There were no armed Brotherhood soldiers wandering the halls of the recording studio. It was as though they had entered an entirely new world, one void of the smell of stale sweat and the commotion of heavy footsteps. A low buzz of someone speaking drifted down a staircase, a murmuring invitation that she followed as an uninvited guest. They were greeted by a man hunched over a holotape recorder, his head in one hand while a cigarette took refuge in the other.
"It is I, Three Dog-!"
He paused the tape, mumbling something too low for her ears to pick up. With a click, he rewound the recorder and stubbed out his smoke in an overfilled tray, rubbing at his face before spinning around in his chair.
"Gah!" He jumped, slapping a hand over his chest. "Man, have you ever heard of this thing called knocking?!"
"Sorry," she began.
"Do you know what time it is?!" He spun around again, peering at a clock over the rim of his tinted glasses.
"Early, I know, I just-"
"I was wondering when you would finally be coming around." The radio host fumbled her defense with a brilliant white grin. "And here she is! Miss One-o-One! The Lone Wanderer, herself-" He repeatedly jabbed at the air with a finger. "-in, the, FLESH! Ha ha! Now, I bet you're sitting here wondering, just who the heck is this guy-?!"
"Uh." Evelyn felt her mind blank due to the dramatic introduction. She heard Charon take a seat on the edge of a desk behind her, the entire metal frame groaning like an old man being put to bed. She fiddled with a knob on her Pip-Boy. "Well-"
The DJ flipped the recorder off and theatrically stood from his chair. "-why, I AM-!"
"Three Dog," she candidly interrupted, wiping the fatigue from her eyes and hiding a yawn behind her hand, to which she then reached over for a polite shake. "I'm Evelyn, and this is Charon. I'm looking for my dad, James."
Three Dog visibly deflated, but returned the formalities all the same. "Dang, kid, straight to the point, huh?"
"Did he come here?"
He removed his glasses to wipe them clean. "He did, couple of months ago-"
An ice pick chipped a chunk out of her chest- months ago?! It had already been that long?!
"-but as you can imagine, your old man ain't here."
She crossed her arms, the weight of the world crumbling down on her shoulders. "Did he say where-?"
"Whoa now, one thing at a time. Look, I know you want to find your dad, but this is the wasteland, and as I'm sure you know by now, ain't nothing gets done out of the pure goodness of our hearts."
Evelyn began to remove her pack from her shoulders. "I don't have too many caps, but-"
Three Dog held up a hand. "You can hold on to your caps. I'm actually looking for a favor, of sorts."
She warily asked, "…what is it?"
The more the disc jockey elaborated, the more she felt the urge to just sit down and cry. So, not only had she been chased by ferals, had a near-death experience in a shootout with super mutants, was close to being flat broke, and was still stuck in the middle of the DC ruins, but now (to top it all off), the only other person with information regarding her father was coercing her to go out and retrieve a fucking satellite dish to repair his shitty broadcast signal.
What a bitter cherry to swallow. The rancid aftertaste it left behind slithered all the way down her gullet like a stone to her gut.
Three Dog clicked his tongue as her face melted into a puddle of grief. "Hey now, I didn't mean to make you cry-"
She blubbered, smearing goop across her cheek, "I just want to find my dad! I'm not some fucking adventurer, or, or, or this stupid 'Lone Wanderer' you keep telling people about! I got kicked out of my vault cause my shitty father up and fucking left without even telling me!"
He looked thoughtful. "The wasteland's a cruel place-"
"Yeah, no shit!" she snapped, wiping her wet palms and slimy fingers down her thighs. "I came all the way out here and all I get for it is just some other fucking excuse as to why no one can just help me!"
"I understand your frustration," he coaxed, sitting back down in his chair. "But I'm frustrated, too. We're two sides to the same coin, out there fighting the good fight. I've heard about what you've done for the people, for the less fortunate and the downtrodden souls just trying to survive. Your dad was a standup guy-" He paused in reaching for another cigarette when she abruptly spun around on her heel. "Kid-?"
