A/N: Regards from the estate of odd fantasies and impossible happenings (seriously though, what's up with how the physics of Fallout work? Ghouls? Two headed cows? Deathclaws? Where did those things even come from?). This chapter is technically late, but this is when I was planning on posting it, I just forgot to update my profile with the date. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter (not as much editing it but...) and it's one I think a lot of you will look back on as a catalyst for many things to come. Anyways, as always, let me know what you all think (leaving constructive reviews is always appreciated) and enjoy!

Chapter 9: The Man With Nothing

Fort Hagen wasn't what I'd come to associate with the word 'Fort'. Those were usually strongholds with self sufficient eco-systems surrounded by fortifications and defenses strong enough to stop anything short of an army. This was… not that. Instead Hagen was just a large structure set in the midst of a small town with little by way of emplacements or physical defense outside of several unmanned machine gun nests and what looked like automated turrets placed atop the building. The 'fort' itself was clearly military: too large, concrete, and as ugly as they possibly could have made it.

Scouting the town I counted 12 active automated turrets slowly rotating back and forth on their perches. The four obvious exterior entrances were all barricaded; with enough time I could probably clear one of them away, but that was a great way to end up dead. That left two other options: the entrance to what looked like an underground parking structure or potential roof access I couldn't see. I didn't like either. There was no obvious means for detection around the building, which meant each of those turrets had their sensing equipment built in, so crossing the wide open area surrounding Hagen would be risky. Destroying the turrets would eliminate that problem, but alert any forces in the area to my presence, and that put any roof access out by proxy. So the only reasonable approach would be through any sublevels connected to the parking garage.

And Kellogg would know that.

Have to give it to him, for a small scale engagement, he picked a very good hideout.

A common misconception about these situations is it's always best to leave the smallest footprint possible. In some cases that's true, but in others having an extremely well fortified position like this works better. If you know you're probably going to be tracked down, better to have a well established defense than concealment.

A diversion might be useful.

I slipped out of the small town and back down a small hill to the half collapsed building where Valentine was waiting. Inside, the Synth was idly checking his handgun. He looked up expectantly as I entered.

"A dozen turrets and every obvious entrance is barricaded. No quiet way in."

"Uh… Quiet?"

"Easiest way is if we run interference."

"... And you want me to do that."

I nodded. "Destroying a few turrets would draw attention." I unslung my rifle and offered it and the few remaining magazines to him.

He arched where an eyebrow should have been. "This is a bit more than I signed up for."

"The other option is brute force."

"You can't make that work?"

Why does everyone argue about this? It's like they all think they have tactical expertise. Between Nate's annoying persistence and the group in Sanctuary constantly questioning every decision (at least until the Raider attack), patience was gone at this point.

"Help me or don't."

The detective looked from the rifle in my hand back up to me. "And when they come after me?"

"Hide until I draw their attention, watch the perimeter to make sure Kellogg doesn't escape; I'll get you when it's secure."

He hesitated, still glancing between the rifle and me. Eventually the Synth took the weapon and ammo, but his reluctance was clear as day. "So if you're going to make me do it your way, what's the actual plan?"

"Pick off the turrets on the east side of the building, I check the parking structure below Hagen. If this is a trap, it or the building's roof access should be unblocked."

"You want to get caught in the trap?"

You wanted me to brute force my way through this, what's the difference?

"Your diversion should slow any response."

"What if it isn't just Kellogg or Synths? What if it's a bomb or something else you can't just shoot?"

It wouldn't be the first time someone has tried to blow me up.

"I'll worry about that."

The detective hesitated again before letting out an overly dramatic sigh. "You know… your buddy didn't say as much, but I get the feeling he thinks you're a pain in the ass to work with. I gotta say, I agree. We're going into a fight with the likes of Kellogg, and the best you can give me for assurances is 'I'll handle it'. It makes things difficult."

I don't work with people enough to worry about making them comfortable. Realistically, as long as they did what I needed them to, it wasn't a problem.

Well clearly if I have to rely on civilians for help, it's going to become one… or at least a larger one.

Relying on civilians for help… that's rich.

It's what I'm doing.

"I know how to assault fortified positions, and have fallen for enough traps to know how to deal with them." One in particular came to mind: it was my fourth or fifth deployment, pacifying a small time Innie outpost near a mining colony in the Jericho system. I wasn't well known enough in their circles to prepare specifically for me, yet, but they were aware of other SPARTANs hunting them (I've heard more than a few stories about my predecessor). A massive IED was rigged to blow part of the station to hell and I didn't recognize the retreating insurrectionists and sealing bulkheads until just before it went off. The only reason I didn't die was because my handlers had given me an EVA pack for the op. I managed to get out of the station and maneuver outside of the blast zone, but it still knocked the shit out of me.

"What does that look like, if you'll humor me?"

"If they shoot at me, it means they probably won't try to blow me up."

"I doubt Kellogg cares about Synth casualties."

That's why I said 'probably'. It didn't seem likely Kellogg or the Institute would go through the trouble of rigging a relatively well fortified position like Hagen to blow just to kill Nate. There were much more efficient ways to deal with him, and it didn't seem likely they would know about me, or have the time to set something like this up to eliminate me.

But there was always a calculated risk in an op like this.

In any case, I wasn't interested in continuing the argument.

"They wouldn't sacrifice a position like this when a bullet would work. If anything happens you'll be out of the way."

Valentine hefted the rifle and grunted. He must have realized I was done with the conversation. "Fine."

"Stay out of sight for a few minutes. I'll move on your go."

Once we reached the top of the hill, I pointed out the turrets on the building's east flank before circling to the south side. The sun was beginning its journey down toward the horizon by this point; we may have to stay in the area for the night depending on how this went; I hadn't seen much wildlife so far, but I didn't feel like chancing it with so many other unknowns.

