A/N: Hello all and welcome back to the latest episode of our duo's journey. You know, to be completely honest, when I started writing this I intended for it to be a story focused around Damon and his journey, both physically and emotionally, but a lot of the other characters in this to facilitate that have come to be very important to me personally. Obviously Nate has a significant role to play in Damon's story, but in turn Damon has taken a significant role in his as well. Without spoiling anything, this chapter has a few characters that impact our favorite (or at least my favorite aside from the MC because... well he's the Master Chief bitch) SPARTAN in a way that I didn't expect, and will grow into important characters in their own way. There will be others down the road as well, but I just thought I'd share how this story has been changing for me, and I hope they're just as important for you all as well. Anyways, that's enough of that, on to the chapter. As always, let me know what you all think, and enjoy!

Chapter 15: A Grim Reminder

Turning my sniper rifle into the Brotherhood Quartermaster, a shorter man in his late fifties with a salt and pepper goatee, was the most frustrating experience I've ever had at a gun cage.

While flying over the destroyed city once again, I couldn't take my eyes off the Brotherhood airship, apparently they named the Prydwen. It slowly resolved from a dot in the distance, hovering over the remains of Boston's airport, into the massive aircraft, dozens of other Vertibirds swarming around it.

Once we docked, Danse, Marsaul and our half dozen guards escorted us directly to a hangar below the command deck. Maxson didn't greet us this time.

I can't say the thought of killing him didn't cross my mind if he had.

Maybe it was my uncertainty with the situation, my brain trying to reel it back into a world I understand. Maybe it was because their mix of militancy and fundamentalism put a deep pit in my stomach. Even though I knew, intellectually, killing him would only cause more problems, I couldn't get the thought out of my head.

The hangar seemed to span the length of the ship, with what had to be over a hundred Brotherhood members. They were all working on equipment, including a few dozen suits of their power armor, or suiting up.

As we entered, a red haired woman greeted us, introducing herself as Proctor Ingram. She was in what looked like a powered frame, her legs missing from the knee down. The woman did her best to hide it, but the Proctor's eyes betrayed her curiosity. Even when she was speaking with Nate, who had taken it upon himself to do all of the talking (thankfully), her eyes would dart back to me periodically.

I felt exposed.

These people weren't my allies. Soon enough they'd be my enemy, and my body never let me forget that. I was so tense, as my eyes and ears took in as much of the bustling hangar as they could, it would be impossible for the men escorting us to miss. There were too many people, too many risks, and if something did happen, this much ordinance would be difficult to handle. But on the other hand, this was better than putting a round through Maxson; the hangar looked like a vital repair or refit depot. Taking this out probably wouldn't cripple them, but it would be a hit to their long term combat viability.

And it pained me that I couldn't. It was too risky, and not just for Nate.

After a few minutes of Nate and Ingram talking they came to an agreement someone would train him with his new set of T-60 power armor.

"We have a suit for you as well", the Proctor said, looking at me, "but from what I hear, you don't need it."

I shook my head.

My companion smacked the back of my arm. My body coiled even tighter at the contact.

It's Nate. Calm down.

"No, he's pretty attached to his current tin can."

"Can't say I've seen anything like that, and I know every version our side ever deployed. Even the experimental rigs the Enclave got their hands on."

There was a clear implication loaded in her question, but she wasn't getting an answer.

I saw the ex-soldier shrug out of my periphery. "You aren't the first person who has said that."

"I don't doubt it, but if I'm going to support you, I need to know what I'm working with."

Provided it didn't suffer any major damage, Mjolnir armor is built to operate without a support crew for extended periods. Mine was modified to extend that indefinitely, even if multiple systems fail, like my HERS, and motion tracker. Comes with the territory when my deployments could last months while maintaining minimal contact with command.

"Maybe at some point, but I don't think he's comfortable letting anyone mess with it for now. We're both still coming to terms with the decision to join you guys, so I hope you'll understand."

Ingram's gaze lingered on me before finally tearing it away and looking down at Nate.

"I do, but I also want to make sure my people get the best support they can. I don't like sending soldiers out there half cocked." She turned back to me. "So I hope you'll come to trust us enough to allow me the privilege of working on your gear if the need ever arises."

That- wasn't the response I was expecting. She didn't plead for, or demand anything. It… almost sounded like she understood how personal letting someone service my armor was. There were only two technicians who had ever done it, and they were both transferred to the SPARTAN IV support team when I was integrated. It was one of the few favors ONI ever did me, and one of the few things I was genuinely grateful for.

I nodded. "Understood."

She flashed a brief smile. "Other than that, it looks like your weapons have seen better days. While we get your friend here set up in his armor, take that rifle over there", she pointed toward a caged off portion of the hangar, "Proctor Teagan will get a new stock and sight put on and dialed in."

I nodded again.

Nate shot me a nervous glance. He was still just as uncomfortable as I was.

As the Proctor left with Nate to head somewhere in the mess of bustling crew members, Danse led me to the gun cage.

All of the guards stayed on me.

While we did get a few furtive glances, most of the Brotherhood staff didn't interact besides giving us a very wide berth. Teagan though… he was different. Unlike Ingram, he asked a dozen questions within the first 30 seconds of watching me approach his station. It wasn't just that he was curious, he asked the questions like he expected them to be answered for the sake of him taking the time to ask.

Danse, oddly enough, stepped in to disrupt the stream of constantly more aggressive inquiries. I guess the older man didn't like the non-responsive stare he was getting in return. "Proctor Teagan, there will be time for questioning later, for now, he just needs a weapon refit."

I pulled the damaged weapon off of my back and set it on the counter in front of me.

"Ah", the quartermaster said as he eyed the large caliber rifle, "and where did you find one of these?" His voice had changed to something closer to satisfaction.

"Raiders."

"Well you met one with the best taste I've seen. McMillan TAC-50 A1. It's a good rifle, about as accurate as a .50 cal is going to get. These ones aren't well suited for field use though, as you seem to have discovered." He picked the weapon up. "I don't know if we have a spare stock for this, but we do have a few C variants. Give me an hour or so to dig one up."

The quartermaster placed the destroyed rifle on the table behind him. "And what about that one?" Teagan motioned at my newly acquired combat rifle.

I wasn't about to part with my primary weapon. "It's fine."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Without waiting for either of the Paladins flanking me, I turned away from the gun cage and started back out into the hangar. My eight man guard began plodding after me in a cacophony of thuds I could feel through the thick steel deck.

"Still not a fan of conversation", Danse said as he drew even with me.

You're one to talk.

"Never have been."

"Have you worked as part of a team before?"

I met his gaze, eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I'll take that as a yes. Maxson has put me in charge of evaluating you in combat. To that end we have an operation I'd like you to take part in. Your friend will take a day or two to train in his new armor. That should be plenty of time for you." The Paladin almost spat the last sentence.

