To be perfectly honest, I don't think either Krow Blood or I know whether or not Sarah Lyons is alive or dead. We haven't come to a decision on that score. I know that makes us sound horribly unprepared, but the fact is that I kinda killed her because that's what the muse demanded, not because it's what we had originally planned. We all know she can come back. Krow and I can make that work, the question is should we? As always happens when we can't decide, I'm going to open it up to the floor. I'm asking you, guys. Should Sarah Lyons survive? Should she stay dead? Is this a fitting ending for her? If she lives, what do you think should happen? What do you want to happen? Give us a hand here and help us put this story together for you!
Also, I've been traveling up the west coast of Australia over the past month. I'm in Darwin at the moment. I've seen two power outlets and had no access to decent Wi-Fi until now. So this time my slow update is not due to my muse!
Mutatis Mutandis 34
Glade was standing on the hillock above Vault 101. His fist slowly closed over the lone wanderer's red bandana, taken from Sarah's body. A few shallow graves had been dug. In the packed, sunbaked soil. Several members of the Brotherhood had died in the Vault uprising, including Sarah Lyons. She was buried there, alongside the wasteland dead, brotherhood and Wasters alike. Glade was thankful in a way, that she had been put to rest. His last conversation with her weighed heavily on his mind. His dread and curiosity over what had happened at Point Lookout was matched only by his fond memories of the woman she had been, and the overwhelming bitterness that came with his failure to help and protect her.
There had been no eulogies. No one had the heart. He stood at the foot of Sarah's grave. His mouth was clenched shut, and he was breathing heavily through his nose, glaring past her grave into the vault below it. He could just imagine all the Vaulties, scurrying back and forth in panic as the Enclave forces looted and pillaged all of their technology. The world beyond their unassailable vault door had been revealed, not to mention their perilous position therein.
Planting that grenade in the vault door mechanism had been the most satisfying thing he'd ever done. He had locked their door open. There was no hiding from the Wasteland now. No hope of simply locking themselves away, the vault dwellers' lives were on the line now, just like everyone else's. Though he still had enough investment in the wasteland left to fight and win, he hoped that if Commander Jackrum's army lost, the mutants would show the cowards no mercy.
Even if Jackrum won, Glade knew that Vault 101 would have a hard time in the wasteland. Though the residents of Megaton had killed nearly four vault dwellers for every waster they lost, the vaulties' betrayal would not be forgotten any time soon. It was very likely that any vault dweller who chose to wander the wastes would meet closed doors and, possibly, hostile gunfire.
A voice somewhere behind him called out orders to fall in, and he turned away from the grave. It felt good to be out of the vault. He had not realized how much he missed the feel of sunlight on the back of his neck, but his shoulders were weighed down by the situation.
It appeared that Jackrum had handed the wasteland over to the enclave. From the hillock Glade could see divisions of enclave troops marching through Springvale. Their hated black armour was glinting in the bright morning sun, stinging his eyes with the sharp light.
There were more troops than Enclave there, however. Talon Mercenaries in their own black combat armour were moving back and forth, their divisions a healthy mix of Merc and wastelander. Glade could not see all the troops Jackrum had gathered, as many divisions were hidden behind a cliff-face, but he estimated the visible troops to number at least three hundred. That was heartening, at least. Someone had survived and put together a solid, organized military resistance, and despite his distaste for Jackrum's choice in allies, he couldn't help but admire the mercenary's will and ingenuity.
He trudged east, down the hillock and around to join what was left of the rest of the Brotherhood. A single, ragged column situated on the outer edge of the wasteland forces. The residents of Megaton had already been organized into the Talon Company ranks, but the Brotherhood? They had been swept to the side. Put there because no one yet knew quite what to do with them. Rothchild was negotiating, apparently, but the thought was far less reassuring than it should have been. It was not helped by the fact that Glade didn't even really know what was being negotiated. His column numbered less than fifty, most of them barely Knights. Though they kept formation, their eyes were downcast, and he could see his own hopelessness reflected in their tired faces. Kodiak was there. The younger paladin gave him a supportive smile.