"I don't care, anymore! Get your stupid dish yourself." Her boots stomped down the stairs, her fists balled at her sides with her companion closely at her back.
Charon halted her in the main lobby before they were in view of the soldier on duty. "I have misplaced something. Please wait here."
She whimpered, rubbing her fists into her teary eyes. "Y-yeah, sure. I just want to leave."
He nodded and reentered the recording studio for a few minutes before rejoining her again. "I am ready."
She didn't look up from the screen of her Pip-Boy as she led them out to the courtyard. Charon veered toward the alleyway they had initially come from, but she snuffed snot up her nose and pointed to the ruins.
"I was able to make a map for home. I'm not going back in those tunnels."
He looked up at the remains of the behemoth, the sunken bones from within beginning to show. "Very well."
They carefully made their way through the skeleton of an old school, the corpses of mutants and soldiers alike leaving a nice little breadcrumb trail for them to follow. She occasionally, almost subconsciously, looted whatever visible goodies she could find, her bag soon becoming a plump tick on her back. A school desk was opened, and she coughed from the dust it wafted, rummaging through the assortment of (mostly) useless crap. She was being abnormally quiet and broody, barely sparing him a second glance as he entered the room by shouldering the broken door open.
Charon picked a box of shotgun shells right out of her hands, ignoring her frown. "It is not wise traveling at night. I suggest we keep moving."
She stuck her tongue out at him. He raised a brow muscle at her childish tantrum.
"I'm just trying to get something out of all of this," she remarked bitterly, stepping into the next room.
Charon laid a palm flat over the top of the next desk, preventing her from opening it. When she scowled, he rasped evenly, "You have come away with your life."
She scoffed; a vile spat of disdain cut between her teeth. "Only thanks to you. I'm fucking useless." He didn't have a reply to that, and she resumed snooping through a wooden crate instead. A bottle of wine was held up for close inspection- the cork was still intact. The layer of grime was wiped away, the two-hundred-year-old label completely illegible. She muttered to herself, "Garbage burner."
He drilled a hole through her spine as she took off down a gravel path into another collapsed infrastructure. Her eyes were kept on the screen of her map whilst his were ever-perceptive of the dangers around them, and he narrowly avoided a head-on collision after she had suddenly stopped with no warning. His instincts immediately swiveled his head on a dime, but there was nothing he could make out that was a threat.
"What is it?" he rasped.
She turned to raise her eyes up at him, the moonlight making them shine like never-ending wells of water. "I mean, should I do it? Go get that dish?"
Charon stared at the vulnerability plainly written on her face- the self-doubt, the noble, altruistic calling that she would sooner rather than later answer to. He didn't understand why it made him so angry, why it bred an infective horde of dark, twisted thoughts about things that he wanted to do to her. There was a lone boat harbored somewhere deep inside his mind, a swarm of hands rising from the black waters and clawing over the hull, their fingers digging into the rotted wood- let us in.
He took a step back. The shotgun nestled in his hands was being held with unnecessary force. His jaw had been clenched so tightly it strained his neck.
"You are my employer," he forced himself to say, "where you go, I will follow."
She pursed her lips and didn't look at him after that, blindly following the invisible line on her Pip-Boy until they came to the entrance of a metro. The frustration heavily weighed down her brows as she furrowed a grimace at the inevitable. Her fingers fiddled with some more neon-green images, the screens flickering faster than he could register from over her shoulder.
"I think there's another-" She was rudely interrupted by the ear-piercing screeching of the gate as the chain link scraped against the concrete, her companion half-hidden in the impermeable darkness.
"I shall return, be cautious," he rasped before disappearing completely into purgatory.
Evelyn folded her arms as an instinctive way to stave off the loneliness she felt. Five minutes passed, and then ten. "Charon?" she called out, keeping her voice quiet enough so as not to attract unwanted attention. No response came from within, no glowing orbs illuminated behind that curtain of black. She glanced back up the stairs.
