Wrong Place, Right Time: A Hero's Story

by DLTA-BOT

The journey of a hero doesn't always start where they expect. It doesn't always happen to those who expect it. Damon was never interested in being what SPARTANs represent: an implacable force for good standing as humanity's shield. Like most other third-generation SPARTANs, the war took everything from him. All he wanted was to return the favor. Sometimes we don't get a choice.

21. Chapter 21: Of Mice and Men

A/N: Hello and happy anniversary everyone! It's been a wild year for me: several cross country road trips, moving states to a new job, and of course, writing this story. It's been so cool to see so many people from so many different places come here to read this and hopefully connect with the characters and find some enjoyment along the way. This story has grown into so much more than I ever expected, and knowing there are other people out there that get something out of it means so much more than I can ever convey. This chapter is one of those moments I've had in mind for a long time, but I didn't want to write it until I felt the story earned it. I'd like to thank VixenRose1996 (go read her work, especially her Fallout/Skyrim X-over) for taking the time to help on this, let me know what you think, reviews are always welcome... and enjoy!

Chapter 21: Of Mice and Men

Crouched in the corpse of one of Boston's many destroyed towers, I hadn't felt this mixture of anger and thirst for a fight- no, that wasn't right, the need to kill something in years. Nate was beside me, staring at the half dozen Supermutants gathered near the entrance of another dilapidated building. They were milling across a small rubble littered courtyard ringed by more collapsing structures.

As many times as I told myself this wasn't an emotional decision, it was a lie, and I knew it.

And I didn't give a damn.

I'm going to kill these cannibalistic freaks, and I wasn't going to do it cleanly.

There was one thing that did make its way through the hatred: this group was new, or it was at least new to the area. Brand new. This Back Street Apparel place was north of Diamond City, so Nate had decided it would be safest to take the same path I had three days prior, until we reached the river, then follow it northeast to our target.

These bastards weren't here when I came down. That's a problem; if the Supermutants were moving around the city, and ended up this close to the stadium, that could mean they were trying to take territory. They might even be trying to move on Diamond City.

So I'd be doing the people there a service by killing them.

My companion had no objections. Hell, it almost seemed like if I hadn't told him I was when I first saw them, he would have asked me to.

This time, he wasn't going to sit out of the fight. That decision was more irrational, but as long as he stayed out of the way, it would be okay. The gunfire might draw attention, but sporadic bursts of it didn't seem too uncommon in the city, so as long as we didn't take too long, we'd be fine. Probably.

"On your go", I said.

The ex-soldier nodded and I slipped out of the building. I was careful to keep my titanium boots clear of the rubble strewn across the brick plaza as I skirted to my left, toward the rear of the building and out of my prey's LOS. Was getting up close and personal the best choice? Probably not, but sometimes you have to make an exception.

I cradled my 7.62mm combat rifle. Nate was overwatch and, even if the MacMillan was practically shooting at point blank here, I'd rather have it in action than sitting on my back. He'd never fired it, but if he couldn't make the sniper work across the hundred meters between him and the Supermutants, he wasted almost two decades.

Even so, my companion didn't need to worry about the heavy lifting, I was more than happy to handle that. The first shot was his, that would draw their attention and allow me to close to any distance I wanted. After that, his job was to catch any of the dumb bastards that got involved after the fighting started.

Thirty seconds later, I was at the front edge of the building. The Supermutants were still standing, grouped around the entrance, muttering to each other in an… oddly disjointed conversation. I had no trouble hearing what they said, but none of it made sense.

Despite myself, I held a hand up, directed at the ex-soldier. Hopefully he was watching.

"They don't know- they aren't smart enough", one of them grumbled in that same voice as Virgil, a strange combination of nasally and guttural drawl that just seemed… off.

"That's why we're here", another replied excitedly. "They think they strong. They aren't, not to us."

"This place is ours. Their time is up."

"So many to kill. So many to eat. So weak." A deranged laugh accompanied that last one.

Ah, so that's what they're talking about. They want to attack Diamond City. Were there others? Even if the building was packed full of these assholes, they wouldn't have a fraction of the force they'd need to take the city. And that's if they weren't the most tactically inept things I'd ever seen.

"Quiet", one of them barked. It sounded alarmed. "Smell that?"

The Supermutants fell silent, and a moment later began shuffling around the entrance.

Smell? Could they smell me?

No point in taking the risk.

I motioned toward the group around the corner of the building and a few heartbeats later, a colossal boom sounded through the courtyard. That thing is a lot louder when I'm not the one firing it.

As the report faded, I whipped around the corner to see one of the Supermutants tumble to the ground, a half meter hole in its chest.

The others were just beginning to scramble when I opened fire, sprinting full speed toward them. I caught the first twice and the thing dropped as its head exploded in a plume of red mist and brain.

That left five.

They were all still searching frantically for Nate when another received a trio of rounds to the side of its neck. Most of the thing's head flopped to the side as it fell to the brickwork, and a third joined it an instant later.

And then I was on top of them.

I barreled into the closest one, and a half ton of Mjiolnir sent it careening into another. Bringing my rifle back around, I managed to put one down before one of the two remaining Supermutants turned to me and started spraying with an HK33 so poorly maintained, I'm surprised it functioned.

The rounds careened over me as I dove to the side. The instant I rolled back to my feet, I put a pair of rounds into its shoulder before pivoting to the last standing yellow skinned freak and-

Its head turned into a tapestry on the wall as the MacMillan's report blasted across the courtyard a split second later.

The wounded Supermutants was cradling its ruined arm, whimpering.

So much for being 'strong'.

I just finished off the other I'd knocked to the ground when I heard pounding footsteps coming from the building.

As soon as the door began sliding open, I sighted on the flash of yellow behind it and put a half dozen rounds through the small gap-

Before my rifle ran dry.

GOOD.

I let it fall on its sling as the door opened wide and the body of the mutant I'd killed tumbled out. The second one through took a 12.7mm round to the chest and dropped on top of its comrade. I leaped over the dead bodies, eager to start the fun for real.

Inside were four more Supermutants bastards, all scrambling toward the door despite watching two of their fellow freaks aerated in front of them.

The first one slammed into me as I pushed through the opening. It was large, eye level with me, even in armor. It didn't have the benefits of Mjolnir's weight though.

My momentum won, and the collision sent it careening to the floor. I struggled to regain my balance as a second and third bore down on me. There was just enough time to twist, grabbing the wrist of the Supermutant to my right. I yanked it toward me, and slammed my armored forearm into the bridge of its nose with a wet crunch.