"Alright, eyes up!" he called out, taking position in front of them. A few of the knights drew slowly to attention. The rest didn't move at all. "Guys, I know this has been a tough road, but we're standing here with every other Waster. This merc Jackrum's put quite an army together as you can see. I know the Citadel's gone, I know that we've lost so many good friends and brothers, but the fact is that we can still rise! We can still hit those muties where-"
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, PRIVATE!" A voice echoed off the vault's low cliffs. Glade turned. An enclave sergeant was marching furiously up the Springvale road, glaring at him.
"Excuse me." Glade replied coldly. He turned back to his division, all of whom were directing hate-filled looks at the newcomer. "We can still hit the muties where it-"
"WHY ARE YOU STANDING IN FRONT OF MY DIVISION? FALL IN RIGHT NOW!" the Enclave sergeant ordered.
Glade's mouth fell open. "What do you mean?"
"Do NOT give me lip, private, or I'll have you dragged in front of Lieutenant Summers!" the sergeant snarled, coming to a halt in front of Glade.
"I…"
"Shut your mouth and fall in!" the sergeant motioned at the division. "You're a member of the Enclave now. A soldier of the rightful Government of the United States of America –God Bless- and you will fall in!"
"…I see." Glade said skeptically, recovering from his initial shock. It had been a long time since he'd been yelled at like a raw recruit. The Sergeant was a short, red-faced man. Pudgy, despite the rigorous physical standards most Enclave personnel were forced to conform to. He had a bulbous nose and unpleasantly saggy wrinkles which, when combined with the sweat, gave anyone who stared at him too long the impression that his face was slowly melting.
"Who are you?" the Star-Paladin inquired evenly. He kept his temper for the sake of his fellow soldiers, all of whom were watching the exchange closely.
"Fall in and I might deign to introduce myself." The Sergeant replied without missing a beat. Glade had to admit, as a sergeant, the man was effective; exactly the type of soldier he himself would have chosen to run a set of new entries through their paces. Unfortunately for the man, Glade was not a new recruit, and not one to be intimidated, or shouted down.
"What is your name, Sergeant?" he asked again.
The pudgy trooper cocked his head to one side, subjecting Glade to exactly the same examination the Paladin had given him.
"I am Staff Sergeant Manny 'The Masher' McClane. Proud member of the enclave!" he raised his voice, addressing the division of Brotherhood soldiers. "And it is my job to break in new recruits! I've got to get you battle-ready."
"Stand down." Glade ordered.
"No, I don't think I will, Private." The man replied, laughing.
"I am a Star Paladin-"
"No such thing."
"-Of the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel-"
"Which don't exist no more, from what I heard." McClane leered at him. Glade glared back, his blood boiling. Over the Sergeant's shoulder, he could see the rows of Enclave troops. He had no doubt that the recent war was still as fresh on their minds as it was on his, and on the minds of his Brothers. Striking the impudent sergeant, as satisfying as it would be, would undoubtedly result in a firefight. One the Brotherhood remnants would lose.
"That's right. You're mine now, Private." The Sergeant said gleefully. "Now: Fall. In. Line."
Burning with humiliation, Glade gave him one last withering look, and stepped into formation beside Paladin Kodiak.
"Do you really have to subject us to this indignity?" Rothchild sighed. "This is just juvenile."
Across from him, Lieutenant Summers merely smiled.
"It is pretty low, Summers. Even for you." Jackrum added.
"Didn't ask"
"Don't care." The Merc said. "You're stealing their dignity for fuck's sake. It's not like they have much else left!"
"Thank you for that assessment." Rothchild murmured.
"It's just standard procedure." Summers explained in a tone of false assurance. "We want to be sure that the Brotherhood recruits are capable of acting as part of a larger Enclave unit. We want to know they can fight. Both in and out of Power Armour."
