Deep breath. Not too deep, though. Don't want to choke on that boiling air.

"Like ya fuckin' mean it, kid!"

The nicked and notched bayonet swam through the dust to find me, but I had ducked and rolled away to the right just in time. But as I popped to my feet, trying to ignore the sore joints in my legs, all I got in return was a kick to the chest.

The air whistled from my lungs and I fell to ground. I arched my back, gritting my teeth as my ribcage seemed to crackle, and quickly tried to roll away again- but Jericho easily stomped on my chest, robbing me of whatever air I had.

I tried to yowl in pain, but all I could do was curl into a ball and bite down on the grip of my hunting knife to keep from breaking my teeth. Shit. I guess I should've been grateful that Jericho's training would leave me with bruises and cuts instead of missing fingers or ears, but shit, I was fighting for my life out here.

Jericho chewed on the stub of his cigarette, unimpressed. It had snuffed out a while ago, but he kept it stuck between his teeth out of habit. Bad habit, I kept reminding him. "Look, kid. When someone's less than a step away you can't just roll yer ass to safety. Why do you think people walk instead of roll places, huh? 'Cause we like being slow? Fuck no, use your head!"

The pain in my chest was beginning to fade and I could rake in a few gulps of hot, chafing dust. Tasted like shit. Everything tasted like shit out here. The water, the food, the air...

"'Nother thing! Why'd ya roll to the right? Yer right handed!"

I uncurled and rolled onto my stomach, stretching out my back and legs. Everything seemed to hurt, and the patch of sand right outside Megaton we used as our training space seemed a lot bigger than usual. I blinked a few times, wondering if I had hit my head.

"Situational... action..."

"Not them big-ass Vault words, kid. Sometimes you're gonna get cut, and sometimes there's jack shit you can do. If you had stayed standin', I might've grazed ya, but you still would've been on your feet!"

I took a long, tired breath, and my ribs creaked a I did. Damn it all... "Okay. Alright. Fine."

Jericho spat, stepped back, and began running his cracked and dirty fingernails along the edge of his AKS-74 bayonet. He seemed to be caressing his guns or knives whenever he wasn't using them, smoking, or drinking, I thought blandly as I carefully pulled himself to my feet, wiping the dust off my Vault-tec jumpsuit automatically.

"Leave it on, kid. Camo."

"What?"

"Camouflage." He waved the jagged point of his bayonet at the surrounding wasteland. "See all that? Brown. See this?" he pointed to his grimy, dirt-caked face. "Brown. I'm fuckin' invisible. You, blue-bomber, sure ain't."

He had a point, I hated to admit. You don't spend your entire life being toted as the prodigy of your class to be scolded at for a lack of common sense and take it well. I took it badly, actually. "Fine. Fuck." I tightened the grip on my hunting knife. Thing seemed to get heavier every damn time I picked it up. "Again. Let's go."

Jericho grinned, a crooked and ugly crack in the earth. "Keep diggin' that grave, kid."

I stared. It was hard not to.

Okay, it was a little hard with Jericho blowing cigarette smoke in my face constantly and Billy Creel trying to start up a friendly chat, but out of the corner of my eye I could still watch Gob in amazement.

It was really something. You might not think so, but... it's like those slides they show of muscles and organs and bones and stuff, and how you have to imagine it all working together seamlessly. With these... I hate the word... 'ghouls', you can see it all happening. The muscles and ligaments of Gob's jaw tightening whenever Moriarty passed by, or how the tendons below his eyes would soften whenever he glanced at Nova. More interesting than any science lesson I had ever sat through in the Vault, I can tell you that!

And when he talked! Jesus Christ! You could see his voice box vibrate and everything! Back in the Vault they said nothing about what would happen if you didn't make it to shelter- just that you 'missed out'. On life, I guess. But seeing these... ghouls, made it seem so different. Being able to survive so much fallout... it's like we didn't need the Vaults. It's like human progress would go on no matter what...

"You want something, bud?"

I jumped. Gob met gazes with me, and I stared at those cloudy yellow eyes in morbid curiosity. "Uh... what's he's having..." I said slowly and politely, pointing my thumb over at Jericho.

I regretted that the next morning. Creel thought it was hilarious. Asshole.

I didn't remember much. Just a few faces floating over me against a blue sky. Sherriff Simms, and Doc Church, those two I remember. Simms telling me to stay awake, keep my eyes open. Doc just looked annoyed. Business as usual for him. It all began to fade once something sharp was stabbed into my middle, and a creeping cold numbness began to spread all through my body. At that point, all I could notice was Jericho looked worried and red all over everyone. My red. Jericho never worried.

"So... underground, huh?"

"Yeah." I watched closely as Jericho ran a finger along the rim of hid chipped and scratched glass, scotch untouched. "You just live here?"

He looked up at me oddly. "Yeah. There's nowhere else to live. Why?"

I shrugged. "Just... I don't know. Seems like there's nothing here."

"There's nothing anywhere, kid. Wasteland, remember?"

I soon figured out- without much trouble- that it took a lot to faze Jericho.

No one likes flashbacks, but that's that. Sorry about the long wait. Actual story will progress now.