Still sore over the first time huh?

They already want me to run a mission with them. It wasn't surprising, but the decision showed their inexperience. Even on my deployment with the ODST platoon, we spent the better part of two weeks drilling for the operation. With the IV's it was almost a month. Even with that relatively little time I realized the comfort level you build with your team can be the difference between life and death. The best way to screw a mission was to panic, and the best way to panic is indecision. Very rarely does a deployment go exactly to plan, so it's what happens in the instant after things go sideways that matters. Knowing what the people around you are going to do is just as important as knowing what you will.

Besides all that, I had absolutely no interest in working with these people, acting as part of a team even less so. And it was pretty obvious they weren't just doing this to get an idea of how well I work in a team, they want a profile in case they need to fight me at some point.

"I prefer to operate alone."

"That isn't how we work here. If you want to be a Knight, you are part of a team, you watch your partner's back, and you complete the mission together."

I don't want to be a 'Knight'.

This is just as good an opportunity for me to learn their squad tactics and capabilities as it is for them to gauge me.

And if it turns into a setup?

Like they would bring me to their base of operations, with all the resources they have on hand, and then take me somewhere to ambush me.

Outside of my reservations about working with these fundies, I didn't have any reasonable objections to this. Whatever low rent op they're going to run me through, unless they were markedly less competent than they seemed, wouldn't be a problem.

"What's the mission?"

The Paladin was guiding me toward the Prydwen's bow. I hadn't seen Nate yet.

"Clearing out a known Supermutant outpost. We're investigating the disappearance of one of our advance teams. Drop in, eliminate the mutants, get our Scribe team in, protect them while they find what they need."

"Enemy strength? Terrain assessment?"

Danse didn't answer immediately. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking with his helmet on (ironic).

"A few dozen Supermutants", he replied eventually, "they're held up in what's left of a suburb called the West Everett Estates."

"And the team?"

The Paladin motioned to the guards around me. "Some of the best soldiers in the Brotherhood, so this operation should be no trouble."

I cocked my head at him. I couldn't tell if he meant to imply they were also there to keep an eye on me.

"We have a brief prepared, if you accept we'll get started."

Not like I have a choice.

I nodded.

"You want me to put you behind me with a .50 caliber sniper rifle." Danse managed to sound both astonished and irritated. "Not only does that defeat the purpose of an evaluation, but I don't feel like taking one of those in the back."

His helmet's tinted lenses were too dark to see through, and the dim lighting in the large office they repurposed to be a prep room didn't help. "Leave one of yours with me then. This is what I do best, and it would make for minimal disruption of team cohesion."

That wasn't strictly true. While I was a steady hand with any rifle, CQC was my bread and butter. I'd pulled off my share of 'one in a million' shots though, and as far as Fourier's team went, Amanda, the squad's sniper, was the only one better.

If only by a little.

"You're still asking me to trust you."

"Nate's still here."

It felt odd, using their own leverage, the ex-soldier's safety, against them, but it was my best option. I got to see how they fight from a bird's eye view, I didn't have to worry about truly working with them, and it gave me the chance to finally use the rifle. Or at least one like it.

"I'll go with him", one of the soldiers standing around the large table said. From the voice I would guess a woman.

Danse looked at her, but didn't reply. He knew damn well what would happen if I decided I didn't want to play nice. First hand experience with a rifle being shoved in your face has a tendency to promote caution.

"Grant", he said after almost a minute of silence, looking at the armored soldier to my right, "you and Carter are on spotter/support duty."

The woman, Carter, and another Brotherhood member, Grant, both nodded.

I looked back down at the map of our AO, double checking my assessment. The neighborhood wasn't very large, maybe twice the size of Sanctuary, but it had none of the settlement's natural barriers. On top of that, it was within a good sniper's range of some of the smaller towers in the metropolitan area's edges. That's where I decided to station.

A little over a klick out was, what Danse had told me, a relatively intact 15 story office building. Like most SPARTANs, the SRS99 chambered in 14.5x114mm was my go to long range weapon, but I have plenty of experience with the 12.7x99mm cartridge. It didn't have the velocity of the larger round, but it wasn't far off, and at that range, it wouldn't matter. The extra elevation would help too, both overwatch and trajectory.

"Okay people, we insert a half mile west of the target. Our overwatch will hitch a ride with the Scribe detachment. Sampson, Frazier and I will take lead, Collins and Pouncey on support. Without info on the Supermutants' armament, we won't have Vertibird flyovers so this is a ground operation only. We'll take cues from our overwatch", the Paladin cast a glance at me, "and signal the all clear only once we've swept the neighborhood for any possible stragglers."

They all nodded their agreement and began filtering out of the room, but Danse didn't budge, eyes locked on me.

"What's your play", he asked after the other soldiers had left. "You and I both know you have no problem at close quarters."

"I told you."

"You're saying you're a better shot than fighter." He didn't sound convinced.

"If you're this concerned, why bring me? I'm the same risk to your people whether I'm on the ground or not."

"I can't keep an eye on you if you're almost a mile away."

"Attacking you makes no sense."

The Paladin didn't respond immediately. He knew I was right, but the man didn't like me. I couldn't blame him, the feeling was mutual.

"Fine, but don't think you have carte blanche, every one of them have standing orders to shoot you if you become a threat."

Again, the feeling's mutual.

"Likewise."

"Hmm. Does that tin can of yours have comms?"

"Broken."

He grabbed a small radio and mic from the table. "We're on 140.00."

"Understood."

We left the prep room and Danse led me to the gun cage where Teagan was waiting with another bolt action rifle resting on the counter in front of him. The man wasn't very emotive, but he seemed to almost buzz with excitement. The weapon didn't share any exterior features with my last one; this one had a milled aluminum stock with integrated picatinny rails over the receiver and on the handguard. The barrel was fluted with a massive muzzle brake on the end and the Proctor had topped it off with what looked like a 5-25x50 optic.

I couldn't help the smile slowly spreading across my face.

"I put this one together just before we got here." The gruff looking man pushed the rifle along with a small bipod and several boxes of ammunition and magazines toward me. "The scope has zero locks and is sighted in at 100 yards."

Slinging the rifle over my back, I grabbed the bipod and ammo. "Understood."

"I'm hoping you can put it to better use than some of the bedwetting FNG's we got around here."

Oh I will.

"I'll try not to disappoint."

The Proctor glanced at Danse. "Oh I've heard of your run in with our esteemed Paladin. I'm sure you won't."

"Let's get moving", the man in question said, "the rest of the team will be waiting for us."

Teagan had inadvertently given me another piece of information: they have a lot of newly minted fighters. That meant a significant portion of their fighting force was inexperienced, heavily dependent on leadership. By extension, that meant their combat effectiveness would be reliant on a few more experienced soldiers, and that gave me targets.