"I think it has to be clear that we can." Rothchild reasoned politely, "Otherwise you wouldn't have lost so many troops to us during the war."
Summers glowered.
"They lost the Citadel and everything. They shouldn't don't have to put up with this." Jackrum fought.
"You called us." Summers reminded him. "You wanted us to stay and fight. I can pack up all of my troops and be safe at home within two hours. Do you want that?"
Jackrum gritted his teeth. "No ma'am."
"Good. I just want to make it clear to them that we're in charge now." Summers said, "I don't want to get halfway through the battle and find that the Brotherhood are letting my men die."
"I think at that point we're all going to be too busy fighting the enemy." Rothchild told her. "Please. If my men are going to die, let them die with their colors on. We would do the same for you."
"The Wanderer wouldn't."
"He's not one of us."
"He has a rank, or so I've heard."
"On paper only!" Rothchild exclaimed. "You are just looking for any excuse aren't you?"
"Like you wouldn't."
Jackrum rose to his feet. "We do not have time for this! Summers, I seriously doubt the Brotherhood and the Enclave will get along and we don't have time to make friends. The Brotherhood is with me. Alright?"
"Fine." She snapped, "But if they start gunning my men down-"
"We won't." Rothchild cut in.
"If they do, it's on your head, Jackrum." Summers promised. "We'll help the muties finish the job."
"Alright."
"And no power-armour!" Summers added ruthlessly.
Rothchild balked, but Jackrum nodded his head. "Fine."
"Fine." Summers rose to her feet, her head brushing the roof of their small tent. "If that's all, I think I'm going to go organize the troops."
"Have a blast." Jackrum said.
"Break a leg" Rothchild added.
She glowered at both of them, and exited.
"And several other bones…" the Elder added quietly.
Jackrum was frowning at the map atop their wooden table. His arms were crossed, and his brow furrowed.
"I appreciate the efforts, Mister Jackrum," Rothchild said, "But you cannot let my men out on that field without Power Armour."
"Why not? All of mine are fighting that way." Jackrum replied grimly. "I'll see if we can't rustle up some sets of combat armour for you. Maybe some paint."
"Combat armour…" Rothchild shook his head in disbelief.
"Oh, smarten the fuck up." Jackrum snapped. "Fancy armour and guns didn't save the goddamned Citadel! I got Wasters in my units fighting for their homes wearing nothing but Brahmin skin shirts! It's them I'm worried about because when all the dust has settled it'll be them rebuilding. You guys are a sideshow now. But for this battle, everyone knows the Brotherhood Symbol. You guys ain't the Wanderer, but you're the next best thing."
"Is that what we've been reduced to, then?" Rothchild spat bitterly. "Just… propaganda? Figureheads?"
"Or Martyrs."
"You've got thirty-four of the best fighting men and women-"
"And more things to worry about than stroking your goddamned ego!" Jackrum interrupted. "You're off the throne. I get it. Tough shit. Plenty of settlements got wiped out completely and you're whining cause your fancy toys are gone. Your guys will fight with me, or you can march west and see how long it takes the Enclave to catch up with you. While you're with us I'll keep Summers' goons off your back but that's as far as it goes, right? The landscape's changed. Enclave's in charge now. You're going to have to deal."
"And what about you, Mister Jackrum?" Rothchild asked. "You brought them back, but you know how they treat the Wasteland. Exactly what are you going to be if we win?"
Jackrum bit his lip. "I guess I'll have to jump off that bridge when I come to it. I was kinda hoping the Wanderer would swoop in at the last second and kick their asses out.
"You don't think he'd be angry with you?"
"He already tried to kill me once for it."
"And you're still alive…" Rothchild was surprised.
"Don't read too far into that. I hid behind a table and someone else stepped up to save my sorry skin. Some huge guy in Power Armour. He's been popping in and out of the picture, doing us favors."