The center of my target's skull collapsed under the force of the blow and it cartwheeled to the ground behind me. It's now dead body barely had time to hit the rubbles strewn floor before the other was reaching for me. I swatted the thing's arms away, sending it stumbling off balance, and swept its legs out from under it.

With the last standing one lunging at me, I sidestepped and, despite my normally efficient use of force… I felt the need to cause these bastards a little more pain.

Or a lot.

As the thing planted to try changing direction, I whipped my left leg out and the tip of my titanium clad boot collided with the side of its knee. The joint exploded outward as the Supermutant collapsed, screaming.

The next one up was the first I'd hit when I came through the door. This one was no smarter than the others. With its comrade on the floor, writhing, it tried to launch a closed fisted punch at my head.

So many options…

I dodged, grabbing its wrist, trapped its elbow against my other forearm, and twisted. The joint hyperextended, then snapped backwards as the ligaments and bones gave way. It screamed and doubled over, but I didn't let go. I pulled up on its mangled arm and drove my knee into its armpit. There was a loud pop as its shoulder was dislodged from its socket. The only thing that kept its arm attached was its deltoid. The blow would probably have torn a regular person's off.

Releasing it, the yellow bastard joined its friend on the ground and I turned to the Supermutant I hadn't injured or killed yet.

It was the first one to show any sign of fear, but I wasn't about to let it take a moment to think. I stepped forward and it tried to swing a clumsy punch at me. The blow looked like it was moving through molasses. I swatted it away and launched an open palmed strike into its chest hard enough to cave its sternum in and sent it careening backward to the floor.

Gunfire exploded to my right and I dove away again as a half dozen rounds ricochet from my shields.

I found my feet and twisted toward-

It was the one who's knee I shattered. The Supermutant was standing on one leg, bracing itself against the wall behind it, doing it's best to aim another unhealthy looking assault rifle at me. The snarl on its face wasn't the pathetic whimper of the one I'd wounded outside, this one's entire demeanor reeked of anger and hatred, despite the crippling injury.

The rifle barked again and spat a burst at me. I ducked under the rounds as they cracked by, legs coiled, and lunged toward the wounded Supermutant. The thing tried to track me, but I was on it before it could draw a bead.

As I drove my shoulder into its chest and pinned it to the wall, I felt ribs shatter, and blood spewed from its mouth.

But it remained on its feet.

The resilient bastard tried to force its weapon around while it was still coughing blood into my visor. I hammered its arm against the wall hard enough to warp the metal plate, and break something in its wrist. The rifle clattered to the ground, it's owner screaming in pain and anger.

That scream was cut short when I brought my right elbow around hard enough to cave in the side of my prey's skull.

Relative silence settled over the crumbling interior and, for the first time, I realized I must have been standing in an apartment or hotel. The dead Supermutants were scattered around what looked like a small lobby with a desk, or what was left of a desk, at the back, with rows of numbered doors lining the halls that ran behind it on either side.

My eyes fell on the last living Supermutant who was still on the ground, barely moving. That much trauma, it was probably in shock.

I hated these things. I hated them in a way I don't think I'm fully equipped to understand. My mind drew me back to the images of the West Everett Estates, the piles of dead, the larger piles of bones picked clean. The house I found the kids in. And then the sights, sounds, and smells of the Covenant attack.

These things don't deserve mercy. They deserve to suffer, the same way the Covenant bastards who the UNSC was cooperating with do.

But it isn't my job to make things suffer. I've already used a little more… liberty fighting these than I'd normally allow myself. It's time to end it and move on.

Swapping a fresh magazine into my rifle, I stalked over to the prone form and, as it looked up at me, confused, I put a 7.62mm bullet through its head. The report faded into silence once again, but I felt nothing.

Despite my hatred, despite this only being the second time I'd fought Supermutants since rescuing Cassandra, Julian, and Thomas, I felt nothing. Like Nate had said about Kellogg: they were just more bodies on the pile.

And not only was that disappointing, but, for the first time, concerning. Had I really fought and killed so much, I couldn't find any satisfaction in taking some, small form of retribution against things I hated like them?

No time to worry about that now.

Right.

There was one left alive, and while it wasn't necessarily my mission, or my problem, I still needed to know if Supermutants were going to pose a threat to the area. That could make things even more complicated, and more complications were the last thing I wanted. More variables, especially ones as unpredictable as these freaks, would make my life substantially more difficult.

I stalked out of the ruined building to see the last Supermutant still on the ground, surrounded by rubble and it's dead comrades, cradling it's ruined arm. The fury hadn't faded, but my mind pushed it away; I have something else I need to focus on.

Performing an interrogation in the open isn't smart. I waved toward Nate's position and began scanning the surrounding buildings as he extricated himself from the half collapsed tower I left him in. The only sign of any other inhabitants was the low groan emanating from the crippled thing laying at my feet.

When the ex-soldier reached the building's entrance, I nodded toward the door. "Inside's clear."

He nodded wordlessly before picking his way through the dead Supermutants, and over the bodies blocking the entrance. The smaller man seemed off, blank stare, his movements too robotic like he was operating on autopilot. I'd seen that before.

Later. Right now, I need to worry about getting this over with so I can get back on mission.

After one more scan of the area, I grabbed the last surviving member of this motley group by the breastplate of its cobbled together armor and dragged it inside.

Nate was standing in the center of the lobby, staring at the Supermutant whose arm and leg I'd mangled before crushing its head.

His eyes snapped to me as I pulled my still groaning catch through the door.

"Garth is gonna get you", the Supermutant muttered.

I dragged the thing over to the half collapsed receptionist desk and propped it up against the splintering wood.

"That guy", I asked, pointing to the same corpse Nate had been gaping at.

A moment passed before recognition took hold and I watched the Supermutant's eyes shot open. That guess was right.

"YOU BASTARD! YOU-"

Before it could get any more out, my arm whipped forward and I slammed my fist into its Solar Plexus. The thing heaved as its diaphragm contracted into an intense spasm and it struggled for breath.

Several minutes passed in relative silence before the thing got enough air back in its lungs to speak.

"You are going to pay. All humans are going to pay!"

This thing seemed willing to talk, might as well let him.

"How?"

"The Supermutants are the future, humans are weak, humans are stupid."

Uh huh.

"Which is why your friends are dead."

"More are coming. Puny humans can't win."

"When?"

"You think I tell you, stupid human?"

I clamped one gauntleted hand over the Supermutant's mouth, and another around its injured shoulder.

"I do", I said as it tried to scream through my hand.

Releasing the bastard's shoulder, it was several moments before the wail died down far enough for me to drop my other hand.