As we left the hangar, I took another look around for Nate, but there was no sign of my companion. Had they taken him somewhere else? It would make sense; training in a suit of power armor in an area this crowded wasn't a good idea.

My unease mounted as we emerged on the Prydwen's docks. I wasn't afraid of these people. If shit hit the fan or the soldiers with me decided to try something stupid, I could handle it. What had me on edge was the idea of working with them at all. Not only were they a cult, but I just met most of them two days ago, and the ones I had encountered before that, Danse, Haylen, and Rhys, I'd shot. Cooperating with people I know is hard enough. Cooperating with strangers was… extremely disconcerting.

The other issue would be what happened to Nate if things went upside down. But unfortunately, refusing them now would put us in a bad position for sure. I could only handle one problem at a time. If that came to pass… well I would have to improvise.

Even with all that, this is something I have to do. At the other end of this is a path toward the Institute doctor hiding out in the 'Glowing Sea'. I'm only doing this to get one step closer to potentially finding a way back.

Setting aside my aversion to working with people… Fourier would be proud.

And I'm getting a very nice rifle and ammo out of it.

Danse was right. He led me back to the docks at the Prydwen's aft where the six armored soldiers were waiting beside a Vertibird.

The five in the forward team climbed into that one while my two 'escorts' moved toward another across the docking station. This one had three unarmored Brotherhood members, the Scribes, each carrying a large backpack and laser rifle.

One of them was Haylen.

She eyed me before offering a small wave. The scribe was probably as wary of me as I was of them. For good reason I guess, I did almost kill her. But Haylen seemed to be more pragmatic than most of the people here. She was the one who convinced Danse to accept our help in exchange for information, even if it hadn't led Nate or I anywhere.

I nodded in return.

The Brotherhood members climbed into the waiting VTOL. I took a deep breath as I approached the aircraft.

It was an odd feeling, being both excited and nervous at the same time. It was something I'd experienced countless times before, but it's been a while since I've had it like this.

I found myself smiling despite everything. 'New' could be uncomfortable, but 'new' also meant thrilling. The politics aren't something I'm fond of, but throwing myself into new, unknown situations is what I did for the better part of a decade. That had lessened during my time with Fourier's squad, but this was very new. While there were plenty of things about it that made me uncomfortable, I was fascinated by the prospect of an entirely new type of mission.

The Brotherhood was certainly that.

I spent the first ten minutes of the flight charging my new rifle's magazines and familiarizing myself with the weapon. Teagan may have been annoying, but he knew how to build a gun.

Every person in the Vertibird's passenger compartment had their eyes locked on me. It wasn't unusual, but there was an added level of discomfort. I did my best to ignore it, but when I was finished securing the bipod, I looked up to see Haylen staring straight into my visor.

The Scribe didn't look away as I met her gaze.

"It's good to see you again", she shouted over the pounding rotors.

I cocked my head.

"I mean it. Rhys would have died if it weren't for you two. Danse and I probably would have too."

Even after I shot you? I didn't give the question voice, instead responding with a nod.

"Can I ask you something?"

I have heard that way too many times over the past few weeks.

"Why did you decide to join us?"

Apparently Haylen took my lack of a response as an affirmative.

"It was the logical decision."

"The logical decision? What do you mean?"

"Why is it important?"

The Scribe frowned. "Why wouldn't it be? You didn't have to join."

It didn't seem like she was digging for anything. Did she not understand how her own organization worked?

"It was either this or make number one on your shit list."

The occupants' collective attention was already on me, but the statement seemed to sharpen it. That probably wasn't the right thing to say.

Haylen looked upset, if not offended. "No you wouldn't have. As long as you didn't align yourself with the Institute, we would have left you alone. Maxson isn't interested in making any other enemies."

And you don't remember what I told you in Cambridge?

I shrugged. She didn't understand how the Brotherhood operated. It wasn't a surprise, those things tend to live under the 'righteous duty' and strong man rhetoric, and it wasn't my job to educate her on the militia she served in. At the end of the day, I will probably end up fighting the Brotherhood. Maybe she'll get caught up in it, or maybe she's smart enough to recognize who she works for and leave. Or maybe she'll find out and stay anyway. That's her choice, not mine.

"So you're saying you only joined because you didn't want to fight us?"

The others were staring at me, including the two armored soldiers. They were the ones I needed to worry about. Not only were they a risk during the mission, but everything I said here would make it back to Danse and Maxson.

"No."

"What then?"

Am I supposed to tell her we're just staying long enough to get Nate a suit of power armor? Right.

"I'm here to help." For now.

Haylen looked decidedly unsatisfied with my answer, but again, that was her problem.

I turned my attention back to the now thinning cityscape racing by underneath the aircraft. They were inserting under a klick out? These things are loud enough to be heard from five times that. Hell, the Supermutants would probably know where I was.

As the city began turning to suburb, or what was left of it, the other Vertibird veered south while we maintained course. Eventually we began descending toward a cluster of squat office buildings set in the center of what look like it had been a business park a few centuries ago. I slung my new toy and readied the combat rifle.

Nothing besides dirt and sparse vegetation moved as the VTOL's props whipped the air around, hovering just over the building. The instant its wheels touched concrete, I was out of the passenger compartment, clearing the roof and making my way toward the access door at the corner adjacent to us. The others were much slower leaving the aircraft. Slow enough I had to check whether or not they were going to at all. I may not have been the most experienced with them, but I knew pilots who would tear any infantryman a new asshole if they kept their bird on the deck too long without proper cover.

In one very amusing instance, a Pelican wing leader had come to the armory post-op. She laid into the team lead of another squad of IV's like he was fresh out of basic. I don't know what happened, but it involved one of his SPARTANs screwing up their insertion. I'll give them credit, those guys don't give a fuck.

If anyone had been waiting, and had any combat experience at all, that Vertibird would have been full of bullet holes and everyone in it would probably be dead.

Once the two armored soldiers had disembarked and took positions around the aircraft, the Scribes began climbing down as well.

At least they'd gotten that right.

"Paladin Danse", one of my escorts, Grant judging by the voice, said over comms, "we're at the Overwatch location."

"Understood, assault team is landing in three minutes."

"We'll be ready." The soldier nodded at me.

Their comms suck too. Everything I'd seen so far only reinforced my initial assessment: these people are trained a well-equipped, but have never seen any major engagement. At least not recently.

We moved down into the building, clearing out the upper floors. Other than a few of those giant cockroaches, it was quiet and empty.

By the time three minutes had ticked off of my clock, I'd chosen a window with a clear view of our target area. Despite their protest, Carter and Grant were clearing the building. Carter tried to say she could go it alone, but I could tell even she knew that was a stupid suggestion.

I settled behind my new rifle, cradling the pistol grip with my right and pressing the stock against my shoulder with my left.

It had been too long since I'd done this.