A minute and a half ticked off of my HUD's clock when Valentine fired off the first shot. It was quickly followed by two others, a pause, and then three more. After the third burst, I bolted from my cover, sidearm in hand, and rushed to the parking garage's main entrance. One of the two turrets on the near side of the building tracked and spat out a short stream of rounds, but they impacted the ground behind me and I had covered the intervening 20 meters before it could let off another.

I raced down the ramp and into the dark interior, eyes screaming around the enclosure for signs of a potential trap; no trip wires, no mines, no more turrets, and no enemy combatants. The only things in the parking structure were rusted hulks that used to be cars, some debris and rubble from a partially collapsed wall, and an unbarricaded door set in the far end.

Kellogg definitely set this up; the way in is too clean.

The thought slipped through my mind as I slid to a stop next to the building's entrance. Funny part was, it gave away the mercenary was either too used to dealing with amateurs, or wasn't as experienced as I gave him credit for. If he wanted to make this look real, he needed to make whoever was breaking in work for it, just make it a bit easier than the other points of egress.

Unless…

I ran a gauntleted hand over the seam between the door and frame, but I couldn't find any signs of a trap. That didn't mean there wasn't one rigged to the other side. Kicking the steel door in wouldn't be the issue, but if it was wired to blow, that could be problematic depending on what kind of explosive Kellogg used. What I needed was something heavy enough to break the door down I could throw from a distance…

My eyes roamed the dim garage back to the pile of rubble. Several pieces looked large enough to do the job. After 30 seconds of sifting through the collection of ex-building pieces, I came away with one that weighed around fifty kilos. With my prize in hand, I took cover behind one of the hulks, a dozen meters from the door.

If the door is rigged, and the explosion was powerful enough, it could collapse the rest of this place on my head.

Other than the wall, it looked pretty intact. Worrying about it now wouldn't do any good.

I hefted the chunk of concrete, drew the muscles in my core and right arm taunt, waited a beat, and hurled the large piece of rubble at the door. It slammed into my intended target just above the door handle and shattered, but the debris transferred enough energy to the steel door to deform it with a sharp groan before the latch gave way and blew open-

Just in time for a distinct ping barely loud enough for me to hear over the impact sound.

Ah. I flattened myself to the ground as the doorway exploded. The concussion slammed into the former car I was using as cover at the same time as the countless pieces of my makeshift battering ram that had been further broken down by the explosion. Dust was thrown from the door, rained from the cracked concrete ceiling, and swirled through the parking garage like a hurricane as small chunks of rock, and what sounded like the door, began pinging off of the car. My shields flared as some of the shrapnel slammed into me.

Thankfully my cover and armor absorbed most of the concussion that would have probably knocked me unconscious; an enclosed space like this, that kind of explosion, even if they hadn't been caught in the blast, anyone in the garage would most likely have died from trauma.

I guess whatever the Institute had planned for Nate or Kellogg, the mercenary intended to win.

Couldn't blame him, in fact I respected the attempt, but unfortunately for him, he wasn't fighting the ex-soldier.

As the dust from the explosion began to settle, I came up in a crouch and glanced into the door through the ruined car's cabin…

There were several figures stalking down a long hall on the other side of the ruined doorway, wearing plain white armor, cradling something that looked roughly like the laser rifle Danse had used.

So he wired the door to blow and had forces prepared to clean up any potential stragglers.

I couldn't help the excitement beginning to well up in my chest; this guy was giving me the first real fight since I dropped into this hellhole.

With my handgun perched on the driver side door's window sill, I sighted on the first of the two targets who had just reached the destroyed entrance. If these were Institute forces, Synths, that armor would definitely be better than the cobbled together mess I'd seen so far; pistol calibers wouldn't get through it.

The first round slammed into the lens over my target's right eye. Those must not have been reinforced because the bullet punched through and into the wearer's head. It dropped to the floor, but there was no penetration through the back of the helmet, that didn't necessarily mean it couldn't but it seemed like my guess was correct.

The other three immediately returned fire on my cover, but instead of the bright red beams I'd come to associate with laser fire, these were an intense blue. I squeezed off two more rounds that both careened into the next Synth's (presumably) head; it flinched, head snapping back, but neither made it through. The sniper could probably make it through, but I didn't want to use that unless absolutely necessary. Valentine said these things had similar physical capabilities to regular humans.

One more shot exploded from my handgun and hit the lead Synth in the arm, throwing it's aim off, and I charged forward. I closed the dozen meters before it could recover and straight kicked the thing in the chest, sending it tumbling back through the door, into its advancing companions. They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of armor and limbs as I ducked into the tight passage. I sent another round through the lenses of the first unit, but the next two were already recovering and the next two shots slammed into their helmets.

It would be difficult to hit their eyes with them moving around, the handgun wasn't going to cut it here.

I lunged forward again and caught the barrel of the first Synth's rifle as it took aim again. With a sharp twist and pull, I wrenched the firearm from its grasp. Most people chased the weapon, but this thing pulled back and launched a fist at the side of my head. I shunted the blow aside and brought the rifle back around, slamming it into the side of its previous owner's neck. The impact produced an odd screeching noise as the Synth crashed into the concrete wall and collapsed to the floor once again.

As the last one backpedalled, trying to put some distance between us, I threw what was left of the destroyed rifle at it. The Synth ducked under the flying weapon, but I was on it before the thing could recover and drove a knee into its chest. A loud crack accompanied the Synth careening back down the hall and crashing to the ground as its chestplate shattered. I brought my handgun back up as the Synth began struggling, groggily, to its feet and put a round through its right eye.

My last shot's report had just begun to fade when I heard the sound of boots on concrete coming from the parking garage. I wheeled on it, sights trained on the ruined doorway-

And just stopped myself from putting a round through Valentine's head.

"Whoa", he exclaimed, letting my rifle sway on its sling and held his hands up, "I don't need any more holes in me."

I checked the hall behind me for more approaching Synths before turning back to the detective who was studying the explosion marred concrete around the entrance.

I told you to wait for my signal. Why are you here?