"When are more coming?"

"Later", the thing panted. "And when they do, I tear you apart and feast on your bones."

I felt my body coil, almost involuntarily.

You'll feast on me? Eat me? Like the Covenant? Like your friends did to the kids' parents?

"You son of a bitch."

The venom in Nate's voice shot through the quiet, corpse filled lobby like an explosion. There was something underneath the anger I hadn't heard from him before, a sort of manic urgency I recognized, but couldn't place.

"Eat people. You motherfuckers eat people."

"The Supermutants are the future."

My ass. If Supermutants are the future, this version of Earth is truly screwed.

"You don't get it, do you? The people you kill and- and eat- they're-" The ex-soldier's voice broke, anguish twisting his expression into a pained grimace. His shoulders were shaking and sweat poured down his face. The smaller man was tense, weight shifted forward like he was ready to pounce on the Supermutant.

Concern overrode my own anger as I watched. There was something else going on.

"Stay there", I said, holding out a hand. "Relax."

"Relax? You're telling me to relax? I-"

"Yes", I barked, "I'm telling you to relax."

Not only was he interrupting an interrogation, again, but Nate was damn near frenzied, and that only put him in more danger.

"Arguing with this asshole won't get you anywhere. Let me do my job."

The smaller man stared at me, wide eyed, visibly struggling with something. Eventually, his shaking shoulders calmed to a tremble, and his breath slowed from its frantic pace. Nate's smart enough to-

A sudden rustling came from my captive and my head snapped around to see the Supermutant swinging its one good arm at me. I caught its wrist and twisted, hard. Instead of the crunch from the joint I'd been expecting, the thing roared in pain and tried to pull its arm from my grasp. I slammed my free arm down on its elbow and, like its now dead comrade, the joint buckled in the wrong direction.

Its keening continued for several long moments, plenty of time for me to berate myself. Never turn your back on a hostile, especially if they're wounded.

"Where are your friends, and when are they coming", I asked as it's wail finally subsided.

"Won't tell you", it weeped, "won't help puny huma-"

I drew my knife and jammed it into the thing's wounded shoulder. This time, the scream that exploded from the bastard was almost cathartic. I waited, crouched in front of my prey, knife buried in its shoulder, feeling the satisfaction I had missed from killing its friends. Maybe that said something about me, but in that moment, I didn't care.

This time, the pause was shorter.

"We aren't so puny if the 13 of you couldn't kill 2 humans. Now", I ripped the knife from it's arm, severing most the ligaments between it and the Supermutant's chest. I waited again for its screaming to die down before continuing. "When are they coming? How many are there?"

"Don't know", it panted, eyes a mixture of pain and hatred, "wouldn't tell."

I brandished the knife between us. "Try again." The thing winced, but it kept quiet.

As I pulled the knife back to plunge it into my target's other shoulder, motion in the corner of my vision caught my attention.

Nate was-

Oh shit.

I reeled backwards as the massive sniper rifle boomed in the enclosed space and blew the Supermutant's head all over the splintered wood behind, and my helmet.

"What the fuck are you thinking", I shouted, wiping a gauntleted hand across my visor. The smaller man remained motionless, rifle's smoking muzzle pointed at where my captive's head had been. The bastard had just fired off a 12.7mm round at point blank, my head a few centimeters from the bullet's path. Armor be damned, that's dangerous, and I wasn't done with the thing.

"Nate!"

The ex-soldier's head snapped to me, eyes wide. He lowered the rifle as I stalked toward him, glaring down at the smaller man the entire way.

"Why. Did. You. Shoot. Him?"

An answer didn't come immediately. Instead, my companion's mouth drifted open and closed several times as I stopped in front of him. His shoulders were shaking again, and the sweat was beginning to soak his shirt.

"I… I just couldn't watch… I couldn't watch anymore. Those screams- that bastard deserved to die. I-" he trailed off and looked at the ground. Something was definitely wrong here. My anger and frustration didn't abate, but my concern surged back to the forefront.

"What's going on?"

The ex-soldier let out a shaky breath. "I don't know- I'm-" he shook his head, looking at the Supermutant, then me. "I can't think, I can't breathe, my body won't listen to me- I don't know why I did that." He looked back at the ground.

His hands were trembling so bad, it was a shock he was able to steady the rifle well enough to shoot.

I grabbed the weapon and slowly pulled it away from the smaller man. He let it slip from his grasp and, after another pause, slid to the floor, cradling his head in his hands.

"What's going on? What's happening to me?" Nate's voice was trembling almost as much as the rest of him. He sounded terrified.

Involuntary, manic responses to high stress situations. PTSD?

"Panic attack."

The ex-soldier was beginning to hyperventilate.

"A- A panic… attack?"

What had I been told? It's been a while, but I remember the shrinks ONI stuck me with helping me through these. What had they told me to do?

I took a step back and knelt.

"Yes, you're having a panic attack. Slow, deep breaths. Every time you exhale, try to relax. Focus on something specific you can use to anchor yourself. You're safe."

Part of my mind told me we needed to get moving, but Nate was in no condition to go anywhere, and he'd be a massive liability in a fight. He needed to calm down, or it would be too dangerous to bring him.

"Why- am I having- a panic attack?"

"Not important. Think about something else." What could he think about? His son was kidnapped, wife was dead, and he was stuck in a world 200 years, and an apocalypse, distant of his own. "Cassandra, Thomas, and Julian need our help. You can't do that like this."

The smaller man gulped down a massive breath and did his best to exhale slowly, but it still came out in spurts.

"I- I don't understand." The tremble in his voice made it almost as difficult to understand him as it was for him to talk. "This has-"

"You don't need to. It's happening. Stop talking and breathe."

He pulled his head from hands trembling so badly they were almost blurred. The ex-soldier met my gaze, eyes wide enough to pop out of his head. That's something I know.

"Deep breaths."

Nate struggled down a swallow before inhaling another shaky breath, held it for a moment, and let it go. It was still rough, but he wasn't quite hyperventilating.

Several minutes passed, long enough for me to take a look outside, before Nate began to calm down. As his breathing returned to normal, and he stopped shaking uncontrollably, I could almost feel his muscles unwind. Continuing on with him was a bad idea. If that happened again, in the middle of a fight, things could go very, very wrong.

"We need to head back."

"No", Nate said, still swallowing deep lungfuls of air, "you aren't leaving me behind on this one."

"You're no use dead."

"And you're no use in a negotiation."

I cocked my head. "And you will be? They're Raiders."

The ex-soldier snorted. "I'll have a better chance than you."