Whatever scope Teagan had fitted to this, it was very high end for conventional glass. Most didn't cooperate with the odd position my helmet necessitated, but this one had damn near perfect eye relief and the sight picture was crystal clear.

My HUD automatically began displaying range to target. If I'd been using the scopes with digital assist fitted to most modern rifles, it would begin making adjustments as I shifted my aim. I've always enjoyed the old fashioned methods: estimating windage and drop based on field conditions and manually adjusting turrets. It wasn't the rifle making shots for me, it was my own skill and time behind a trigger doing the work.

The vegetation was calm all the way to target. There were a few loose panels on several of the crumbling houses shifting in a gentle wind, but that looked to be at the far end of my target area.

I checked range, 950 meters at the front end, 1400 at the far, and ran the numbers in my head. That would give me between 5 and 7 meters of drop. I adjusted the sight for the front edge and began scanning the area for targets.

It took me a few moments to identify the first Supermutant. It… wasn't what I had been expecting. I'm not sure what I thought they would be, but large, misshapen, yellow facsimiles of people wasn't it. They were milling around the neighborhood in groups of three or four, with 15 collected near the center around, what looked like a pile of-

Oh.

Then the corpses registered.

There had to have been dozens of them. It was impossible to tell for sure; most were mutilated beyond recognition, torn apart and scattered around the village. There was blood everywhere.

Another piece of the attack flashed through my mind as I saw more Kig Yar pile on the corpses that, up until a moment ago, had been my family and neighbors. Blood spewed over the inside of my childhood home as the sounds of tearing flesh and breaking bone grew louder than my crying. Within a few seconds, there was nothing recognizable left of the people who had been trying to defend themselves and their loved ones from the Covenant.

Had the same thing happened here? Is this what Supermutants do?

I refocused on the main group. They were all dressed in mismatched collections of leather and steel plate haphazardly strapped anywhere they thought may need it. Their protection made Raiders look uniform.

And they were eating.

This wasn't the first time I'd seen people being eaten since the attack. There had been several more encounters with Covenant. And one with a Fundie outfit.

That one managed to rattle me. I took a much more personal pleasure in making sure they didn't do that again. None of them upset me though. It was probably because I'd pushed all of that away.

But now…

Most of the blood around their little get together hadn't had a chance to dry yet. Whoever they were eating had been alive just a few hours ago.

Those had been people.

Judging by the amount of bones scattered throughout the neighborhood, and brown, dried blood staining the cracked streets, and dilapidated houses, this wasn't even close to the first time. The Supermutants are cannibals. They prey on people to eat.

People killing people over land, resources, religion- shit whatever, I don't care. That's what I do. Well, it's what I do for the UNSC. Killing people to eat them? Like livestock?

No.

More than anything I wished I wasn't up here lying behind this rifle. I wanted to be down there. I wanted to tear them apart the same way they had their victims. I know what that looks like, what that sounds like. What that feels like. These bastards-

I had to check my thumb. It was resting on the rifle's safety, ready to push it forward. My index finger was ready to put a round down range and get things started. I couldn't though. Danse's squad wasn't in position yet, and the best way to make sure every one of these motherfuckers died was to have ground support ready to catch whatever fell through the cracks.

I keyed my mic. "Danse, estimate enemy forces at 50. 10 patrols of 3 to 4, 15 more in the middle of town. Eating."

"You said 50?"

"Affirmative."

"And you said they're eating?"

"Affirmative. 15."

The Paladin paused.

"Understood. We'll be in position in three minutes."

"Acknowledged."

My attention returned to the collection of houses. I pushed the cold fury to the back of my head and focused on threat assessment. I couldn't kill the bastards with angry thoughts.

The Supermutants' armament was just as haphazard as their equipment. Most had some form of long gun: rifles, a shotgun or two, one had a damn Gatling gun sitting on the ground next to it, carrying a large ammo pack. There were a few others who didn't have anything except something small and round strapped to their wrists. Probably suicide bombers.

They hadn't reacted to the Vertibirds flying nearby. Strange.

Three minutes wasn't long enough to establish patrol routes, if they even existed, or probe for ideal infiltration points. The best I could do was give Danse and his fireteam up to date enemy positions and play hell with whatever response these disorganized assholes put together.

I glanced toward where the small group of Brotherhood soldiers would be approaching from. They were using visual cover the best they could with their ungainly armor. Their 'cover and move' tactics were rudimentary, taking the first decent position they could find like they were in combat, but the armored men were thorough and disciplined.

The fireteam was using rather obvious signals, but that was probably because of the armor. None of them were using comms, unless they had a separate channel to speak privately which would be stupid in a combat situation, especially if it's cutting off their overwatch. That meant they were making their callouts aloud, which would be even worse, or they were only using nonverbal communication. I couldn't imagine they were dumb enough to go with the first two options. That meant, at least this relatively elite squad, was well trained and had experience.

Even if they weren't going to show me all their tricks, which may be why they're using such simple methods, they were still telling me enough. These guys were well versed in conventional ground combat, but there were serious, exploitable gaps. I thought back to the Vertibird, still sitting on the roof. How long it took them to disembark.

They've fought, but they haven't been in real battles. They aren't used to fighting people with sound tactics and advanced technology.

I looked back at the neighborhood. Several groups were in the soldiers' approach. "I have eyes on you- Danse", not having callsigns felt odd, "three patrols along your approach, first one is at your 11, 50 meters ahead. Second and third are both at your two, 100 meters out."

"Where are the rest", the Paladin asked, still slowly advancing.

"Scattered around the neighborhood. They don't have any patterns; once the shooting starts, they'll all make for your position."

"That's to be expected."

Despite my reservations, this type of in-op communication was almost natural by this point. I guess the IV's did a decent job there. Even with the Brotherhood soldier's awful comms etiquette

"Recommend I take the group in the middle before you engage."

"What kind of weapons are we going up against?"

"Mostly rifles, a few suicide bombers, one with a small caliber Gatling gun." Granted, small is relative here. I'm used to the 110mm ship to ship rotary cannons the GA-TL1 Longsword carried.

"Can you take out the Gatling gun first?"

I intended to. "Affirmative."

"We'll go with your idea then."

Did that mean they would engage once I began shooting? "Understood, wait on my go." The Supermutants needed to be thoroughly confused before the fireteam engaged. They may have been well equipped and up against a group that looked like it was operating with about half a brain between all of them, but it was still five non-SPARTANs against 50.

"Not when you start shooting?"

"Negative."

Danse didn't reply immediately. So their default is the brute force method.

"Okay."

I waited another 30 seconds, adjusting the zero on my scope to the first batch of Supermutants, and establishing a target progression.

They were still eating.

It was unfortunate the first group wouldn't get the chance to be afraid. One moment they'd be… enjoying their meal, and the next they'd be dead. But, as with the Covies, it was time to put the emotion away and get to work. Emotions only lead to mistakes.