"I said wait."

"I heard the explosion, whole building shook. I didn't know if you were still alive."

So you decided running blindly toward an ambush was the best course of action?

It didn't matter now, he's here, as long as he didn't get in the way it wasn't an issue. Hell, it meant I wouldn't have to go back and get him.

"Don't take any unnecessary risks, don't get in the way."

"Huh. So you want your gun back?" He held up my rifle.

Do I? My gaze dropped to one of the discarded energy weapons. What about these? Do they have the power to penetrate that armor? What are they like to handle? Might as well see what they're like while I have the chance.

I shook my head as I leaned down to pick up the rifle. It was incredibly light, the gun felt like it was made of some sort of polymer or composite. There was a large cell on the top left that was the same as the 'Fusion Cells' Preston had used to power his Laser Musket. A quick search turned up six spares between the dead Synths. Without an adjustable stock, it was too small to shoulder comfortably, but the conventional rifle I'd been using had the same issue.

After a moment to familiarize myself with the weapon, I took aim at one of the Synths and fired. That blue light speared out of the muzzle and through its faceplate. I checked the back of its head for overpenetration, but it only punched through the front of its armor. At least I wouldn't have to aim for the eyes every time with this. I caught Valentine studying me incredulously while I tested the rifle, but I didn't feel like explaining; it wasn't hard to figure out what I was doing.

Without knowing how many shots were in one of these, I replaced the Fusion Cell with a fresh one and waved the detective through the entrance. To my left was a staircase heading up into the building, and straight ahead was a door… huh… another door. While it was unlikely Kellogg would have that door wired as well, I didn't want to take chances in a confined space like this.

I might end up needing to go through the door regardless.

That's a bridge I can cross when I come to it.

Waving the detective forward, I lead him up the stairs into what looked like a lobby-

That was occupied by yet more Synths. Unsurprisingly, with all the explosions and gunfire below, they were prepared for any potential intruders; the moment I peeked around the corner at the top of the staircase, a blue lance speared past my head and burned into the wall behind me. My aim snapped to the bolt's origin and I put my own shot into the offender's head before I ducked under a barrage of incoming fire.

I felt a tug on my back and turned to Valentine. "I can give you cover when they stop shooting."

Didn't you want to stay out of trouble?

If he's willing to offer… "On my go." He nodded.

A few seconds later, the incoming fire slackened to a trickle; I sprung up the final five steps and hugged the right wall around the corner while the detective swung to the left. Two Synths were positioned on either side of the narrow passage and another was behind a mostly collapsed wall in the rear.

Valentine opened fire, tagging the one on the left while I put the one on the right down and hit the rearmost one in the arm. The detective's target wasn't dead, but the shots gave me time to fix that with another blue spear through its head.

The last one tried to return fire, but as it did, I squeezed my confiscated rifle's trigger once more and sent a bright blue laser searing into its jaw.

I passed a closed set of double doors to my right and another set of stairs on my left and did a quick clear on the next staircase before continuing into the room. The enclosure's decorations were… strange; they looked historic, even for the tech these people had. In fact, they seemed familiar. Why?

Concord.

The museum Preston's group had held up in, it was full of historic military paraphernalia.

So is that what this place is? A kind of museum? That would explain it's odd layout and location.

Not important.

My attention snapped back to potential threats. The shuffling above and around me said there were still plenty of Synths do deal with, and I still had no clue where Kellogg might be hiding.

The next ten minutes were spent fighting my way through the main floor, and another above searching for anything that might point me to Kellogg. As it turns out, each of those Fusion Cells provides 30 shots. Found that out after I turned a corner and ended up face to face with another turret sitting in a cubby when I pulled the trigger and nothing happened. I just managed to duck back through the door I'd entered before the emplacement began peppering the already dilapidated wall with weapon's fire.

Valentine had been right when he said the Synths weren't smart; they're tactics were rudimentary at best and generally consisted of high volumes of fire.

The excitement from before was starting to wane. Maybe Kellogg will put up a better fight.

Eventually the detective and I found an elevator being guarded by a ceiling mounted turret and a squad of Synths. Those didn't last much longer than any of the others. But that presented its own problems. More than a few times, I've set traps in or on elevators to catch targets in a practically indefensible position.

Well he isn't here; I haven't seen another exit for this elevator which means there's more to this fort than I'm seeing. That meant I risked the elevator or the door. I'd rather deal with another bomb than being trapped in a small metal box.

Valentine was looking at the elevator with an expression he was thinking the same. "So… I don't know about you, but with Kellogg, I'd rather not get in that coffin."

"Agreed; we'll breach the other door in the basement."

"You think that one's got a bomb behind it too?"

"Possibly."

"Well…" The detective turned to me. "How are you going to get through with being blown up?"

Breaking it open with another piece of rubble would be difficult; while the door into the parking garage had opened inward, the interior door swung the opposite direction. I could still kick the door down, but with how powerful the first bomb was, that wouldn't end well. I didn't have access to any breaching charges but…

I pulled one of the Fusion cells from a pouch and placed it on the ground. Waving Valentine away, we backtracked to the room's entrance. I took aim and placed a lance of blue energy into the power supply which rewarded me with its own vibrant blue eruption as whatever it used to store energy reacted violently with the shot. All that was left once the light faded was a burning hole in the already pockmarked wooden floor.

"I see, you're going to pop the lock with that; gotta say, I've never seen anyone use a Fusion Cell like that before. Didn't know they could."

Improvisation is your most powerful tool. I think that one was Katrina.

"Let's move."

A moment later, I was balancing three cells between the wall and the door handle while Valentine took cover in the parking garage and watched for any stragglers. I didn't know how more than one would react, but it couldn't be as dangerous as the bomb on the first door.

With my makeshift breaching charge in place, I squeezed myself back down the hall and ducked out of the door into the parking structure.

What if this one is bigger?

Why would he rig this door with a larger charge than the first?