I didn't reply immediately. Sometimes it was hard to tell with the smaller man, was this his ego talking, or was he genuinely concerned about the mission?

"This is about getting the job done, not how it gets done."

"You're right, and I give us the best chance of doing it. You think this guy's gonna be cooperative after you slaughter all his friends? And don't suggest trying your other 'methods'." He motioned to the dead Supermutant slumped to the ground. "I doubt Deacon would be happy if you torture him."

It wasn't a bad point, but it still sat wrong with me. This isn't about my methods, it's about his safety.

Would he be safer in Diamond City? The Brotherhood is going to find out about us at some point. Besides, he trusted me to handle my baggage, the least I can offer is the same.

This is different. This is the first time he's suffered an attack, he doesn't know how to handle it.

He's still right: my conversations with the Raiders would probably be limited to gunfire. Nate's the best option to get this done. It's what he wants to do.

At the end of the day, I could force him to go back to Diamond City, but that would probably be a mistake long term. The ex-soldier has become more agreeable, but he's still a stubborn bastard. That's something he'd hold against me for a long time.

"Another flair up could get you killed."

To his credit, Nate looked worried. He clearly didn't know what had happened, or what might trigger it again.

But he's a stubborn bastard.

"This gets me closer to Shaun. This gets us closer to taking those kids to Sanctuary. I'm doing it."

That wasn't a surprise.

I checked our exit while the smaller man climbed to his feet.

The sun had cleared the city's destroyed skyline, casting the courtyard in its early morning glow. Something told me this was going to be a very, very long day.

X

I couldn't decide if the relatively quiet trek through the city after our run in with the Supermutants was fortunate, or unfortunate. It gave Nate a chance to calm down, but it also gave him too much time to think. Think about what had caused the panic attack, what it meant, and when (if) it would happen again. That conundrum was one thing I could remember from early on in my training. The worst one was when we were in a class session for tactics and in-op response. I wasn't the only III who suffered from them, unsurprisingly, but that's hardly a comfort when it feels like your brain is going to tear itself into a thousand pieces, your lungs are trying to jump out of your mouth, and your heart is beating its way out of your chest.

For me, the worst part was the lack of control. Even that early, I knew what was happening, but there was nothing I could do about it.

It was the first time I'd seen footage of Covenant fighting. Looking back on it now, it was mission footage from an older generation SPARTAN III. They were engaged in a massive gunfight with a large Covie force. Accompanying the footage was an overhead projection of battlefield telemetry, showing the real time positions of the units on either side.

And they were losing.

The instructor's robotic narration of the frenetic firefight wasn't far off of my own internal analysis at the time. The SPARTANs were fighting on what looked like an asteroid, remains of Covenant structures littering the barren, rock and ice filled landscape around them. They had no air or fire support. The attacking aliens had that in spades.

Every few moments, the instructor would pause the footage, and point out the progression of the company's methodical collapse. First to go was their perimeter cohesion as the Covenant firemissions began scoring hits, opening up airspace for their Banshees and Seraphs to make strafing runs. The SPARTANs did well recovering at first; bombardment doesn't generally score kills on well entrenched positions, but as their anti-air resources dwindled, whoever was in charge panicked, and the rest followed.

From there, inter-squad coordination collapsed, and it turned into a frantic fight for survival. The Covenant ground forces began closing in, armor leading infantry units toward the quickly crumbling SPARTAN defensive and then-

Then I lost it.

Seeing Jackals, Kig-Yar, with their energy shields push forward as the armor neared the SPARTAN line- by that point I'd blocked out the images of the attack, but my body never forgot. It hit the six year old me like a destroyer, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground, terrified, fighting to breathe, fighting to think. In that moment, I was just as terrified and helpless as I had been when those Jackal bastards tore my mother apart in front of me.

I glanced at the ex-soldier walking beside me.

As the years passed, I learned to control it (clearly not as well as I thought), but it wasn't until I began remembering what happened that I started to feel like I wasn't just suppressing it, I was confronting those all encompassing attacks. Like I was doing something about it.

It wasn't easy, or enjoyable, but now I could see it was necessary. ONI never helped me with that. I didn't blame them at the time, but I was beginning to. Maybe it was mostly because I was still alive when no one expected me to be, but it might not be so bad now if they hadn't helped me shove it into a deep, dark corner for so long. Fourier tried. Thinking about it now, he really did. He, Amanda, and Liam all did everything they could to help pull me out, and who knows, they could be part of the reason I was beginning to do it now.

What could I do for Nate though?

Nothing right now. He'll ask when he's ready.

Was that the truth? Could I really do nothing for him now?

Did any of it help me until recently? This is new for him.

The smaller man's eyes were roaming the surrounding half crumbled towers, broken streets, and piles of rubble with an intensity I'd rarely seen from him. He was doing everything he could to distract himself.

Leave it alone.

So I returned to my own scans as we continued on in silence.

It was 20 minutes later when Nate finally spoke.

"We're close", he said as he slowed to a stop. The smaller man's voice was low and monotonous, but he couldn't hide the quiet tremble.

We were making our way down a street separated from the river by a low line of buildings that were in worse shape than most others. The wooden and concrete structures had been much more exposed to the constant eroding wind blowing across the water. Most, if they weren't completely collapsed, were missing large sections of their structures: walls, roofs, entire floors collapsing.

The ex-soldier nodded down the pockmarked and rubble filled avenue. "It's three blocks ahead, south side of the street." He took a deep breath. "How do you want to handle this?"

If the goal was to avoid a gunfight (something I wasn't sure I was inclined to do since these were Raiders we're dealing with), giving them some distance and staying concealed when we made contact was the best option. There was always the non-lethal stealth option, but that would require more scouting than we had time for, and more information than we had.

And frankly, if I'm going to engage Raiders, non-lethal wasn't the first option on my list.

"Stay on the riverbank. Make contact from an adjacent building."

My companion nodded absently and we made our way across the street between two mounds of rubble that, at one point, had been buildings, and along the beach side toward our objective. It wasn't more than another 50 meters when I heard muffled conversation drifting from ahead. No doubt the group of Raiders.

I didn't like this: going into a situation with very little information, and an unclear goal. Sure, the idea is to talk with them, but these are Raiders. I'd found enough drugs on the one's I'd killed in Concord and Sanctuary to know these ones were probably inebriated. That's to say nothing of their, likely, already volatile nature.

"I need a few minutes for recon."

Nate shot a glance at me, more afraid than annoyed. "We're here to talk."

"Unless they're hostile."

He was silent for a moment, eyes locked straight ahead of us.

"I don't think fighting is a good idea."