And I'm not making any more goddamn mistakes.

I scanned the neighborhood once more to make sure I hadn't missed anything. Once I confirmed I had each visible Supermutant accounted for, I placed my crosshair over the first target's head. It was tearing another bite from some piece of a person, flesh from a thigh based on the size.

That was the last bite the motherfucker would take.

I slipped my index finger onto the trigger took up the slack, and inhaled, deep. After an instant, I pushed half of the air from my lungs, held, counted my heartbeats, and in between the fourth and fifth, squeezed my new rifle's trigger.

The weapon had a well-oiled trigger mechanism and the break was crisp, maybe even better than the standard issue SRS-99's. It's large, 12.7mm round exploded from the barrel, a small fireball following it out. Even through my armor, I could feel the concussion produced by the large bullet and aggressive muzzle brake in the confined space.

I didn't wait for the bullet to impact my first target. I cycled the bolt, chambering a new cartridge, adjusted aim, and sent the next one on its way just as the first crashed into the Gatling gun carrying Supermutant.

Even as I ejected the second spent casing, I watched the round slam into the thing's head, just under the bridge of its nose. I've always drawn grim satisfaction from seeing high powered sniper rounds hit my target, especially from these types of distances. The bastard's head exploded into a cascade of blood, bone, and brain, splashing over its companions as I sent the third round down range. The second found its home in the broken asphalt behind the second Supermutant's own blood shower, sending fragments of the street exploding in all directions.

It wasn't until the fourth 12.7mm was on its journey when the center group finally realized they were being picked off and scrambled away from the three headless bodies. The fourth shot missed, but that didn't surprise me. Hitting erratically moving targets at this range was damn near impossible. You might as well spray at them with whatever rifle you could get your hands on.

So I switched to the patrols nearest Danse's position. They were stopped, looking around for the source of the distant booms.

Dumb. Asses.

Two in the group less than 50 meters from the fireteam were down before the third and fourth began running.

I swapped the empty magazine for a fresh one and chambered the next round.

In the next 20 seconds, I managed to put down 3 more Supermutants, and blow an arm and leg off of 2 more with my second mag. By then, the entire neighborhood was covered in the remaining 40 or so running in all directions, trying to figure out what was attacking them.

"Engage", I barked into my mic.

The instant I did, the five dormant Brotherhood soldiers exploded from their cover, guns blazing at the edge of the neighborhood. The rifle fire wasn't meant to kill anything, most regular people wouldn't be able to hit a vehicle sized target doing that, but keep any remaining combatants' heads down. Not that it was much use against these things, they barely registered the armored soldiers' approach.

I put two more rounds downrange, one hitting a Supermutant in the sternum, folding the large, yellow figure in half as its spine exited its back in an explosion of mulched organs. The second one punched through the siding of a house, and I saw burst of asphalt fly into the air on the other side, but I missed the target behind the wall.

Gunfire began flying in the opposite direction, back toward the advancing fireteam, as they started pushing into the collection of houses. Most of it was ineffective, but I saw one of the soldiers take a few hits. It didn't faze whoever was stuffed into the armor, and the five of them continued advancing into the firefight.

And that's when the suicide bombers began streaming toward the Brotherhood soldiers. I counted a dozen of the bastards, whatever the bomb was strapped to their wrists now blinking red.

My sniper rifle took two out of the fight before the mag ran dry. I swapped as quickly as I could, two spares left, and slammed the bolt forward. By then, the soldiers had taken out four more, finding cover from the gunfire and concentrating on the rushing Supermutants. Seven more were still bounding between crumbling houses. I took another shot, but it missed. Removing that threat was up to the fireteam now.

Switching back to the more conventionally armed enemies, I began picking off targets of opportunity. The punch 12.7mm rounds had made life easier, able to break through any wall a target was hiding behind. The first three rounds found their targets. I sighted on a fifth, this one trying to rush in after the suicide bombers. My finger tightened around the trigger and the rifle boomed-

A blinding light erupted near the Brotherhood soldiers' position. My visor polarized as far as it would go, but a massive sunspot still blocked most of my vision. Just as it began clearing, a boom loud enough to shake the tower slammed into me.

"Report", I shouted into comms. I inserted my penultimate magazine.

No response.

"Danse, status report."

Dust and smoke were rising into the air over the neighborhood in a massive cloud. It didn't take a genius to figure out one of the suicide bombers detonated their charge. The brightness of that flash, that wasn't a conventional detonation; that looked nuclear. But a nuke that small? Most of the houses in the area were still… as intact as they were when we arrived. Is that possible?

I understand the basics of fission and fusion detonations, but I don't know the physical limits of those nuclear reactions. Was it possible to produce weapons with such small yields?

Not important.

Despite myself, I took my eye off the scope and turned back to my escorts who were now standing in the rear of the room, staring through the window at the miniature mushroom cloud.

"Can your armor survive that?"

Neither responded.

"WAKE UP", I barked again, in a voice that would have brought a tear to Mendez's eye. The two Brotherhood soldiers tore their eyes from the explosion and their attention snapped to me. "If the fireteam's gone, we're bugging the fuck out. So. Can your armor survive that?"

"Depends on proximity", Grant said, voice shaky. "It might survive a near miss, but not a direct hit."

That doesn't tell me anything. I didn't have eyes on the Brotherhood soldiers when the 'mini nuke' went off.

"Danse, status."

Static.

If that really was some sort of nuclear detonation, it scrambled comms.

I'd forgotten about the massive burst of spectrum wide radiation accompanying those explosions. It would be like they were standing beside a radar jammer for the next 30 seconds.

Dammit.

I sighted back in on the neighborhood, searching for signs of a gunfight. The thick dust swirled upward in the erratic air currents produced from the extreme temperature gradient and local vacuum produced by the explosion. It was impossible to make out anything in the mess.

As I watched, studying the detonation site for anything, the telltale flash of laser fire erupted in the cloud of smoke while I watched. They were from at least three distinct positions.

So at least a few of them survived. Then it was time to get back to work.

I adjusted my aim and began searching for targets that were an immediate threat to whatever was left of the fireteam. Each round had to be a kill, I only have 10 left. I slowed my pace, watching each bullet impact at its intended destination before moving on.

Just as I swapped in my last mag, the speakers in my helmet crackled back to life.

"-hear me?" It was Danse's voice, heavily distorted, but definitely his.

"Danse, repeat your last."

"Can you hear me?" His voice was distant, but steady. The Paladin was disciplined if nothing else

"I copy, what's your status?"

"Frazier is down, Pouncey is wounded."

"Acknowledge. I'm almost black on ammo, enemy force at", I scanned the neighborhood, "25% strength."

The dust cloud thinned as we talked.

"Understood, Pouncey is able to fight and we still need to finish clearing these things out."

"Acknowledged. Area to your 9 O'clock is clear; move there and regroup, I'll provide limited cover."

