Virgil

I bump into a maintenance worker in the hall, and he drops his clipboard. We both bend down to pick it up, and as we rise, he hands me a holotape. "You dropped this." He said, and moved away, briskly, before I could respond. "Uh…thanks." I've got to find a player.

I finally find one in the library. Luckily, it's in an out-of-the-way corner.

Virgil, we are the Underground. There are some of us in the bunker who don't believe that everyone outside is tainted, and that killing them is wrong. We know you're angry right now, but there's a conversation you should listen to. It was recorded late last night. It's on the end of this holotape. Make no mistake – the Enclave will kill your wife and the ghoul. We have a plan to save them, but we'll need your help.

Destroy this after you listen to it. We'll contact you with instructions when we're ready.

Oh my God.

The Emily that I know is meek, shy – not confident, angry, cruel. Apparently, I don't really know her. They've been lying to me this whole time. I might be Joseph's son, but I don't belong here. I know I can't go home, but I sure as hell ain't gonna stay here.

Home…I think about how it was. How it never will be again. I still care about Wendy, but I don't know if I can ever trust her again. Can love overcome this kind of betrayal? Do I even still love her? When they did it – they both are responsible, I'm tired of them both trying to take all the blame – they destroyed whatever trust I had in either of them. It would have been easier had it only been once – but they'd done it over and over again. I think of the excuses. Loneliness. Sadness. Grief. Every time I think about it, it's like a knife turning in my gut. I can't think about it for very long, or I get so angry that it's hard to think at all.

I got to get them both out of here. If I wait too much longer, they're gonna kill them. Dad and Wendy are subhuman to these people – their time is running out. There's only so long I can throw my heritage around before they get tired of it.

I'll have to wait until the Underground contacts me – it can't take too much longer. They want Dad and Wendy to escape as bad as I want them to.

Wendy

I'm led from my cell to another. I don't even look at the guard – they don't even think of me as human anyway, so why bother? He opens the door, and shoves me in.

I must be hallucinating. "Charon?"

"Wendy?" a small smile lifts the corners of his lips as he opens his arms wide.

I rushed over to him and hugged him – and he grunted in pain. "What's wrong? Where are you hurt?"

"A few cracked ribs. A broken finger. They popped my ankle a good one, too. To keep me from moving too fast." I want to cry. He smiles at me, faintly. "Hey, you should see the other guys."

"Why do they have to torture you like this?" I want to cry. He doesn't deserve to suffer, least of all for me.

"They aren't torturing me – they're torturing you. They're just hurting me." He's right. Seeing his suffering hurts so much more than if they'd bruised me or broke my bones. "Don't worry. They'll give me some radiation later, to see how fast I heal. It's what they did last time." I cringe. How many times have they done this to him? He limps to the bed, little more than a metal frame bolted to the wall, motioning for me to sit next to him.

"I told him it was my fault." He says. I knew he'd say that.

I perch on the edge of the bed and stare at the floor in front of me. "It wasn't. You know that. He doesn't believe you. He knows you'd do anything; say anything, to protect me." We sit silent for a minute. "I came to you, Charon. I took advantage of your grief. I was weak." I hate having to relive this memory. "Remember? You said her name."

He covers his face with his hands. "Don't take any more blame for me. That's an order." He shakes his head from side to side. I get the feeling that if he could cry, he would. He wants to protect me. This order forbids it.

He collects himself, and then looks down at the floor. "You said anything." He blurts out.

"What?" I frown.

"When I asked you what you'd do to find him, before I turned us in. You said anything."

I gasp. "Jesus, Charon, I didn't think it would be like this."

"You said that you loved him more than life itself." He says. I do. That was definitely not a lie.

I smile at him, sadly. "I love you, too." I can't help but admit it. It's true. After three months in the wasteland, not straying more than ten yards from one another at any given time, it's impossible not to be attached to him.

"I know, Wendy. But you don't love me like you love him."

I nod. No matter how hard we try, I'd never be able to recapture that magic with him. He'd never find it with me. Our love – or whatever it was – was love born of grief. Out of suffering. "That's what you said, too. When Mal died. That you loved her more than life itself."

"I still do. But I love you, too." Of course he does.

I smile, sadly. "I know. But not like you love her." I know better than to compete with his love for Mal. It was long, intense, both hard and gentle at the same time. They went through so much, too much. I squeeze his hand, and he winces. "Sorry."

The door opens with a series of metallic clanks, and the guard returns. "Time to go back to your cell," He says.

Charon clutches me protectively, and growls at him. "Stop it." I tell him. "They would just hurt you, and take me anyway." He loosens his grip; he has no choice, really.

Before the door closes, I say, "I'll come back for you." The look on his face almost tears my heart in two.

Charon

I have a splitting fuckin' headache. I start to wonder what shit they're gonna pump into me next. I'm almost starting to wish that they'd start cutting me up. That's something I can understand. Fucking with my brain by pumping chemicals into it is infuriating.

The door clanks open, and a man in an officer's uniform enters. I shake my head and squint my eyes. I could swear…"Virgil?"

He smirks. "No. Close, though. I'm his father."

I laugh. "Well…this is awkward."

There's a brief pause, as he collects his thoughts. "Thank you for raising my son. He is…exceptional." I'll admit – I'm surprised by his admission. I know what the Enclave thinks of ghouls. I search for words, but can find none.

"Those men you injured – I just saw them in the infirmary. One's arm is broken in two places. The other has broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a concussion. They said it happened in a-" he snaps his fingers, "-split second. Something tells me they got off lucky." I offer only a smug smile in reply.

"You're an asset of The Institute, aren't you?" He asks. "Your strength, your training – it's impressive. I watched it on the video. I've only seen anything like it in two places –the Commonwealth, and the Enclave. I know you're not one of ours."

I frown in disgust. "Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."

"As I thought." He starts toward the door, then stops and sighs. "I want you to know…what we're doing, it's not personal. We just want to know how much you can take. What you…are." I snarl at him, fight against my restraints.

What am I?

I am a living weapon. A thing of war.

I am blood, fire, and steel.

I am rage.

Note:"Blood, fire, and steel" is part of a quote from Ayn Rand's 'We the Living.' Expressing his displeasure over the communist regime, Admiral Timoshenko says to Morozov: "We set fire under a kettle and we brewed and stirred and mixed blood and fire and steel." He expected that they would get men like Charon from the brew - but that didn't come to pass.