"You don't have to, that's my job."

The smaller man looked at me again, muscles in his neck strained, jaw clamped tight, eyes wide. He looked genuinely scared, an expression I haven't seen on him since he exited the Vault. Nate was doing his best to hold it together, but I could almost see the mess of questions play across his face.

"I'd rather be prepared. These are Raiders."

Nate came to a stop and took a deep breath. "Fine, it will give me a few minutes to think." He left out the 'alone' at the end of the sentence.

So I left him in one of the more stable (or I guess less collapsed would be better) structures, and went ahead to check in on our targets.

As it turns out, Burner's crew was small, even by this world's standards. There were 10 of them split between patrols around the small store's exterior, and idling inside. Their hideout itself was a wide three story building that looked like it had mediocre repairs attempted to its crumbling walls and roof. Several had been reinforced with what looked like plates made more out of rust than steel, raised platforms around the building to act as firing positions, and a wide, chest high wall lining the front. It was an easily defensible position, and the Raiders looked dug in. It was a surprise considering what I'm used to from these brain fried drug addicts.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much cover on the north side of the street, bordering the river. Aside from the embankment itself, there was nothing directly across the street from the store, for 30 meters in either direction. With the rear of the store set against another, larger building, there would be no sneaking up on this group. On the other hand, there were no signs of any buried mines, IEDs, or any other sorts of traps along the shore, so that was at least some good news.

My mind scrambled to form a plan as I slipped back toward the waiting ex-soldier. Announcing my presence to a potential enemy without having established any sort of leverage was outside my SOP. Hell, making contact with a potential enemy is, but as usual this goddamn world is going to make things difficult.

Much to my irritation, Nate was right. We need Deacon and the Railroad. Burner and his crew turn up dead, that's going to look bad.

Nate was in the same spot I'd left him: sitting against a wall inside what had been a two story building, staring at the hole I entered through. The smaller man's eyes followed me as I approached. He still looked shell shocked.

"Stay on my left hip. Once we're across from the store, stay on the wall. Don't expose yourself."

He nodded and climbed back to unsteady feet. "And you're going to find a good position in case things get messy."

It was my turn to nod.

"Right."

A few minutes later, my partner was standing below the embankment, directly north of the store, and I was another 50 meters down river, where I found a break in the wall that afforded me a clean shot into the front of the building. It put a little more distance between Nate and I than I would have liked, but so long as he kept his head down, he'd be fine.

The ex-soldier looked at me, and I waved for him to proceed.

"Good morning", the smaller man shouted, trying to regain some of his normal, annoying cheeriness. "I'm looking for someone named Burner."

A flurry of activity followed as the Raiders hurried to firing positions. I trained my rifle on a woman crouched on the roof with a bolt action sniper. My finger was resting on the trigger and it took every ounce of discipline to keep from squeezing. These assholes are Raiders; they live off of attacking others, like the group in Sanctuary. Again, I'm no moral paragon, but there are still lines I don't cross.

After 20 seconds of commotion, one of the Raiders finally deemed it necessary to reply.

"And who sent you with your own death warrant?"

Death warrant… how corny can these people be?

"Deacon."

A moment of quiet trailed Nate's response. I guess that was promising.

"Who told you that name", someone else said from inside the storefront.

"He did. He asked me to come find you about… well something to do with everyone's favorite boogeyman, and a friendly meeting a little while ago."

More silence. And this would probably be the part the shooting would start.

"What does he look like?"

Or not.

"Average height, tanned, always wears sunglasses."

"And what did he tell you about me?"

Nate hesitated. "You want me to say it like this?"

"It seems like everyone else knows."

My partner shrugged absently before continuing. "You're a Synth, you were being followed by a Courser, you met with another Synth and the two of you killed it. He's talking with the other, a Gunner captain; he wants to know if they have a leak."

"And how did he know what happened?"

"He found the Courser and a holotape he had on him."

"That's all shit the Institute could know."

"You're right", he said eventually. "They could, but the information I'm asking for wouldn't help them. I just want to know if the Railroad has a leak, where it is, and if other Synths have been compromised. If I was with the Institute, I wouldn't need you to tell me any of that."

"Only if the Institute found the Courser before Deacon did. If they just knew the bastard was chasing us, but didn't get to it before the Railroad, they'd need to get that information from somewhere."

For a Raider, this guy had his head screwed on straight.

The ex-soldier didn't answer. When I glanced his way, Nate looked frustrated. He certainly wasn't as sharp as normal, which was predictable. I'm not sure why he expected anything different.

"You're right. I don't have any way of proving I am who I say I am, but do you think the Institute would be sitting back talking with you when you killed one of their Coursers?"

Nate's sudden shift was desperate, even I could pick up on that. We weren't going to get anywhere with this.

There was another short pause, but this one felt different. I'd adjusted my grip on the rifle, sights still locked on the group's overwatch. If things went sideways, she would be the biggest threat.

"I don't know anything, now you got 20 seconds to get the hell out of here before we start shooting." Burner, if that's who this is, sounded frustrated. He hadn't been the first to respond to Nate, so he probably isn't this group's leader. Was whoever was in charge telling him this conversation was over?

"Wait, hold on", my partner said, hurriedly, "I ju-"

"I know what you want, and you're lucky I'm giving you this long."

I met the ex-soldier's gaze and waved him over. Dismissals didn't get much clearer than that, the question now was how do I proceed. Incomplete operations weren't something I made a habit of.

"Keep going", I whispered as the smaller man reached me.

He shook his head. "You aren't engaging them. We contact Deacon and tell him what happened. He may have another suggestion."

"And if he decides we're trying to screw him?" It was a very real possibility; unless we make this work, our next best lead is the Brotherhood, and the thought of working with them any longer than I had to was almost sickening at this point.

"He's just as likely to think we're lying about getting whatever information we wanted from Burner." Nate's voice was steadier and more confident than it had been 10 minutes ago. "We know he knows something. That should be enough for Deacon to figure out what he wants to do next."

I stopped myself from asking why he was protecting Raiders. The answer he'd give was the same one he already had: Deacon wouldn't be happy if I attacked them. The real answer was he was afraid another gunfight might trigger an episode. The thought to send him somewhere else crossed my mind again, but that wouldn't work either. Not only that, but the ex-soldier would be just as upset I'd done that as he thinks Deacon would be. Pissing him off wasn't a concern, at least not the act itself, but he'd make my life even more difficult if I did. Besides, forcing him to do something he very much didn't want to would be… a little more callous than I'd be comfortable with.

Damn bleeding heart.

"Fine."