"Thanks."

The area around them was covered in new body parts and scattered pieces of armor. There were too many to just be Frazier, so those must have been the remains of whatever suicide bombers got to the fireteam.

I watched the four living soldier, one of them with a severe limp, begin toward the designated area. This time their simplistic cover and move methods were perfect for the situation, especially with a wounded team member. Their immediate vicinity was still clear, so I switched to looking for Supermutants outside the blast zone. Several were still firing at the transitioning group, but as I watched one of them caught a burst of laser fire to the stomach. Its intestines were shredded and began tumbling out of the gaping hole in its stomach, but the damn thing kept shooting. It took two more bursts, one to the left collar bone, and another to the chest to put it down.

I'd been firing very high powered rounds at those cannibalistic bastards, but the Brotherhood were using basic (for them) laser weapons. I guess that's what Sturges meant by 'hard to kill'.

There were others firing at them, and the wounded soldier, Pouncey, took a couple rounds in the right shoulder and side of his helmet. He stumbled as I found the perpetrator and put a round through his left ear.

Four left. I should have asked for more ammo. 30 rounds wasn't enough for an operation like this.

I chambered another cartridge. I can berate myself after the fireteam is out of danger.

One more Supermutant lost its head in a rather spectacular explosion that left the wall behind it and one of its friends covered in blood and brain as the soldiers set up sightlines from their new position. The remaining nine targets seemed to lose their patience at that point, rushing the group.

At least they want this over with too.

They didn't last long. The Brotherhood soldiers were good shots, and the Supermutants decided they weren't going to use the same tried and true tactics the fireteam did. I emptied my last magazine, two of the three shots hitting their intended targets. Under other circumstances, I'd be disappointed with my accuracy. I missed eight times, but combat situations were erratic and unpredictable. A 70% plus effective rate was acceptable given the new rifle.

I pulled the bolt back, last spent casing ejecting from the weapon, and left it. It wasn't necessary, but old habits die hard. I had always done it during training to remind myself I was no longer combat effective.

Another sweep of the neighborhood didn't turn up any more targets, but in a place like that, it was impossible to be sure from over a klick away.

Plus, I wanted to get down there just in case there are any more Supermutants in hiding. It wasn't because I wanted to keep the fireteam safe from them. Now that the primary threat was dealt with, I felt my anger return. This was a more… personal decision. There was certainly tactical viability, but I wasn't going to lie to myself.

And this isn't a mistake; I just have to make sure I don't make any while I'm down there.

I stood from my prone position and collected the combat rifle on the ground next to me, the empty weapon, and its magazines.

"Stay here", I said, turning to my escorts who had resumed watching the hall outside, "protect the Scribes, the Vertibird will come back and pick you up once we give the all clear."

Carter's head whipped toward me. "What?"

I really hate it when people question my decisions. It's become a constant since landing here.

"Your people are in bad shape, and we need to make sure the neighborhood is secure."

My patience wasn't going to let me wait for a response. I pushed past the two soldiers and headed for the roof. They followed, but didn't stop me. I guess that was an improvement.

Danse agreed when I told him I was coming down to support. Climbing into the VTOL, I strapped my sniper rifle into one of the seats and double checked the combat rifle. The pilot had been listening to our comms and already had the two rotors spinning up as I did.

I leaned through the passage into the cockpit as the Vertibird lifted off of the building's roof. "Drop me west of the fireteam."

"That's all houses."

"Hover, over the buildings, I don't need you to land."

The pilot took his eyes away from his instruments long enough to cast a dubious glance back at me. "You sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay then."

The flight was only a minute or so, but there was no more gunfire as we approached the west side of the neighborhood. The pilot flared his bird out into a hover just over the roofs and I jumped from a side door. As soon as I was clear and falling toward the destroyed street below, the VTOL's engines were whining and it began climbing back into the sky.

It wasn't a long drop, maybe four meters, and I flexed my legs doing my best to absorb the impact without rolling. Even if it was unlikely any enemies were hiding in this area at this point, I still didn't want to give the outside chance an opportunity. The already broken pavement fractured even more, but I don't think anyone will notice.

The Vertibird's pounding rotors receded toward the tower as I cleared my landing zone and started forward. The air was still thick with smoke and dust from the explosion. There was no residual radiation though. Odd.

I slipped between two houses that had been hit by the blast, both walls facing the detonation completely collapsed. "Danse, approaching from your 4 o'clock."

"Understood", came the terse reply. I couldn't tell if he was frustrated or concentrating.

The detonation site was immediately to my right as I emerged from the houses. There wasn't much left at the center of the blast besides some twisted metal that looked like it may have been one of their power armor frames. Some body parts were scattered around the street beyond, but anything else within 50 meters of the epicenter looks like it had been vaporized.

No more Supermutants in sight though.

The remaining members of the fireteam were hunkered down outside of a small cluster of houses. The wounded man, Pouncey, was just inside the front door of one, another Brotherhood soldier pulling a mangled piece of armor off of his right leg. The two others, one I assumed was Danse, were standing guard outside.

"Are you secure here?"

One of the armored soldiers looked at me as I approached. "Yes."

"I'll clear the rest of the neighborhood."

"I can assist."

I came to a stop in front of the two Brotherhood members. "No. Keep your people safe." There were other reasons I didn't want the man following me, but that was the only one that would have any traction with him.

"I'll assist." The Paladin's voice was still tight.

"I don't need you, they", I motioned to the two soldiers in the house, "might." The longer we stood here arguing about it, the more time any stragglers had to regroup.

Without waiting for a response, I turned and jogged into the collection of crumbling houses and scattered body parts. Danse didn't follow. He was one I'd have to remove first whenever this kicks off. The Paladin was smart, disciplined, and pragmatic. He may have been prideful, but he wasn't letting that get in the way of the best decision. Unfortunately, that was another strike against the Brotherhood: if someone like Danse was buying into Maxson's fanaticism, it meant even the most practical members of the militia were along for the ride.

Picking my way through the mess of destroyed buildings, dead Supermutants, and scraps of what had been people sharpened my anger once again. It was similar to how I felt coming across an Insurrectionist group that did this. At first, Supermutants were a curiosity: a new type of enemy that might put up a good fight. Now they were anything but. The only thing I could think of was how I hoped there were still a few alive I could get a little more up close and personal with. But I wasn't going to let that distract me, especially if those things were carrying around bombs like the one they'd killed Frazier with.

Despite my wishes, after a full sweep of the neighborhood, I didn't find any. I counted 54 bodies, which meant the Brotherhood soldiers had put down 30 of the bastards. Not bad. They weren't smart and probably didn't know how to spell the word 'tactics', but they were tough, and there were a lot of them.