"I've seen him." Rothchild blurted out. "He saved us from the mutants."
"Interesting…" Jackrum rubbed his chin. "Fort Bannister would have ended up like the Citadel if he hadn't been there. I wonder what he wants with us."
"Does every good deed have a pricetag?"
Jackrum's gaze snapped up to the elder's face. "You're living on the same planet as me, right? This is the Capital Wasteland. Nothing is done without payment."
"Spoken like a true Mercenary."
Jackrum glared at him.
Rothchild settled back comfortably into his chair. He stared mournfully at the Wasteland map. "I know this has been a long time coming, but I never thought I'd see the day when our chapter truly died. I thought I would at least escape that."
Commander Jackrum blinked, clearly surprised by the Elder's hearfelt admission. "I know what you mean. For a while there I really thought things were looking up for the Wasteland. First the Wanderer, then the water."
"Where is the Wanderer now?"
"Probably dead. He took out Brutus' Behemoths with him though, so at least we've got a fighting chance."
"Do we?"
"I hope so." Jackrum said grimly. "Guess we'll find out tomorrow." He took a puff from his cigarette, and examined the elderly scribe opposite him. "I tell you what, I'm going to go sort out your troops. Even if we lose tomorrow, they'll die with their colors on."
"I appreciate that."
Humiliation was an understatement for the treatment which Sergeant 'Masher' McClane had given them. Pushups were first on the list. Then they went for a quick jog through springvale. The watching enclave troops kept silent, but they all stopped to watch gleefully as the last of the Brotherhood were paraded around the campsite by an Enclave Sergeant.
It was all for show, of course. McClane knew very well that the unit was as fit and combat ready as any of the Wasters, but he was determined to humiliate them in any petty way he could possibly contrive. He was in the midst of breaking down a laser rifle, intending them to recite part names, when he was interrupted. McClane had held the 'Lesson' in the center of Springvale. A crowd of chuckling Enclave personnel surrounded the red-face Brotherhood remnants.
"An' this, Recruits, is an energy cell." McClane exclaimed, holding up the small cylinder. "It's got a positive side, and a negative side. Remember which is which when you put in the weapon! Raise your hands if you've ever loaded a laser rifle before."
The Brotherhood kept their hands down, faces locked in a grim demonstration of self-control.
"Nobody?" the Sergeant ran his eyes across their strict formation. "Not a one'o ya? No wonder the mutants strolled right through the Citadel. Wouldn't have happened if it's been manned by proper soldiers."
Several fists in his division clenched.
"Hello!" The greeting was so cheerful that it threw the division into a state of confusion, offsetting the Brotherhood's slow-boiling anger. Glade recognized Commander Jackrum of the Talon Company. The aging mercenary was striding up to McClane with a fearless, confident air. He did not give the Enclave Sergeant a second glance as he addressed the Brotherhood directly. "I know I speak for most of the Wasteland when I say I'm glad you're going to be here fighting with us."
"This is my division, Waster." McClane interrupted coolly, "I suggest you go back to your unit."
He had barely finished speaking when Jackrum's knuckles impacted his cheek. Silence dropped. All around them, the Enclave soldiers tensed up, reaching for their weapons. Jackrum's blow had driven McClane back a step. The man was holding his jaw with a look of utter shock on his face. Someone in the Brotherhood division whooped.
"I am Talon Company Commander Jonathon Rumsfeld." Jackrum explained, shaking some life back into his fist. "Your commanding officer. I won't be lipped off by a sergeant, Power Armor or not. What you just received was the Five-Fingered court-martial for insubordination. I'll expect a salute next time we pass by."
McClane straightened carefully, giving Jackrum a looked of constrained venom.
"I'll go to Lieutenant Summers!"
"Go right ahead." Jackrum challenged with a cocky smirk. "You don't think what I've promised her is worth more than her sergeant getting a little bruise?"
