and reared his head back. Stumbling back John felt a fear he thought he'd defeated grasp his heart... Then the ghoul leapt at him, easily clearing the bench...taloned hands reaching out, hands drenched in blood...
"Ahh!" Remembering that he actually had a gun John jumped away from a swinging hand and fired off a volley.
The crazed ghoul stumbled back, blood pouring from three wound across the chest...an odd coughing sound escaped it as it keeled over. Lying face down it was still twitching though, as if till wishing to rend him limb from limb...zombie... "Whew!" John breathed out, a memory of watching old horror films as a child haunting his mind, he had really been too young for those...
Then he heard it.
More hisses, the sound of bare feet slapping against tiles...John's eyes widened as shadowy forms begun to rush up the escalators. One of them leapt right over the old car, nimbly landing in front of it with arms extended to its sides, mouth open in a wordless cry of rage. Others were coming out of the shadows, monsters...dozens of them!
"Get away you creeps!" John swept the pistol in front of him and emptied his clip. Two of the creatures stumbled under the fire but didn't fall...and all were coming at him...intent on rending him apart. Reloading in a frenzy John took a stumbling step backwards, panic making him sluggish.
Wait...was the car on fire?
A bright light struck his eyes and the world spun around as he was hurled backwards.
Pain!
John groaned, his back aching from where it had stuck the ticket gate. Ticket gate? Had he been hurled thirty feet backwards? And he was still concious? John's legs felt heavy as he struggled to his feet, using his free hand to steady himself against the rough metal of the ticket gate...he mumbled a curse and looked over at the platform.
There was not much left of the car, a few burning pieces of metal strewn all over the place...along with scorched pieces of flesh covered in dark blood. "Oh God...thank you." Shaking his head John cleared off the ringing sound in his ears...only to hear more hisses. "...no!" More shapes were coming up the escalators, mindless monsters hungry for his flesh...
Blinking John felt new pain assault him, this time from his right leg, a burnt wound across it where a piece of debris had hit him...he wouldn't be able to run with that. "Oh this sucks..." Groaning John clutched his head, the world still seemed to be spinning...where had his gun went? Had he even managed to reload? They were getting closer dammit!
He didn't remember as much as he sensed the door being to his left. Keeping his head low he wobbled over to it...and breathed a sigh of relief as it gave way and let him enter the room. A quick search and he found a heavy latch attached to it...and pushed it into place. Whew...
Suddenly he was knocked backwards when something hurled itself against the door. Hissing, angry pounding...they were just outside! Shaking his head he sat up, he still felt a little woozy...but his mind cleared quickly as he realised his predicament. He was locked up in a small room with no gun...and a bunch of zombies outside!
Slowly getting to his feet he looked around the room. Most of the wall the door was attached to was covered by old metal shelves where a few toolboxes and boxes of detergent lay, an old mop resting against them. To his right there was nothing but an red box storing a long hose. Behind him..wow.
John recoiled at the sight. The wooden counter ran down the whole wall, metal components strewn about it...and a chair with a skeleton facing it. The skeleton was almost black in colour, still sitting on the chair and resting its head against the counter it was remarkably whole, the worn jumpsuit it wore and the stringy ligaments still keeping it together. It almost looked as if the skeleton was just taking a nap...
"You must have died by the bombs..." John fought the urge to touch the corpse. It would just break and...there was something wrong with disturbing such a thing, disrespectful. Forcing himself to look away John tried to find something more useful, which he found by the wall opposite the red box. "...yet you've left me a present."
The console sticking out from the wall was still active...and it was obvious what it was used for. The metal box next to the console was large and had a rectangular window in it, revealing the protectron still on stand-by within it. The protectrons in the vault had all been decommissioned due to overuse, but John still knew them inside out, he was his father's son after all...
Feeling fresh hope he stepped up to to the console and slapped the button on its side, making the thing push forward its keyboard and flicker out of its sleeping-mode. Ah, password protected...how quaint. John grinned a little, he still remembered when the overseer had raged at the change of announcements in the vault speaker system...
Amata...he really should fix his pip-boy.
Focusing on the task at hand John pushed through the security programs. Though the sound of the door being bashed at behind him was a little worrisome...he felt calm before the screen. This was familiar stuff, something he knew how to work with. Lets see, old archives, some memos...ah, protectron activation.
With a hiss of pressurised air the recharge chamber opened, the hinges creaking a little but still swinging open enough for the droid to step out. The blade like protrusions at the ends of its arms spinning around as it checked its operational status. "Protectron. Active...Time Expired Since Last Use: Two hundred And One Years...Ago. Scanning...User...Deceased. New User ID...Required."
"New user reporting, acknowledge by console password: Omega one." John stepped forward, letting the machine get a good look on him. He was standing right in front of those arms he knew ended in some mean lasers...which really was perfect. He wasn't the least worried about the rusty bucket of bolts turning them on him...
"Password...Correct. New User...Acknowledged. Protectron N6...Operational. Awaiting...Orders."
"Protectron N6, initiate riot control, lethal force authorized." John smiled as he moved to the side, giving the droid a clear run to the door.
"Riot Control...Lethal Force..." The machine echoed, old algorithms working to understand the order. "Acknowledged. Scanning...Eight...Rioters...Found." The thing took a furtive step forward. "Suppression Initiated." With its programming set the droid marched over to the door, it's 'hand' reaching for the door even as it spoke. "Leave Now Or Be Destroyed. Lethal Force Has Been...Authorized."
Of course the ghouls didn't react though, the senseless beasts not understanding the danger they were in.
"Oh man..." John slipped to the floor, suddenly feeling dizzy again. Oh...this was different, not that of his brain being jogged. This was blood loss. "Great, just great..." Reaching into the duffel bag by his side John dug out the two stimpaks he'd found in the super mutant camp as well as what little bandages he'd bought over in Megaton.
The work was quick, he'd treated enough people as his father's assistant to know what he was doing...though it was a little disquieting watching his own wound being stabbed by needles while he was wrapping it in bandages...
He barely heard it when the protectron begun to fire, nor when its scything arms sliced through rotting flesh, spilling blood everywhere. He didn't hear it when the protectron confirmed the hall to be empty, or the clanking of it walking out into the metro to find more 'rioters'...he couldn't hear anything after he drifted off.