My partner's eyes widened a fraction but he nodded after an instant's pause.

Leaving the objective unfinished was almost as aggravating as the alternative, but Nate was right about one thing: Burner knows something. Bringing Deacon along might help get that information out of him.

But still, leaving my operation incomplete, failing is something I don't do. I seem to be doing a lot of things I wouldn't normally do since coming here.

X

As we returned to Diamond City, irritation still simmered at the back of my head. There was nothing I could do though, or rather, there was something I could do, but it wasn't an option I was comfortable taking. Sometimes I wished this was a year ago, when I wouldn't have thought once about using whatever means necessary to complete my objective.

Nate was quiet on the way back. This time it wasn't his normal, deceptive attentiveness; he was distracted, his eyes scanning the surrounding cityscape without taking anything in. They were going through the motions, but no one was home to receive the information.

A nagging desire began creeping in to say something, do something, but what could I do? My own memories were still tormenting me at every opportunity, I was only just beginning to figure out what to do with them.

"I think it was the ride back", he finally said as we reached the stadium's main entrance, guards giving me their customary suspicious glances.

I cocked my head and came to a stop beside the smaller man.

"The ride back after the ambush."

The ambush? He was talking about the ambush that wiped out another platoon. He said they'd abandoned them to die.

"We double timed back to exfil. I could hear each gunshot the entire way through that goddamn city. When my platoon got back and mounted up, we came under fire, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I sat there with my hands under my ass while we ran away after leaving our brothers and sisters to die."

Nate looked up at me with the same searching expression he'd worn when he first told me.

"It felt like every round that hit my APC was gonna punch through and kill me. I- I don't think I'd ever been that scared before. I was scared, sitting behind three inches of armor, while another platoon was massacred." His eyes dropped to the ground and he heaved a sigh. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

Fear? That's something I'm well acquainted with.

"Fear is irrational."

He squinted at me.

"So? I already know that."

"You can't justify being scared. It happens."

"And how does that-" Nate shouted before cutting himself off. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before continuing. It didn't work entirely. "How does that excuse what I did and how I felt?"

"You followed orders."

The ex-soldier scoffed. "And that's supposed to make me feel better? I left those people behind. I decided to go along with that order. 'Just following orders.' What, is that how you justify all the shit you do?"

That piqued my irritation. Again. How I justify what I do? Have I ever suggested I need to justify what I do?

"This isn't about me", I growled.

"Oh it isn't? Sure seems like you enjoy making all the decisions and I have to play along. Now when something you don't like comes up, suddenly it isn't about you?"

The logical side of my brain was telling me Nate was upset, that he knew I compromised with him, and was just looking for something to lash out at. A much larger, now aggravated part of my brain was saying I don't give a damn.

"Would you prefer I leave?"

He let out a short, mocking laugh. "Of course that's your solution. You need me at this point, don't pretend you get anywhere near here without me. You'd probably be wandering around the city trying to find some lead on the Institute without me."

That same, small logical voice in the back of my mind pointed out that was true, and that irritated me even more.

"And you die before you make it to Diamond City."

"I never threatened to leave."

"Not the point."

"Isn't it? You're trying to give me advice now, the guy who lost it and almost killed our best chance to get to the Institute."

This is pointless. The rational part of me grew tired of the back and forth. It wasn't helpful.

I nodded at the entrance. "Go."

"No, we're not-"

"Yes", I barked, "we are. We need to contact Deacon, and standing here arguing isn't going to help."

The smaller man started, but he didn't recoil. Instead he glared at me for a moment before turning with a muttered "jackass".

So much for trying to help.

I followed him into the stadium's long entrance corridor. The men sitting behind their machine gun emplacement cast the same type of wary glances the others had at me. The looks themselves were normal, they did it every time I came through. I hadn't noticed with the guards out front, but these ones felt… different.

Each guard's eyes lingered on me a few beats longer than usual, eyes narrowed and bodies coiled tight. They looked like they were ready for a fight.

The guards kept their eyes to the front as we walked past, but it hadn't been my imagination.

My head was screaming at me; something's wrong here. The glances shouldn't have been enough to set alarm bells ringing, but why were they so suspicious? Or I guess why were they more suspicious than normal? Was it the now dried spatter of blood across my helmet and chest? Probably not, not in a hall this dark. No one who knows enough about me to tell them anything is in the area.

What would they be nervous about? Threats to the city, and the Institute most likely. To them those were the same thing.

I looked around the dark passage, wary of… I'm not sure what. Ambush?

Did they know I was working with the Railroad? The men who tried to rob Nate and Deacon might have reported something, but how would they know who Deacon was? As far as they were probably concerned, they ran into the wrong mark.

Brotherhood?

It was possible they could know about the Railroad, probable even, but would they know Deacon was a member? Had they found out we planned to double cross them?

Thoughts raced through my head as it tried to figure out what was going on. Whatever it was, I was on full alert now. Something had me on edge, and instincts are always something to listen to.

I unslung the MacMillian and checked the chamber. The air in the tunnel was thick and tense. My body was coiled tight, convinced something was about to happen.

Nate was still trudging along in front of me, oblivious to the imminent danger my mind was sure we were in.

Was he still distracted?

As we neared the exit, the patter of boots on concrete from behind us caught my attention, and I glanced back toward the-

The guards were hauling ass down the passage and I watched as the first ducked into one of the several adjoining corridors.

What the- oh shit.

I wheeled back toward the front, pulling the sniper rifle up to my shoulder along the way.

And stepping into the entrance was a trio of soldiers clad in T-60 power armor.

Each was carrying a minigun, all three were already spinning up.

Nate me froze as I sighted on the leftmost Brotherhood soldier and squeezed the trigger. It's muzzle flash was almost blinding and I felt the brake's concussion through my armor in the enclosed space.

My shot crashed into the soldier's helmet, directly between their eyes. Whoever was in the powered suit crumpled like a ragdoll.

Before the body had a chance to hit the deck, my legs drove into the ground with all the urgency they could muster. I grabbed the smaller by the back of his jacket and half carried him, sprinting for another intersection a dozen meters ahead of us. I didn't make it more than two strides when the miniguns began spewing rounds toward us.

I was only a second away from cover, but those weapons could fill the air with a hundred projectiles in that time. I might survive that type of barrage, but my partner would be torn to shreds.

With only one option to keep us both alive (potentially), I drove off my left leg and jumped to the opposite side of the passage, hauling Nate with me. The initial burst of minigun-fire screamed through the air we'd just vacated, but it was only an instant before it adjusted to our new position.