Breach the first, get dealt with by the Synths. If the threat is too serious, blow the whole place.

That wouldn't make sense, especially if Kellogg is here; it's a lot of resources to lose for one person.

I'm one to talk about that.

I think it's a bit different, the Insurrectionists trying to kill me and Nate's quest for revenge.

Even so… "Take cover outside."

I felt Valentine's eyes fall on me. "Why?"

"If this one is wired too, you don't want to be in here."

"And you?"

I glanced at him. "Someone has to crack it open."

"Are you-" The detective stopped mid question. "Nevermind." He made his way up the ramp, slowly checking for more hostiles.

This could get… interesting.

Wouldn't be the first time.

30 seconds ticked off my clock and I decided that should be enough time for Valentine to get clear. I sighted on the small collection of yellow cells, took a deep breath, and put a shot into each.

Turns out when multiple cells are together, they react much more violently. Instead of the quick burn of the one I'd detonated before, these ones went off like a small hand grenade and once they were finished, there was a hole the size of my hand where the door's latch used to be.

Nothing…

A moment passed as the door slowly drifted open with a gentle creek, but no explosion this time.

Well, I guess I was right.

Beyond the door was another hall running perpendicular to the first. No sounds followed the small explosion, but that didn't mean anything. Several seconds passed in silence as I waited for any potential counters, but nothing came.

Eventually, I heard Valentine begin back down into the parking garage; the Synth was trying to be quiet, but there was only so much you could do in a place like this. A moment later he rounded the final corner and peered into the now open door. This was normally the point these people seemed to always make some comment, but as we waited, the detective remain silent. I guess he learns quickly.

After a minute passed and nothing made its presence known, I grew impatient enough to say the hell with it.

They don't want to make the first move… I'll make it for them.

I signaled for Valentine to stay put as I slid back through into the short hall and stopped just behind the next door's threshold. My hand almost reached for the small fiber optic camera I usually kept with me for situations like this; it really is the little things that make life easier.

With another instant's hesitation, I leaned around the corner to the left, stolen rifle ready to meet whatever threat lay beyond-

I recoiled from the door as a hail of small arms and laser fire poured down the long hall from a turret and pair of synths positioned through yet another doorway.

There was no way of knowing when their ammo would run dry, or if that might give time for more forces to show up. Sometimes, this is what having shields is for.

A quick lean out, rifle up, I speared one of the Synths through its head as one of their beams splashed into my shields directly over my visor. I retreated back around the corner and blinked the spots from my vision. Even with the visor polarizing in response, that was really bright; I felt like I had just stared at the sun.

After a few seconds of waiting for the blotches swimming around the hall to subside, weapons' fire still filling the space, I aimed down toward the second Synth and placed a shot into its neck… but the damn thing didn't go down. I let go of a second, hasty shot at the same time as a smattering of rounds from the turret hit me, that got pulled wide and hit the thing in its arm.

Damn. I leaned back away from the gunfire. I must have missed whatever vital points that thing has; are all if they are constructed to resemble humans, it must have a spine. The shot had been a little off right. It was wounded though, the gunfire had slowed to only the turret peppering the opposite end of the hall with bullets.

This time I stepped out into the hall in full, squared the automated gun in my sights and placed a trio of blue lances through its bulbous center.

With the gun out of commission, I finished the second Synth before sprinting down the hall, clearing another room on the left and the end of the passage with the smoking remains of the turret and two Institute fighters.

"Clear", I called back to Valentine. Directly ahead was another set of stairs leading down into what looked like would be a sub basement. So this place is more than I originally thought.

I caught the detective studying the results of the gunfight as he stalked down the hall from the corner of my eye. He looked like he wanted to comment, but he again remained quiet.

Good, that's another positive change from Nate.

Down the staircase was a steel security door, but no more Synths or turrets. Odd… I noticed an odd fixture in the ceiling just on the other side of the door; it almost looked like a chandelier, but with strange looking nodes instead of lights. Some sort of arc generator?

As soon as I opened the door, my suspicions were confirmed as small bolts shot from the nodes and contacted anything around the room that would conduct electricity.

These are some impressively creative traps.

One arc struck me and drained my shields enough to set off a low energy warning.

If Nate tried to do this himself, Kellogg would have walked out of here without firing a shot.

Once the trap exhausted itself, we continued down the staircase, I dispatched another turret set behind a security door just in front of a set of steel double doors.

"You aren't who I was expecting."

I wheeled on the voice; but there was no one besides a startled looking Valentine and myself. It sounded like someone had run sandpaper over a block of wood and somehow made a sentence out of it. After a moment of searching, I saw it was coming from a speaker set in the ceiling just on the other side of the security door.

I glanced at the Synth. "Kellogg?"

"I assume so."

"You know who I am, but who are you?"

So this is Kellogg. That's all the info I need. I checked the double doors for any obvious traps before pushing them open to a room filled with computer banks, but nothing shooting at us.

"Not gonna answer huh? I've met people like you before, the quiet professional, no talk all business. Killed most of 'em."

I almost chuckled. No you haven't. I led Valentine down another staircase into a dilapidated hall, this time with a pair of Synths at the far end. Dispatching those, I found myself at another set of doors.

"To be fair, I doubt any of them would have made it this far, so I must say I'm impressed. By the way, that armor, never seen that before, and I've been from one coast to another."

At this point I was in my rhythm: breach, clear, move, repeat. I dispatched several more ceiling mounted turrets and Synths as we made our way through more of the building, Kellogg talking all the while.

"I guess it doesn't really matter. I see you have the old Synth detective from Diamond city, so are you here to track me down from that newly thawed popsicle?"

Down another level, more turrets and Synths. They weren't noticeably harder to put down than the average human, but they were well positioned and good fighters. That combined with Kellogg's traps and turrets,by this point it was the first genuinely enjoyable fight I've had since arriving. Things had gotten much better than the fight upstairs.