"I…" McClane opened and closed his mouth several times. Then he scowled and mustered himself. "Typical Waster behavior. So uncivilized!"
"Yet effective. Tell me Sergeant, exactly what were you teaching them?" Jackrum gestured at the Brotherhood, most of whom were grinning.
"I was running them through exercises. The Enclave emphasizes physical fitness."
Jackrum ran an eye down the drill Sergeant's pudgy figure, taking in the way his pear-like shape was bulging through the power armor. "Really?"
McClane self-consciously sucked in his stomach. Behind him, a few of the Brotherhood soldiers were smirking.
"An observant Sergeant would add the word Sir to the end of his answers, by the way." The Commander added smoothly.
"I was also running them through basic arms training." McClane waved the laser rifle vaguely from side to side, his sails having lost all wind. He clenched his teeth. "Sir."
"Excellent idea, sergeant!" Jackrum responded enthusiastically, slipping the rifle out of the confounded sergeant's grasp. Jackrum made sure he had the Brotherhood's attention. He tapped the end of the rifle. "Point this end at the Muties. Pull this bit here to make them die. Anyone confused? No? Good." He turned back to McClane. "Was that so hard?"
"That training does not conform to the Enclave Military Standards."
"No? Well fortunately it's right in the Talon Company handbook." Jackrum faced the Brotherhood. "And that's what I've come to give you the chance to join. You are the Brotherhood of Steel. They may not respect that name-" his arm swept out, pointing at the Enclave soldiers watching from the sidelines. "-But I do. For twenty-five years I've watched from the wrong side as you guys stood between the innocent people of the wasteland, and everything that's trying to tear it all down. I know you and the Talon Company haven't always gotten along either, but right now, the Talon Company isn't just me and my boys. It's everyone who's left. Under my command is every fighting man in the wasteland. Everyone from mercs to raiders to settlers to scavengers. We're all here right now trying to do our part. This is still our home and we're as willing to die defending it as you've always been. You'll be in combat armor, same as me. Same as every Talon Merc. Same as most of the Wasters. But I promise you you'll have your colors, your pride, and a Star-Paladin leading you into battle. I'm speaking for the Wasteland when I say I'd be honored if you'd agree to fight beside us one more time." He flipped the laser rifle end for end and held it out towards Glade, meeting the tired eyes of every man in the division. "How 'bout it?"
All semblance of a formal division appeared to have faded, as the few remaining members of the Brotherhood turned in unison to look at Glade. The man was fixed in position, though his lips were pursed and his brow was furrowed with thought. He was watching Jackrum, weighing the mercenary's words with care. After a few moments he stepped past his comrades and took the rifle. The moment his hands grasped the weapon, he snapped to attention, his drill precise. Glade turned to the fuming enclave sergeant and saluted.
"I relieve you of command, sergeant."
McClane glared at him. Glade maintained the salute, waiting on the proper reply. His face was blank, and utterly professional.
"Anything to say, Sarge?" Jackrum asked delicately.
"I stand relieved, sir." McClane grunted.
"Star-Paladin." Jackrum corrected. A few members of the Brotherhood snorted in satisfaction.
"Eyes front!" Glade barked at his division, "You're Brotherhood fighters representing Elder Owyn Lyons! Pack it up and make the Old Man proud!"
They snapped into formation with the same precision their leader displayed. McClane gave Jackrum a pleading look. The Talon Commander crossed his arms and stared straight back unyieldingly.
"Star…Paladin." The Enclave Sergeant grunted as if the words were being torn from him.
"Much better" Jackrum congratulated.
"You're dismissed, Sergeant." Glade said professionally. "Thank you for your time and attention."
McClane glowered, but crossed the open ground without argument, joining the equally furious ranks of enclave troops.
Glade turned back to his unit. "Brotherhood, Salute!" As one, the division faced Jackrum and snapped their arms up. The Veteran merc returned the gesture wholeheartedly. "Star Paladin Glade and the Brotherhood reporting for duty, sir." Glade said, a certain amount of satisfaction creeping into his voice.