As soon as my right boot contacted the concrete, my leg wound tight and propelled us back across the corridor.

This time we weren't lucky enough to avoid the barrage.

I twisted so my back was facing the oncoming projectiles and pulled the ex-soldier to my chest.

In the split second it took to cross the remaining distance, what must have been several dozen rounds crashed into me. My shields only lasted an instant before collapsing under the onslaught, and the titanium plate over my right shoulder and the armor covering my back began taking impacts.

I felt one catch the soft armor just behind my pauldron. It was like someone hit my shoulder with a sledgehammer, but the round didn't penetrate.

Before any more could hit, we careened into the adjoining passage and I came down on that same, burning shoulder. Momentum carried me into the wall with a hard thud that was only going to add to the aching pain I'd feel after the adrenaline pouring into my bloodstream wore off.

If I survived the next five minutes.

Releasing the ex-soldier, I stood and chambered another round. Now wasn't the time for hoping, the only way we were getting out of this was to kill them before they kill us. It isn't the first ambush I've been in, not by a long shot. These assholes weren't going to succeed where countless Innies and Covenant have failed.

Bullets continued to pepper the corner for another second before the gunfire came to an abrupt halt.

I glanced down at Nate who still hadn't stood. He was grasping his left leg.

There was blood on the ground beneath him.

Shit.

I risked a quick peek into the hall and had just enough time to confirm the soldiers were holding position before the miniguns began spitting rounds at me again. They screamed through the air my head occupied an instant before.

"Where are you hit", I shouted over the gunfire.

He didn't say anything, instead struggling to point to his calf, face twisted in a silent grimace.

"Can you treat it?"

The smaller man answered by shoving himself excruciatingly into a sitting position, propped himself up against the wall, and pulled his satchel in front of him.

Good, he probably wouldn't be much use in this fight, but at least I didn't need to worry about him bleeding out.

Stimpaks.

I tensed as the gunfire trickled to a halt again and my shields whined as they recharged. Right, the magic injections that somehow rapidly repaired wounds.

Why they weren't maintaining staggered gunfire to keep us pinned was beyond me; no doubt they'd have support, and the longer they kept us here, the worse our odds would be. Conserving ammo shouldn't have been a consideration.

Well-trained amateurs.

At least one of them was about to pay for that oversight.

Turning toward the wall, I took a deep breath and held for a split second. Time slowed to a crawl as I slipped around the corner, rifle already jammed into my shoulder. The scope was too powerful for an engagement this close, but that hardly mattered here. At this range, it was point and shoot.

As soon as I had the center Brotherhood soldier's helmet in scope, I sent another massive projectile on its way. I didn't wait to confirm the impact, instead twisting to bring our second attacker into sight and chambering another round.

My second target began firing as I closed the bolt and my hand wrapped around the pistol grip again. The first round hit me in the chest, but my shields dissipated the impact just enough to keep my rifle trained on the bastard's head. Between the second round sailing over my left shoulder, and the third impacting my left leg, I squeezed the trigger and put a 12.7mm hole in the lense over the soldier's right eye.

A half dozen more bullets hit me before the Brotherhood soldier realized they were dead and dropped to join their friends.

We need to move NOW.

If the Brotherhood had heavy ordinance in the city, they must have cut a deal-

Later. MOVE.

I ducked back around the corner to check on Nate. He was wrapping a strip of gauze around his bloody calf, discarded MedX and Stimpak syringes on the ground in front of him.

"We need to move."

The ex-soldier nodded and motioned for me to help him up. I hoisted him to his feet, the smaller man keeping weight off of his left leg. He wouldn't be able to walk on that, at least not immediately. We couldn't stay in this hall, it was the perfect kill box. The only mistake the Brotherhood made was not bringing something bigger. Put an RPG with those miniguns, and at the very least Nate would be dead by now.

"Damon", Nate said, voice barely above a whisper. I glanced back at the smaller man and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. "The kids."

Shit. He was right. How had I not thought about them? This isn't just about us surviving, we have Cassandra, Thomas, and Julian to worry about. Have they been taken? How can I get to them and keep Nate alive if they haven't been already? These fundamentalist bastards weren't just trying to kill me, they're taking the three of them. The Brotherhood are taking the only three people I've ever sworn I'd keep safe. They're taking a group of kids who've already been through hell.

Anger surged to the front of my head like a torrent of flame and fury. I was pissed.

But something stopped it.

Before I lost my composure, my mind shoved itself back into the zone I'd known for so long. Getting angry won't help them. Doing what I do best will. The Brotherhood wants to accelerate the timeline, that's fine by me. That's less time I'll have to chafe under the pretense of cooperation.

My partner must have taken my hesitation as a disagreement. He shoved himself away and caught the wall for support. "We aren't leaving them. I'm not letting them down too."

"I know."

The Brotherhood knows we would try to protect them. If they're smart, they'll have forces held in reserve covering both exits to this tunnel. Trying to leave would be the next best thing to putting a gun to my own head. So we need another way out.

One thing working in our favor is, with the loss of their initial fireteam, they should be hesitant to send anyone else in.

If by some miracle they hadn't extracted the kids in the five hours we've been gone, they'd be double timing it now. At best we have a few minutes before they're out of reach.

"Stay here", I said, handing Nate the MacMillian and a spare magazine. His eyes were still wide, but the ex-soldier's hands were steady. At least he hasn't slipped back into another panic attack; the pain might have something to do with that.

He looked at me, confused, as he took the weapon. "What?"

"I'm going to find another exit."

Without waiting for his response, I checked both directions before slipping into the hall and skirting down toward the passage those guards were taking cover in. If they're smart, they'll have an alternate exit, and if they're clever, they wouldn't have told the Brotherhood about it.

The cacophony of shallow, nervous breathing confirmed they were still there. These assholes sold us out without knowing who we are, or what we're doing. They probably only needed to be told we were trying to get to the Institute, and they were all hands on deck to ambush us. Maybe I'm not one to talk, but that kind of animosity really pisses me off.

Is that any different than me hating the Covenant?

That was one easy: absolutely. I've never attacked Diamond City.

If they think the Institute has…

That still doesn't excuse this.

Really? How do you know that? They could have the Institute in the same way I hate the Covenant.

How would-

I put a clamp on my anger as I reached the adjoining corridor. The last thing I needed now was Diamond City's guard coming after me. Killing these people won't get me anywhere. I need them if I'm going to get Nate out alive.

"Put your weapons down", I said as I stopped at the corner.

"Who are you?" came a tentative response.

"The guy you just tried to kill."

"Like hell we're dropping our guns!"