"I'm surprised he found someone to do his dirty work for him, let alone someone like you. I don't know who you are, but I can tell you you're getting involved in something you don't understand."

If only the bastard would stop talking…

After a few more rooms and more dead Synths, I found myself locked behind another security door, but this one was remote operated, with no physical latch on the locking mechanism.

"I'm not opening that door until we've had a little chat my friend."

Talking isn't my thing. I glanced back at the detective. He nodded in return.

"What do you want to talk about."

"So. You use that relic as your mouthpiece?"

"He isn't the most interesting fellow to hold a conversation with Kellogg, I'm much better at it."

"Valentine? That's your name right?"

"You got it."

"Well then, if the silent killing machine won't talk, maybe we can have a civil conversation."

My gaze roamed the small room we were in; it looked like some sort of upscale medical suite office with a large desk at one end, a hospital bed in the middle and several shelves lining the walls. Is he trying to stall for more forces? There was nothing obvious in the room itself, but Kellogg has made it clear he is very good at organizing traps.

"About?"

"About the mess you and your armored friend are getting involved in."

"Unfortunately I owe him and the man whose son you kidnapped."

The security door was the same as the others, about an inch thick steel set in a reinforced frame; the latching system looked like a pair of bolts that retracted into the door. It would be simple enough to break down, and this talking was making me uncomfortable; the longer we waited here, the more opportunity Kellogg had to organize an escape or counterattack. I doubted he would surrender any information we needed willingly, so capturing him would work just as well without risking his escape.

"Well, as I'm sure you've guessed by this point, his son is with a very loving family: The Institute."

Or… not.

"We had."

"He's a bit older than the human popsicle would expect, but he's healthy and happy."

"Sorry, but considering how bad the man wants his son back, I don't think your… assurances are going to be enough."

"That isn't my problem, detective."

"So what now then?"

"Well, I was expecting the loving father, not some detective and his armored killing machine. The other guy, I could live with fighting; he wants revenge, I want to stay alive. Those motivations are as basic as it gets… ones I can understand. You two-"

I straight kicked the steel door near the latch. The door let out a shrill screech as the bolts holding it in place sheared off in the frame, the steel beneath my foot deformed like tin foil, and the security gate burst open with a resounding boom.

Scrambling feet came from somewhere beyond the door as I ducked through the twisted frame and swept down a hall and up a short staircase to another security door. I didn't slow as I leapt up the half dozen stairs in a single step and drove my left shoulder into the steel gate. It crumpled under the force of the impact before bursting open and I dove to the side as conventional and laser fire poured past me into the hall.

My eyes flitted around the new room, taking in the mass of desks and computer banks. Three Synths were adjusting their fire to my new position, all of which had the same laser rifle I was cradling; I didn't see any turrets which meant Kellogg was most likely in here as well.

I took aim at the nearest Synth as their aim fell on me and squeezed the trigger. My blue lance pierced its head as my shields flared in response to the others' fire. There wasn't any time to be fancy, Kellogg was clearly trying to escape at this point. I adjusted my aim as the two continued firing, rapidly draining my shields. My next shot dropped the second Synth and the third speared the final one just as my shields depleted.

As the last Institute fighter fell to the ground, a pair of gunshots rang out in the large room and I felt the rounds slam into the composite armor over my core. It did a good job of dissipating the impact, but whatever Kellogg was firing had punch. It didn't knock the wind out of me, but it certainly hurt.

Even as I rolled to the side, I zeroed in on where the shot had come from: a desk near the rear of the room, a doorway behind it. As I came out of the dodge, I sprang over the next set of desks and as soon as I landed, I caught sight of the mercenary, taking aim at me once more. Diving forward, I could almost feel the round scream by, just over my back.

With one last leap, I closed the remaining half dozen meters between Kellogg and myself. He backpedaled, trying to adjust his aim again, but I knocked the large caliber revolver out of his hands before he could bring it back around. He changed tact in an instant, sidestepping and reaching for a knife at his waist. I stepped forward, putting my right leg between his and looped my foot behind his left ankle before driving my forearm into his chest. I didn't hit him hard enough to break anything, just enough force to knock him off balance where my leg and gravity did the rest, putting the mercenary on his ass.

I brought my rifle to bear and sighted on the bald man's head. "Enough."

Kellogg froze, his hand half way back to the hilt of his knife. He shrugged. "Probably wouldn't do me any good anyways." He raised his hands. The man wasn't much to look at; he wore a leather outfit similar to some of the Raiders I'd seen, but with some sort of mechanical armature on his left arm. He was average size, with the scar Nate had described over his left eye.

His eyes said he was studying me the same way. "You're a big fucker, and I've never seen someone in power armor move like that. Who are you?"

Valentine's cautious footsteps climbed the stairs into the large room. "Is everything dead in there?"

"It's clear", I responded, my gunsight still on Kellogg's head. Had he intentionally aimed for where he thought my armor would be weaker? Or had that been chance?

"So now we're on to the interrogation, huh?"

"No", Valentine called as he approached from behind me, "someone like you, I doubt you'd give me anything."

"Depends on what you want."

The detective stopped beside me. "Is that so?"

"Sure is metal man."

"So how do we get to the Institute?"

"You don't." The mercenary shifted, left arm reaching down for something.

My finger slipped onto the trigger. "Stop."

Kellogg hesitated. "Relax tin can, I know when I'm beaten." He pointed at his left pocket. "There's a drive in there, take it. Should answer some of your questions."

Valentine stepped forward and knelt beside him. "What's the drive for?"

"Just take the damn thing."

Why is he giving up this easily?

"You're just giving us the answers?" Guess Valentine had the same reservations.

"Yeah, I am."

After several seconds' hesitation, the detective reached for the man's pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular box about the size of my palm.

"Take it to Doctor Amari, she's the one who made it for me."

"Okay but what is-"

"I've played my part in this, you won." The mercenary looked at me. "Or at least this guy did. I'm done with all this bullshit." His voice was odd, not just resigned, almost relieved.