The last place I looked was the center of town, where the large group had been… eating. It wasn't that I hadn't seen people dismembered like this, but this brought back uncomfortable memories. I couldn't smell the pools of blood, rotting flesh, or burning bones, but I know exactly what that's like. I wish I hadn't remembered the attack, or at least remembered it with a little less detail. I could almost hear bones shattering, limbs being torn from their owners.

Their screams.

Yeah. I was going to kill every Supermutant I came across. And I wasn't going to be quick about it.

Bang.

I whirled to my left, rifle at the ready, aimed at one of the many destroyed houses. This one was missing most of its front wall. Inside were several mounds of rotting bodies and what looked like ancient torture equipment.

Bang.

It sounded like someone pounding on a door. My jaw clenched hard enough I felt like my teeth would shatter.

This was where they were keeping their- food. And where they butchered them

Bang.

"Hello", a muffled shout came from inside the house.

I picked my way past the gruesome collection of body parts and into the house's hall. It was barely large enough for me to fit.

Bang.

"Did someone kill those Supermutant assholes?"

It was coming from a door at the rear of the hall, doorknob chained to the frame. I took a deep breath, trying to force down the roiling fury that had taken hold.

"Yes", I replied, "stand away from the door."

"Who are you?" The voice was female. And guarded.

"I'm here to help. The Supermutants are dead. Back away from the door."

There was a brief pause. "Okay."

As her footsteps receded, I wrapped the chain around my hand until it was taunt. Twisting, I pulled the chain toward me and after a moment, the knob tore free from the wooden door. I swung it open to see a dark room occupied by a girl, maybe 16 years old, standing in front of two very young boys. They were both huddled behind her, clinging to the teenager's legs, faces drenched with tears.

I stood in the doorway, staring at the girl. She was tall and slender with long blonde hair that was matted and dirty. It was hard to tell with how dark the room was, but I'm fairly certain it was blood. She was even younger than me…

The two younger children couldn't have been any older than eight.

"Who are you", the girl demanded. Her voice was shaky, but determined.

I didn't respond. As hard as I tried, I couldn't stop the tidal wave of anger from spilling into every corner of my mind.

This is what happened to me. This is what happened to me.

More images, most of them the same one's I'd seen a dozen times by this point. A few others of the evacuation, the inside of the shuttle, still covered in my mother's blood.

"Who are you?" Her voice was much more accusatory this time.

I shook the memories away. The fury wasn't going to subside, but I had to deal with that for now.

"I'm here to help." I lowered my rifle and held out my left hand. I didn't know if it was the right thing to do, I'd never dealt with this situation before, but it was the only thing I could think of.

The girl spread her hands in front of the two younger kids, as if she could ward me off with willpower alone. "I asked who you are." This time she couldn't keep all of the fear out of her voice.

She had to know I'm not a Supermutant, right?

She's scared. Rational thinking doesn't work here.

How am I going to convince her to come with me then?

… Wing it?

Oh that's helpful.

"My… name is Damon. I'm a soldier. The Supermutants are all dead."

The girl's arms wavered. "A soldier? From where?" Her voice broke ever so slightly.

'The UNSC' isn't going to fly here.

"I'm with the Brotherhood of Steel."

"The Brother- who are they?"

I glanced down the hall toward the living room full of dismembered bodies. As much as I doubted any more Supermutants were out there, it wasn't worth risking.

"That's a long story, but right now I'm here to help. We need to go before any more Supermutants come."

"Ok-okay." Despite her earlier wariness, the girl suddenly sounded close to breaking down. She looked down at the two boys behind her. "It's okay, we're going to- going to be okay." Her voice was low and soft. The younger kids were staring at me, eyes wide as dinner plates.

She stepped through the door and took my offered hand. Her's was barely larger than my palm. So fragile. And she'd been through this.

I stared down at her, the girl now on the verge of tears. I felt like I had to say something. But what? What had I wanted to hear? What did I have to say that would help when I haven't dealt with my own past? What could possibly make this situation any better for them?

Knowing that there's going to be a future.

"It's okay. You're safe."

A choked sob escaped from the young girl and, an instant later, she burst into tears. She let go of my hand and wrapped her arms as far around my waist as they would go, burying her face in the titanium plate over my stomach. The two boys follow suit, each grabbing onto one of my legs.

Normally, my response to being held like this was… violent. But watching these three children cry into my armor- my chest tightened, not only with a burning hatred and anger, but sadness. It was a sadness that was far too close to home. Far too deep and painful. And yet I couldn't do anything about it.

I waited a moment, pushing the anger as far away as I could manage before keying my comms. "Danse, the neighborhood is clear. I have three survivors in the center of town."

"You said you have three survivors? You mean people?"

"Affirmative." I paused to take another deep breath. "Three children."

Silence bloomed over radio. It was several seconds before the Paladin replied. He must have known what that meant. "Grant, Carter, get the Scribes down here. Damon, give us a few minutes, we'll help secure the center of town to evacuate the survivors."

"Copy", I replied, voice hoarse. The others responded in kind, but I wasn't listening anymore. My attention was back on the children sobbing into me. Me. A weapon of war. In Nate's words a 'literal killing machine.' Into a suit of power armor who's one purpose is to make killing people and staying alive easier.

And yet… I might have been the best person to be standing here. I understood. I understood better than most ever could. The searing pain in my chest, working its way up my throat, told me not only could I sympathize with how they felt, I felt it with them.

Had there been someone like this for me after the attack? I still couldn't remember what happened once the Covenant killed- almost everyone. Did someone tell me it was going to be okay?

Several minutes passed with the three of them holding onto me, crying. I should have felt awkward. This kind of personal contact wasn't something I dealt with. Standing stock still like this was just as uncomfortable. Normally.

I could hear the pounding rotors of the Vertibird approaching, the steady whump, whump, whump, rhythmically beating the air to keep the VTOL aloft. The relatively gentle thuds of the Brotherhood soldiers approaching in their power armor was just audible over the aircraft and sobbing.

One of the Brotherhood soldiers entered the house followed by a quiet "oh shit." I looked back down the hall toward the living room full of dismembered corpses to see Danse staring at the pile. After a moment, he met my gaze and saw the bawling kids clinging to me.

Another thought occurred to me: what would I do if he tried to take them? He isn't my enemy, yet, but he isn't my ally either. The Brotherhood are fanatical. The last thing I wanted was to let these children be indoctrinated into their cult. I know how that goes too. I know how that goes all too well.

"The Vertibirds are both landing now", the Paladin said over comms, "we'll have Scribe Haylen take care of them."

Have Haylen take care of them? Leave them to the care of someone in the Brotherhood? No matter how kind the Scribe seemed, she was still a part of the Brotherhood, an outfit that followed Maxson. I couldn't do that. Something in me had to know these children would be alright, and that wasn't going to happen with these fundamentalists.

Well I'm sure as hell the wrong person to take care of them. And what am I going to do? Start a war with the Brotherhood now over this with Nate still on the Prydwen?