"It is clear."
The voice made her jump a foot in the air as she turned to him just suddenly being there. She made an ugly noise and stamped her foot. "Will you please not do that?!"
He ignored the request. "Let us continue. This place is not safe."
A trip down an escalator, a traverse along some tracks, and a few bodies of a mummified nature were met. The tripod lights powered by generators still brightly shined despite their operators being well beyond deceased; their clothes hung on to the mere wisps of their bones. A couple of them displayed clear signs of having been chewed on…by something big. She couldn't help but inch a little closer to the ghoul.
"What did that to them?" she asked frightfully.
Charon didn't bother giving the corpses a second glance- he had already cleared the area and investigated it thoroughly. "It has moved on."
"Totally didn't answer my question," she muttered.
An Eat'o'tronic 3000 showcased a few items through its cracked plastic screening, and she let go of her tether to promptly snatch at a box of snack cakes. She spotted another faded, painted Brotherhood insignia on the wall beside it, an arrow pointing back the way they had come.
"Why does the Brotherhood hate ghouls?" When he didn't reply, she turned, the packaging being ripped open. "I mean, mostly everyone in Megaton doesn't seem to have a problem, so what's theirs?"
Charon gave her a strange look before scoping back down the tunnel over her head. She was once again given silence.
The map of her Pip-Boy led them into another service station, the lights (for once) still operable and guiding their way, soaring her spirits (with something as basic as lit corridors). Charon brusquely pulled her behind him before she could go bounding off by the nose of her own excitement.
He held a finger to his mouth. "Listen."
She did, and her small tumble of joy was promptly thrown to the ground and stomped on by the hissing of ferals.
Charon pushed her into a corner. "Wait here. I will see."
She was left in the company of a headless mannequin. (At least it didn't glare at her). When she started the endeavor of researching the exact whereabouts of the Museum of Technology, a sudden great explosion shook the very walls and made her scream, the mannequin toppling over and rolling along the metal flooring. Charon sprinted back around the bend at the end of the hall.
She panicked, "What the hell was that?!"
"It is clear, but we should hurry," he rasped quickly. "Come."
He grabbed her hand to tug her along, guiding her through the swirling black smoke that she couldn't see past or breathe through. Her eyes watered, her lungs choked up, and her feet tripped over charred bodies and down stairs until they were through another metro tunnel, the air at once cleared by the draft. She hacked into her elbow; the vault suit was lightly dusted with ash (ew).
She hideously groveled, "What happened back…"
She looked down- his left hand was still holding her right at his side while he gently bent her other arm to take a view of the map himself. He was so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. Whatever he saw in her eyes when he looked up made him instantly drop all touch.
"We are close," was all he said, and then he pointed down the end of the tunnel.
He once again left her waiting at the base of the stairs to survey the landscape before waving for her to join him. A small smile of relief was on her face at the sight of the river separating them from the familiar roads leading back to Megaton. A bridge offering dry passage was just a hop and a skip down the bank.
"God, I'm so ready for a bath and bed," she wistfully sighed, walking along the stone wall at the water's edge. She held her arms out for balance, an amateur trapeze artist. "…and then maybe, maybe, I'll think about Three Butt's request."
"Rivet City."
She blinked over at the random mumbled outburst. "Huh?"
Charon met her confused expression with a glower. "Rivet. City."
"I don't-"
He looked away to their surroundings, muttering, "It is where he went."
She stopped. They stared at each other. The wind made a lonesome cry as it passed.
"Did…oh my God, did you-?!"
"He would not listen," he snarled, crossing his arms with an undeniable grump.
She guffawed; an uncalled-for sardonic laugh belted from her chest. "What the hell did you say?!" She mockingly rasped in her best Charon expression, "Tell me where he went before I make you."
He side-eyed her, his voice completely serious. "…I did not think you had heard."
"CHARON!" she shrieked. "Why the fuck would you do that?! You killed-"
"I did not kill him," he flatly refuted. He then squinted his eyes far off into the distance. "He should survive."