"What do you mean?" The detective looked confused, but… I'm pretty sure I know where this is going.

"I thought I was the most dangerous person in the Commonwealth. Guess you proved me wrong." He chuckled. "It's about damn time. Glad it's someone like you who finally put me down, not some random lucky punk off the streets." Kellogg paused, something crossing his face for the briefest instant. "Not the goddamn Institute."

I thought so.

"One professional to another, just make it qu-"

I squeezed my stolen rifle's trigger and burned a hole straight through the bridge of the mercenary's nose.

Valentine jumped back as Kellogg slumped backward onto the rubble covered ground.

"What the hell did you do that for?" The detective's voice was equal parts shock and confusion.

Besides removing the threat? He wanted me to.

"He wasn't giving us anything else."

"We could have-" he stopped mid-sentence and composed himself. "Yeah, you're probably right." The Synth looked at the small device in his hand. "Best thing that could have happened anyways; at least this bastard won't be around to hurt anyone else."

I looked down at the dead body that had been Kellogg a few seconds ago, something oddly close to remorse blooming somewhere in the back of my mind. I didn't regret pulling the trigger but… I could relate to how he felt in that moment. He was tired. I'd guess from the peaceful look in his glazed over eyes, he'd probably been tired for a long time.

Enough.

"Let's move."

"Right."

I walked toward the doorway at the rear of the large room which led back to the collapsing hall I'd fought through before.

"You think that elevator is safe?" Valentine motioned to the lift at the far end of the hall.

It was probably his escape route.

That odd sense of discontent lingered… but why? What about the mercenary made me feel so… wrong?

"Probably."

I crammed myself into the elevator with Valentine and the support cables groaned as they began pulling us back up to the surface.

What about Kellogg sits so wrong with me?

It wasn't him being a hired gun, I'd fought plenty of those, both human and Covenant. Was it his relationship with the Institute? He clearly didn't like them, and they used him like a disposable asset until they didn't need him.

Sounds a lot like ONI again.

Despite that, he fought to survive until the end, until it was obvious he couldn't win.

Even when he was so ready to die.

The elevator dinged and the rusted mechanisms ground the doors open. Beyond them was a small room with another security gate beside a computer.

Valentine extricated himself from the cramped elevator and walked to the terminal. "Let me see if I can open the door before you kick this one in too."

As the detective spoke, an odd drone began filling the room. It wasn't coming from the fort, it sounded like an angry beehive rolling over the hills in the surrounding landscape. It sounded like helicopter props. I ducked out of the elevator and approached the security door. The drone slowly grew louder, but it was strange… it sounded like there were several distinct props.

"Got it." Valentine backed away from the terminal and the door swung open. I peered through the opening into the now evening sun and checked the immediate area; there was nothing in the area that could produce that drone.

"What's that sound?"

I shrugged, still searching for the possible source.

And then I found it.

With a suddenness that almost startled me, the droning grew in volume to almost deafening as a massive airship emerged from over the hill to the west. It was accompanied by several other, smaller aircraft that looked exactly like the one I'd seen crashed in Concord… a Vertibird.

"PEOPLE OF THE COMMONWEALTH", a voice blasted over a loudspeaker on the airship. "DO NOT INTERFERE, OUR INTENTIONS ARE PEACEFUL. WE ARE THE BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL."

My mind flashed back to the moment I looked up to see the bulbous form of a Covenant frigate hovering over the small city I had called home. The moment the first plasma fire began raining from the sky. The moment Covenant forces began killing their way through the civilian populus. Running, hiding, running more when they got close.

This isn't that. These are humans, no plasma bombardment, no seemingly unlimited resources, no genocide.

Not yet.

This wasn't the Covenant, but I couldn't help but imagine the parallels. If my first encounter with their recon squad was anything to judge by, they might be just as fanatical.

"What the hell is going on?" Valentine was standing beside me, staring up into the bottom of the massive airship as it passed by. "The Brotherhood are here… what do they want? We should get back."

"Not yet."

"Wh- why?"

"The Brotherhood might have patrols along their path; we need to wait until nightfall."

My concerns about the wildlife could wait, the detective was right about getting back.

"Does the Brotherhood have any particular reason to chase you?"

Other than their interest in advanced technology?

"Nate and I made contact with their scouting party."

"Uh huh… and why do I get the idea 'made contact' means someone ended up dead?"

I shook my head, still studying the mass of aircraft flying overhead. "Not dead. They had armor."

"Ah, so attempted murder instead of murder; that's a lot better." My gaze switched from the convoy down to Valentine. "Alright, fine, we wait until nightfall. Just to warn you, that's when some of the more… interesting wildlife comes out."

A few minutes later, I found myself sitting in the room I had just killed Kellogg in, leaning against the wall opposite the entrance with Valentine across from me. The mercenary, or at least what I knew of him, still bothered me. But again, why? What made killing him different from any of the others? Was it his relationship with the Institute? It definitely reflected mine with ONI. But that didn't seem like enough reason to feel like this. Was it killing him the way I had? It shouldn't have been; he certainly wasn't the first person I've executed. Was it his attitude when I'd beaten him? The mercenary had just seemed so… content with my rifled aim at his head. Like he had been waiting for someone to do that for a long time.

Then why had he fought against it so hard?

The question sat in my mind like an anvil, waiting for the hammer to strike.

But I didn't have the answer.

Why does the answer matter? He's dead, I'm alive, and I can keep moving forward.

Is everything about 'moving forward'?

What else is there?

Clearly a lot since I don't understand why I'm uncomfortable with how Kellogg died.

… How did I get here? Trying to figure out the motivations of someone I killed. Am I going to do that for every person I've put down? If so, I'm going to be here for a while.

Have I felt like this every time?

"Hey, I've got a question."

I pulled myself out of my musings. Valentine was studying me from his place across the room from me.

"About?"

"You."

I took a slow, deep breath; he wasn't going to let this go.