I don't know, but what am I supposed to do? Let these people ruin the rest of their lives even more?

I can figure that out once we're out of this mess.

As much as it pained me, I nodded. The only realistic option was to bring them back to the airport. For now. But they aren't staying there, and I'm not going to leave the Brotherhood until I know they're safe/

Reading body language was difficult in that armor, and I couldn't see his face, so I had no way of telling what he was thinking. I guess that's what people feel like around me. If his hesitation was anything to go by though, he was uncomfortable. I'm not sure what I would have thought if he hadn't been.

It wasn't long before the thud of other armored soldiers approached the front of the house. The three kids were just beginning to gather themselves when Haylen walked into the mess that had been a living room at one point in the past. Just like Danse, she paused to stare at the mound of bodies before the Paladin began explaining what had happened. She looked from him to me and the children who had let go of me. The girl was kneeling in front of the younger boys, hugging them. They didn't look anything alike, but that didn't necessarily mean they weren't siblings.

I felt the Scribe's eyes on me for a moment before her attention switched to the kids and began toward us.

"Hi, my name is Haylen." Her voice was soft, just above a whisper.

The girl's head snapped up as if she had just noticed the approaching Scribe.

"My- my name is Cassandra. These are Thomas and Julian."

Thomas and Julian, the two boys, still hadn't turned to look at Haylen. They were still staring at me, eyes just as wide as they had been when I first saw them. Now their faces were more naked curiosity and wonder than fear.

Haylen stopped just in front of us. "It's good to meet you. I'm a Scribe with the Brotherhood of steel. We're here to get you somewhere safe."

Cassandra twisted around to glance up at me before looking back at the short woman. "That's what he said. But I don't know who you are." The guarded, almost accusatory tone was back. I couldn't blame her. If anything, I respected her for it, even if it is just a show.

The Scribe offered a small smile. "That's a long story, but we got rid of the Supermutants here, and we'll do everything we can to help you."

Relative silence settled back over the small house, only the sound of rotors spinning down intruding into the thick blanket of quiet. I couldn't see the young girl's face, but her body was stiff. She was nervous, rightly so, but surprisingly calm considering the circumstances.

"Okay", she said eventually.

Haylen's smile grew. "Good. Let's get you three to one of our transports. We've got some food and water you can have while we wait."

"Wait for what?"

"We're going to take a look around."

After another moment's hesitation, Cassandra nodded.

We walked them out of the house to a waiting Vertibird in the same central square the Supermutants had been eating their latest victims a few minutes ago. Haylen had them close their eyes as we passed the large pile of bodies inside and as well as the collection of dead Supermutants and dismembered bodies. By now the sun was creeping down toward the horizon, casting everything in a pinkish hue.

I stood by the port side door while the Scribe settled them into jump seats and gave them a few MRE's and water. Danse watched me for a moment, but something in my posture must have told him I wasn't moving. He trudged off with another armored soldier, escorting the two other Scribes while the remaining three healthy Brotherhood members maintained a perimeter around the Vertibirds.

Goddamn Supermutants. These things weren't the Covenant. They weren't aliens. They were human, maybe mutated, but they were still human. There are plenty of animals around, but they decided to eat people. And with the number of body parts and bones scattered around the neighborhood, it had been a lot.

The more I thought about it, the more I thought I didn't just want to kill every one of them I came across.

I want to hunt them. I want to exterminate them. Wipe them off of the face of the planet.

Fighting the Brotherhood, eventually, that would be out of necessity. There's certainly some resentment for Fundies, but that was secondary. The same thing applied to Kleo: it was personal, but pragmatic.

Killing the Supermutants wasn't a necessity, at least not wiping them out. No. What they do hits way too close to home. What they do might be worse than what those Kig Yar bastards did.

"Damon?"

The voice pulled me out of my thoughts and I turned to see Cassandra staring at me, eating a pack of crackers.

"Thank you."

Thank you? All I did was…

If I was in their position, I wouldn't think that about me would I? That I just did my 'job'? If there was anything that wasn't just 'doing my job' it's this.

We watched each other for a moment, her still slowly chewing on crackers I know from ample experience are dry enough to soak up a lake. She was so much calmer than I had been. So much more in control. All I remember after the attack was being damn near catatonic.

I was five.

I nodded.

"Where are we going now?"

"Back to t- our base of operation for now."

The young girl paused, clearly struggling with something. She swallowed hard, probably trying to get rid of the rest of that cracker. "Did you- find anyone else?"

I shook my head.

"Oh…" Her face fell and she looked back at the two boys, sitting in the center of the VTOL, talking with Haylen. "Their parents… they were captured too. They were separated and put in with me." Cassandra turned back to me. "I told them everything would be alright." Her eyes were blurry with tears again. "I- I told them we would get out, and they'd see their mom and dad."

More intense, burning anguish mixed with my fury as I watched the girl blink, her tears beginning to stream down her dirty face once again.

I looked from her to Thomas and Julian. They had lost their parents here…

They seemed content, Haylen was doing a good job of occupying them, but if Cassandra hadn't known, they wouldn't either.

"What about you", I asked, meeting the young girl's wet eyes. "Were your parents here?"

She shook her head. "Mine died a long time ago. I spent the last few months with them and their family. We were kidnapped two days ago."

I didn't know what to say. Not that it was a surprise, Ellie had said this wasn't uncommon, but… damn. 'I'm sorry' was something people said as a default courtesy, but anyone who had been through a traumatic experience knew that was just an empty platitude. Same with, 'everything is going to be alright'. I couldn't tell these kids that. I knew that was a lie. This would be something they carry with them the rest of their lives.

They don't have to, at least not the same way I have.

Yeah, right. Because I know anything about psychology.

The same could be said about them carrying it with them.

Whatever.

Eventually, I said the only thing I could promise.

"I'll keep you safe as long as I'm able."

Cassandra kept staring into my visor, searching. As with most people who did that, I couldn't tell what it was for exactly. But at least this time I could guess.

"Thank you."

I hesitated. This went well beyond 'doing my job'. I'd rescued people before, though it wasn't usually my primary objective, but never anything like this. I never allowed anything to get this personal. It might have been because I'd blocked out the attack, or maybe something else. But this felt like… more than that, somehow. Almost like I owed these kids something, owed it to myself to help them.

And at the moment, I knew I'd do everything I could.

"You're welcome."

A/N: So, I think I might like Fridays more and will probably upload Friday evenings after work from now on. I'm doing my best to try and mix action in with storytelling. As one of you said, constant action can be boring, especially if it serves no purpose. I didn't want this situation to feel shoehorned in, but something like this could certainly happen with Supermutants, in fact I would expect it to. It's clearly had an impact on Damon, but at the same time, he's starting to feel more comfortable remembering what happened to him. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and I'll see you in a few weeks!

Next Chapter: July 16th, The Best Laid Plans