"Get your unit over to the Elementary school and find Sergeant Turner." Jackrum instructed, "He'll get you some paint and get you kitted out.
Glade saluted again and barked the orders back to the Brotherhood of Steel, who marched away with their heads held high. The ranks of Enclave personnel to either side watched them with distain, but made no moves to stop them. Jackrum sauntered after the rapidly retreating column, giving members of the crowd cheerful nods as he passed.
Lieutenant Samantha Summers had retired to her private Vertibird. A makeshift desk had been set up in the back of the aircraft, and she had a portable computer terminal plugged into the aircraft's nuclear power supply. She was typing her latest reports when the aircraft door opened and an Enclave sergeant stepped through. Summers recognized him. Manny McClane, one of the more zealous patriots, but a useful man.
The sergeant marched up to her desk and saluted smartly. "Ma'am, a waster just stole the Brotherhood from us."
Summers looked up at him. "I know. I cleared it with him."
"I told him to report back to his unit, and he hit me. Told me it was a five-fingered court-martial." McClane pointed to a rather large bruise which was forming on his cheek.
She shrugged. "The Talon Company are a band of mercenary scumbags. I suspect the phrase 'Disciplinary professionalism" has too many syllables for them to comprehend. Let it go for now, Sergeant."
"Ma'am?"
"My orders are to cede to his authority." Summers explained patiently, "They come straight from the top. Jackrum is useful to us. He has proven that he can keep the Wasters organized and fighting for us. Until we have solidified our hold on the wasteland, we are to withhold any punitive measures."
McClane's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Will all due respect, Ma'am, the mongrel struck me! In front of our men! We're going to let that go?"
"I am not defending him, Sergeant. We are using him. Have no fear, the moment the mutants are dealt with, the Lone Wanderer, Three-Dog, Commander Jackrum and his precious Brotherhood of Steel will all be put on a firing line and summarily executed for their crimes." She smiled and looked up at the sergeant. "Perhaps you'd like to volunteer to be on the firing squad?"
McClane smiled back. "Respectfully, I would, Ma'am."
"I should make up a roster." Summers said thoughtfully. "I suspect the spaces will fill up very quickly."
"Yes Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am." McClane saluted dutifully, clearly eager to spread the word.
"Dismissed, sergeant."
The man left without another word.
Summers took a moment, staring at her monitor. She opened up her correspondence and re-read the message.
Person of Interest:
The Mercenary known as Jonathon 'Jackrum' Rumsfeld.
Target deemed useful to strategic takeover of Capital Wasteland. Deemed too risky to remain alive. Upon completion of mission, Target is to be arrested and executed on suspicion of treason, terrorism, sedition and conspiracy against the rightful government of the United States of America.
-Enclave Strategic Command
Signed, Major Bartholomew Beverly
Summers rubbed her chin, staring at the page. For all their arguments, the eccentric old mercenary had grown on her. To add to the turmoil, she knew that the Wastelanders were getting desperate, and she sympathized with them more than she knew she could let on. Summers knew where her loyalties lay. All the same, this was one order she was going to regret carrying out.
It was late evening. Jackrum was standing on a hill overlooking the streets of Springvale. Arrayed in front of him were nearly a thousand fighting men and women. At the front were the Brotherhood of Steel, wearing white and blue combat armor, the Brotherhood logo displayed proudly on their breastplates. Their disciplined drill and passive faces radiated exactly the confident, reassuring strength he had hoped for. On either side of them were divisions of Wastelands, led by Talon Company mercenaries. The Wasteland forces stretched almost all the way back to Springvale School.
Enclave forces were stationed around the perimeter of the assembly, some facing outwards, keeping watch on the Wasteland, and some facing inwards, keeping watch on the multitude of armed Wasters. He couldn't help but notice that vertibirds with mininukes hanging from their bellies buzzing overhead. With the push of a button, they could easily have obliterated enormous chunks of the wasteland forces.