"You were a child soldier, weren't you?"

What? Where did that come from? I hesitated. The guess had me intrigued.

"Why?"

"Well, you've got the same poorly developed social skills I've seen in a lot of folks from… rougher areas. Of course, you could just be horrible with people, but the fact that you're so well versed in fighting, and nothing else, makes me think that's really all you know."

I leaned my head back against the wall and stared up at the broken ceiling. He isn't wrong.

"Even so, most of them find some form of social skills eventually."

Not if all they do is fight.

"So that leads me to another question: how old are you?"

My eyes roamed the random cracks in the ceiling. That was a good question… I was born in 2538, but I don't remember when… and now it was late 2557, right? That meant I was 19, close to 20. I glanced at the detective who was studying me intently. We have a couple more hours until it's dark, if I don't give him something he won't leave me alone.

"Around 20."

Silence bloomed in the dilapidated room as Valentine gaped at me. People were always surprised when they found out; hell, I was the youngest member of Fourier's squad by almost a decade. But that didn't matter, I had more combat experience than most non-SPARTANs. Comes with the territory when my version R&R was a weekend on ice (I guess that means, biologically, I'm even younger). ONI wasn't one to give breaks and I didn't want any; the more time I could spend fighting, the better. It gave me less time to think.

"Wha- that doesn't make sense. You're only 20?" I nodded. "Why do you act like you've been fighting for decades?"

Because I have.

"I've seen a lot."

"How long have you been doing it?"

"A while."

"That isn't an answer."

I shifted my gaze to the Synth once again. Does he think I owe him an answer? "I don't need to give you one."

He held his hands up. "Sorry, you're right. So you were a child soldier then?" His tone was questioning, but he wasn't actually asking. "Were you conscripted?"

Another flash, this time it was more running, my mom half dragging me behind my father and sister. We were trying to get back to our house in the outskirts of the city… why? Why hadn't we headed for evac?

Technically, I volunteered.

"No."

"You weren't conscripted, but you were a child soldier…" He fell silent again, probably thinking about some other question to annoy me with. Why was I playing along?

Explosions, plasma bombardment, gunfire. We made it to the transit out of town and were heading away from the city under siege. Had the evac centers been compromised? Were we going back to the house to wait for a UNSC rescue? The local militia was the only standing defense our colony had, and I doubt they would have been prepared for a Covenant assault.

"Something happened to your home when you were young, didn't it? Nothing else makes sense; you weren't conscripted, but you didn't have a choice but to fight."

He was only half right: my home was destroyed, but I had a choice. I could have been put into foster care, waited for adoption somewhere else, to be taken to a new home that would get destroyed by the Covenant yet again. The next time though, I'd probably die too, like I should have the first time around. Like everything I knew had.

No, I chose to fight. Though… besides revenge, I'm not sure why.

That might be all there is.

… Maybe.

"The question is who attacked you? Was it Raiders? The Brotherhood? The Enclave? Gunners? There are plenty of people out there who do that sort of thing."

No- it wasn't any of your half-assed post-apocalyptic wannabe soldiers.

We were home, but there was gunfire everywhere, both plasma and conventional. Shouting. Running. A scream.

It was something you people could never imagine.

An explosion. Splintered wood flew everywhere. Someone landed on me… or what had been someone before the left side of their torso had been blown away.

"Then of course there's the possibility you weren't that lucky. It could have been any number of mutated freaks out there."

My mother rolled the body off me and pulled me to my feet- but- but something was wrong. As she did, she screamed, but the scream was cut short as a Kig-Yar jumped onto her shoulders and tore her throat out. Her blood flew everywhere. In an instant I was covered in it, and she fell to the ground in front of me, several more of the aliens piling on her. Someone else yelled before a sickening tearing sound I now know was a plasma sword cutting through flesh silenced them.

Image after image, sights, sounds. Smells. They flew through my mind like water through a broken dam.

"Were you on your own for a while afterward, or did someone find you right afterward?"

There were only a few of us left. I couldn't remember the faces of the others… I was too preoccupied watching in horror as the Kig-Yar tore into the bodies of the dead. Blood covered everything: the floors, walls, me, aliens. This sticky and slippery crimson mess that smelled like death itself. I watched them pile onto the broken bodies that had once been my family: my mom, my dad, my sister. There were others too, friends, other families, people I'd known for my entire, short, life. Awful, wet tearing noises filled the air, more blood- more blood spraying everywhere.

"It must have been someone with advanced tech."

I didn't realize… the Kig-Yar, those avian bastards- they were eating the dead. Treating the people that had been my life like… just food…

LIKE THEY WERE JUST FOOD.

"Could you at leas-"

I shot to my feet. "ENOUGH!"

The detective started. "Whoa, hey, calm down. I didn't mean to hit a nerve."

My muscles were clenched so tight, it felt like I would tear every ligament in my body. My hands balled into fists, shaking uncontrollably. Rage, confusion, pain, loss, numbness, and countless other emotions swirled together with a deluge of thoughts that assaults every corner of my mind. It was like the box I'd shoved these memories into, the events that drove me to become what I am today, burst open and the years of anguish and rage, sadness and fear all came pouring out at once. I've spent so long hiding from it, I didn't know what to do with all of it. The storm just sat there, tearing everything that could be considered a coherent thought into a million pieces and scattering it to the far corners of my head.

Breathe.

I couldn't. My breath hitched in my chest and wouldn't move. A red veil fell over the world as the rage boiled over. My hands flexed, needing to tear into something, break something, crush it into dust, just like my past, my life.

But there was nothing.

Nothing besides the already broken fort around me, and the only other person was Valentine. I couldn't take my pain out on the detective, he was an ally, and as much as my body needed to act, move… hurt, I at least had enough coherent thought to remember that.

My mind tried desperately to regain control, put the memories back in the confined section of my mind, an area I and the shrinks at ONI had worked so hard to reinforce.