Her hands flew to her mouth. "I can't believe this-!"
He growled; his hackles raised with his growing ire. "His request was unreasonable, and we cannot go back after what that soldier had witnessed."
She wailed to the open sky, "Oh my God, Charon-!"
"Your father left for Rivet City," he snapped, annoyed at her melodramatic theatrics. "We should continue. It is not-" He whipped his head around, and unexpectedly pushed her overboard.
The frigid water made a splash as she sunk to the bottom, the weight of her pack dragging her down until she struggled out of the straps in a fight for the surface. Air- she needed air! She emerged with a loud gasp, coughing up whatever had seeped inside her lungs as she paddled for the opposite shoreline. She didn't hear the drop of another body into the water as she wildly hyper-focused on making sense of what was happening.
Charon was still stranded on the other side of the river, duking it out between two raiders that yipped and squealed like rabid hyenas. She went to shout for him, but a grab at her ankle swiped her off her feet and stole the words from her mouth. A rock bluntly hit her in the back of the head as she flopped down like a caught fish.
"You ain't getting away!" A bald-headed man deliriously grinned, crawling from the depths of the river like a nightmarish sea creature. "Come here!"
She screamed so fiercely it bloodied her throat, earning a direct slap to the face. She groaned as she forced herself to try and sit up, but his larger size kept her pinned against the sharp stones and wet sand. A few fingers were shoved in her mouth, and she gagged.
"Keep that fucking mouth shut," he breathed in her face. "Or I'll give ya something to scream about."
Her left hand shot up and jammed a thumb in his eye; the screech nearly blew out her eardrums. He scrabbled off, giving her enough freedom to grab a decent-sized stone to nail him in the side of the head with. With a grunt of pain, he fell over, and their roles reversed as she straddled him. The stone came down.
What're you going to do about it, nosebleed?!
Your mom's lucky she's dead! She never had to meet you!
Going to cry to Daddy? Huh? That's it, run home, get out of here, freak!
The taste made her stop. So warm, coppery. She brought a few fingers up, swiped them along her lips, pulled away. It was almost black in the moonlight. The rock fell from her palm back to its brethren; the only one that was red.
He was unrecognizable. A plump of meat, still pulsing, still wheezing (such an awful sound).
…still alive.
There was so much of it on her. She wiped at it, wiped some more, began to scream and shout and panic as she frantically tried to claw it off. No! No!
A force pulled her up and off, and before she could say anything to make it better- please don't tell my dad, I didn't mean to, I can get a Stimpak- Charon's boot raised up and then stomped straight back down, the remaining goo splattering where she had just been. The body twitched, then stilled.
He was holding her face, moving it every which way.
"You are injured," he calmly stated. "I will-"
But she shoved past him, diving back into the cold river, the blood that stained her clothes tainting the water around her. She dove, came back up, dove down, came up, dove-
She couldn't resist the tremendous surge of power as she was pulled to shore, the ghoul not kind in his nature as he reeled her out of the water.
"My bag's down there!" she screamed, squirming and fighting and yanking to be let free.
"I have it!" he shouted right back, pointing to the sopping-wet pack he had retrieved. The anger and volume of his voice scared her, and she quickly stepped away from him as he reached for her. "You are hurt."
She motioned to the laceration on his waist. "So are you!"
He snarled, the remnants of his patchy hair dripping water down his face. "It is fi-"
Her lungs nearly fractured her ribcage from the outburst. "STOP TELLING ME IT'S FINE!"
The words echoed on for miles; neither made a move. He simply stared at her, emotionless, every bit of crumbling brick she had toppled down suddenly rebuilt and sanded over. An impenetrable wall she could never hope to scale or tunnel under. He picked up her bag and held it over for her to take. She eventually did, looking down at the straps as he waited on her to take lead. All of her wrath extinguished like a flame at the end of a match- there was a burn on her fingertips. She shouldered it, and he silently followed her home.
It was the heaviest thing she's ever had to carry.