"Those really necessary?" He asked, leaning towards Lieutenant Summers, who was standing just behind him.
"Just running the pilots through some basic drills and last-minute checks." She said.
"Uh-huh." He replied skeptically.
"Here." Summers handed him a microphone. "It's hooked into their speakers. They'll broadcast your speech so everyone can hear it."
Jackrum stared down at the device "Right…" he held it up and cleared his throat. The high-pitched whine of feedback escaped the speakers of the vertibirds, causing most people in the crowd to cover their ears.
"Sorry." Jackrum said, and was amazed to hear his voice echoing down the length of the assembled army. "Wow. Usually I have to shout." He grinned back at Summers. "I think I'm going to miss that."
She rolled her eyes.
"Alright… so I bet you're all expecting some amazing speech. Apparently I'm getting known for those."
The roar from the crowd was deafening. "All right, all right, shut up, the lot of you!" he rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, this has been a long, hard haul for all of us. We've lost a lot." His eyes lingered on the proud Brotherhood soldiers. "-and I expect that tomorrow won't be any easier. But we all know what's at stake if we lose." He paused for a second, and then said "Tomorrow's going to be a hard battle. It's going to be a bloody one. Anyone have second thoughts? Because now's your chance. I won't stop you. As a matter of fact," he raised his voice, now that he had found an angle. "I'll give you the caps. Just take them and go! Get the hell away from us! I don't want to die beside anyone who ain't willing to die beside me! I'm not going to cut and run, even if I'm the last man standing! I'm going to stay here and fight until this job is done and this Wasteland is mutie free!"
The crowd cheered.
"You know why? Jackrum roared, "It's because tomorrow is going to be one for the ages! And I'll be damned before I'm caught sitting on the sidelines! At the end of the day, when the job is done, those of us who fought and bled for this wasteland are going to go down as legends, boys! Every man will tell his son and they'll tell their sons of the day we nearly lost it all, and those few of us who were brave enough to fight and keep it!"
The defiant roar of the Wastelanders carried high into the sky. It rose above the heat of the wasteland, above the circling Vertibirds to be caught by the wind and carried south to Project purity as a distant thunder. The mutant horde, three-thousand strong, paused in its task of fortifying the eastern banks. Mutants with enormous bulks of iron and timber, mutnats lugging blocks of concrete and sacks of meat paused in midstride and stared at the sky, for a moment frightened.
The roar reverberated on the thin plating of Project purity. It echoed down through the criss-crossing rope bridges until it reached the concrete throne upon which the mutant king Brutus sat, chin on his palm. He was watching a solitary, beaten hairless figure which had been chained up and hung limp in a faint beam of blue light. A medical tray sat beside the figure, with a lone green syringe on it.
Brutus smiled as the figure stirred, brought back to consciousness by the deep echo. The mutant unfolded, rising to his feet. He walked carefully down the concrete steps until he stood in front of what little was left of the Lone Wanderer. He gripped the tiny figure's head and turned it from one side to the other, examining the red burns and the glowing green veins beneath. "Fascinating." Brutus commented quietly. What was done to you would have resulted in most Normals quite literally coming apart at the seams. Your regenerative capabilities are extremely impressive. Congratulations…"
Anyone remember the little In Medias Res teaser I posted at the very beginning of this story? Now we're all caught up. Jackrum's last words are actually based on Shakespeare's St Crispin's Day speech. My ego is not so large that I think I could outdo the Brad, but I think that speech is very inspiring and somewhat appropriate for the situation, so I kinda stole it's structure and central ideas.
anywho my apologies for the delay. let me know what you think about the Sarah situation, and i'll get back to you with a new chapter as fast as Wifi Access allows.
Cheers to Krow Blood as well. Sorry for the long silence, buddy!