I couldn't. The walls were broken, the memories were out and no matter how hard I tried, they filled every corner of my beleaguered mind. I was never taught how to deal with this, was never meant to deal with this; it's why ONI spent so much time helping me push it away.

"Damon, you've got me a little worried. What's up?"

Who- Valentine. I snapped back to the world around me. The detective was staring up at me, still seated, but he'd pulled his legs toward him, ready to spring to his feet.

"I-" There was nothing, I couldn't find the will to reject the question… Normally, it was easy, I was hiding from the memories, so it was simple to keep other people's probing questions at bay, I was constantly doing it to myself as it was. Now- now all I could think about was the blood splattered interior of my childhood home. The bodies, the smell.

My legs unclenched with a suddenness that caught me off guard; before I had time to realize it, I'd thudded back down to the broken floor.

"My home was attacked when I was five. My family was butchered in front of me." Even to my ears, my voice sounded distant, hollow, disconnected.

Valentine paused for a moment, looking at me with a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and sorrow. "Ah." The reply was only a short acknowledgment, but I could hear the 'that explains a lot' underneath.

He was right wasn't he? My eyes drifted down to my hands, resting in my is who I am underneath everything I'd built up over the past 15 years: just some scared, broken kid hiding from his past.

"Pathetic right? I'm supposed to be a weapon, efficient and emotionless, but I can't deal with what happened to me." I ostensibly said it to the detective, but it was meant for me as much as anyone else.

"No, it isn't." I looked back up at the Synth; he was staring at me with an intensity I hadn't seen from him before. "You know- I can't understand what you've been through, but you make a lot more sense now. Unfortunately, it's a tale I hear all too often: children orphaned and forced to fight to survive. You watched your family get killed, and all you've known since is fighting, I don't think anyone would be put together after a life like that. There's more you aren't telling me, but I don't need it to get a good idea of why you are the way you are."

If only it were that simple. Sure, I fought to survive while deployed, I quietly eliminated the UNCS' enemies so other people could continue leading their blissfully unaware lives. But it isn't the same as being forced to fight to survive. I could have chosen to continue with a civilian's life, tried to pick up the pieces in a new place with a new family. I chose this instead. My motivations aren't as… authentic as fighting to live; I decided to fight because I was angry. Maybe that's why ONI decided to turn me into their favorite pet weapon.

The images of blood and viscera scattered across the inside of my childhood home paraded through my head once again. The sounds of tearing flesh, squawking Kig-Yar, and the distant weapons' fire only made things worse. An involuntary shiver tingled its way from the base of my neck all the way down my spine. I'd done my share of gruesome things, to both humans and Covenant, but that was… savagery on an entirely different level.

My attention was pulled back to the world around me as Valentine cleared his throat. It occurred to me at least a minute had passed in silence. What am I supposed to say?

"If you don't mind me asking, how long have you been on your own?"

Ever since that day. Of course there were other trainees around, at least for the first year or so. On active duty, I'd interacted with several teams of ops analysts, informants, and Fourier's squad for the past few months. None of those mattered; I've been on my own for the better part of a decade and a half now. Maybe that's my choice, maybe it's because I don't know how to deal with people anymore.

Outside of fighting that is.

"Since the attack."

The detective squinted. "With training and gear like yours? I find that hard to believe, friend."

"There's a difference between being alone and none else being around."

"Ah, I guess that makes sense given the circumstances."

Is this where he gives me the 'you don't have to be alone anymore' line? That one came at me almost daily from Fourier, Amanda, Liam, and the shrink- what was his name? Jamie?

"Well like I said, I can't imagine what you've been through or what it's like, but Ellie and I are both great listeners." I nodded, but talking with someone about this seemed… wrong, especially here, a place that can never relate to what I've seen or done. Especially when I haven't confronted what happened for a decade and a half. "If you're going to continue working with Nate, I'd recommend you at least tell him what you have me."

I did- at least some of it. Besides, that implied I would continue dragging the man along with me.

"I haven't made that decision yet."

The detective let out a low, humorless chuckle. "He isn't going to stop, I know you know that too."

"I do."

"Then the safest way for him to do it is with you."

"Yes."

"So it would be easier for both of you if he understood where you're coming from… and maybe a bit of how you see the world."

Tell the ex-soldier something that personal? If I'd had better control over my emotions I wouldn't have said anything to Valentine, so talking with Nate about it now wasn't ideal.

"I don't need anyone's pity."

"It ain't about pity, it's about working together." He cocked his head. "Oh, you haven't done much of that either."

"That isn't the only reason I don't want to bring him."

"I know, I know, he gets in your way; that's why I'm saying knowing what happened to you might help him understand how you're going to react to a situation."

Everyone keeps saddling me with this guy. "Why do you want me to work with him?"

Valentine shrugged. "Guy wants his son back. I don't think there's a better reason to."

As much as I wanted to argue, the images of my father, my mother, my neighbors, fighting a losing battle to protect us even as the Covenant closed in flashed into my head. Not SPARTANs, regular humans standing against the aliens for the people they cared about. Many of them served in the local militia, but none had been at the time. They did everything they could to save the people they loved. Nate was going to do the same. Just like if I had been there to defend my home now, everyone would still be alive, I could help Nate get his son back. Without my help though…

"I'll think about it."

A/N: Ah yes, the double entendre chapter title. There have been a few times flashbacks have told Damon's story, but it's really the first time he has remembered it with that level of detail. This one is a bit difficult to explain so I thought I'd put a short description at the end of this chapter. Damon had blocked his memories of what happened during the Covenant attack; this is pretty common for traumatic events, especially when they happen to younger kids. He'd begun remembering parts of it before being dropped into this crazy story, but the concussion he had at the beginning sped things up a bit (your brain has to do a lot of repair work when you have a major concussion, this has a habit of jogging old memories). This is the beginnings of him dealing with what's happened to him, and how it changed him.

Next Chapter: April 3rd, Confusing Times