"If three soldiers with power armor and miniguns couldn't kill me, do you think you're going to? You have five seconds."

"You come around that corner", the person shouted back, shrill edge betraying their dread, "we're going to blow you away."

"Three seconds." My hands tightened around the combat rifle. There were four of them. Two had HK-33s, one had a rifle similar to mine, I didn't see what the guard on the emplacement had been carrying.

"No- no, I'm not doing this." This was a new voice. "To hell with those Brotherhood bastards, they're no better than the Institute. Don't shoot."

I heard something clatter to the ground, followed by another.

"You cow-"

"Shut it Johnson. I'm not getting caught up in their fight."

Two weapons at most? Those are odds I'm comfortable with.

I rounded the corner, rifle up and trained on the closest person, probably Johnson, who was still aiming a 10mm handgun at me. All four guards dressed in their odd body armor were staring up at me, wide eyed.

"Put your weapon down."

The guard hesitated, fear twisting his face into a grimace.

"Johnson", the man standing to his right said, "put your goddamn gun down."

My target waited another heartbeat before letting the handgun drop.

The guard who had spoken took a tentative step forward. "What do you want?"

"Alternate exit."

"You- what?"

My internal clock was already screaming. There was no time for a back and forth about 15 minutes ago. I shifted my aim to him. "I ask, you answer. Understood?"

His eyes shifted from me to the rifle's muzzle and swallowed hard. "Got it."

"Is there an alternate exit?"

"Ye- yeah. We-"

Johnson scoffed. "They'r-"

"The next person who says something that isn't an answer to my question gets shot", I barked. All four men recoiled. "Exit."

"We- we have an escape route", the man who seemed to have the most sense spat out so quickly I barely understood. He pointed back down the passage, toward the stadium's interior. "In the next hall."

"Show me." I motioned with my rifle. "I hear anyone following, you all die."

My target swallowed again, but nodded.

I stepped back to allow him to pass, eyeing the other three. My gaze lingered on Johnson. He was tall, maybe only 7 or 8 centimeters shorter than me, well built, and looked almost as angry as he did scared at this point. Hopefully he didn't test whether I'd follow through on that threat, it would make finding this exit take longer, and that's not something I needed.

The guard led me back to the corridor Nate and I had taken cover in. When we returned, the ex-soldier was leaning against the wall opposite the interior exit, rifle aimed down the hall. He was playing it safe, keeping himself out of the exit's line of sight. He glanced at the guard and I as we entered the passage, but remained silent.

Our newest, temporary addition continued past my partner and toward the pile of rubble blocking the tunnel. He knelt in front of a large, flat piece of debris and tried to shift it. The thing had to weigh 200 kilos.

"Can I get a hand?"

With one more check to make sure we weren't being followed, I stalked toward the man and motioned for him to step aside. Right hand still wrapped firmly around my rifle's grip, I dug my left under the meter square piece of debris that looked like it had been part of the ceiling, and flipped it out of the way. Beneath was a hole leading down into… some sort of maintenance tunnel?

"Service tunnels", the guard said tersely. "This one leads to a door behind the western stands."

"Does the Brotherhood know about it?"

He shrugged. "Dunno."

That didn't surprise me.

I looked from the dark hole to him. "If-"

"Don't patronize me. I'm not going to say anything."

"And your friend?"

He frowned. "We'll keep him quiet."

"Good. Let's move", I called to Nate.

The ex-soldier limped over as I dropped down into the hole that was only just big enough to allow me through. My armored boots thudded into the concrete below with a boom that reverberated up the too small passage. It was so cramped I was practically crouching just to fit inside, shoulders brushing against either wall. If the Brotherhood do know about this, I won't have many options in a fight.

Activating my NVS, I scanned up and down the corridor. Nothing except bare concrete walls and light fixtures that didn't look like they'd been used in several hundred years (which is probably the case).

I moved out of the way and helped Nate into the passage. As long as the Brotherhood didn't know about this tunnel, he'd be safe. I couldn't wait for him with his injured leg.

"Stay inside once you reach the exit." I took the sniper rifle back from the smaller man.

"What", he asked as I started forward.

"You're injured. I need to move fast if they're still here."

"What do you mean 'if they're still here'?"

I didn't respond; he knew what I meant. There are only two reasons they wouldn't have left with them yet: they were incompetent, or we got here earlier than they were expecting.

What am I going to do if they have taken them? I can't leave the three of them with the Brotherhood.

What the hell am I supposed to do? Go after a large militia with no plan and next to zero resources?

I told them I'd keep them safe.

And then what? Are promises supposed to materialize resources out of thin air?

No, but if anything deserves everything I have, it's this.

That I had no argument with.

After a minute or so of hurriedly shoving myself through what felt like an Archer missile tube, I finally came to an equally small, steel door. It squealed open, and deposited me in a small, shaded enclosure which, looking up, was beneath the stands like the guard had said. If I had to take a guess, I was only a few dozen meters away from Ramirez and Gwen's shack, not that I would go there. That would be another great way to get shot. Again.

I glanced back down the tunnel to see Nate half way through, still heavily favoring his right leg. This area should be safe for now.

There was no way I could wait for him. Hell, even if he hadn't been injured, I couldn't.

It only took a few seconds to find the exit: a rotting wooden door set in the side of the stands. Through it was a back alley I recognized from our little meeting with Deacon. 20 meters to my right, Kellogg's house loomed over the smaller, poorly built shacks littering the field.

More importantly, there were no threats in the immediate area. That meant Diamond City's leadership was smart enough to keep its cards close to its chest when playing with the Brotherhood.

Once I'd done a scan as short as I was comfortable with, I began skirting toward the rear of the stadium. If I had to circumvent the field, it would take me another minute to get to the exit near the northwest corner of the city. It would be where I'd extract from.

It pained me to leave the launcher, but I couldn't risk climbing to where it was hidden.

And I don't have the time.

If my rare experiences fighting in civilians settings were anything to judge by, there should be mass panic with all the gunfire from earlier, especially considering their response to Vertibirds showing up for the first time a few weeks ago. If it weren't already obvious, the incredible quiet pervading Diamond City would have been a dead giveaway the Brotherhood had gotten in bed with them.

I stuck to shadow the best I could as I slipped toward the north end of the field where they had planted crops. Even with the shacks still crowding me and dampening any sounds trying to make their way to me, as I neared the dilapidated collection, I began hearing… something.

Footsteps. Several sets.

The careful, soft cadence said they were trying to be as quiet as they could, but the heavy thuds of this world's power armor was damn near impossible to hide. Amateurs. If you're in an open engagement, stealth isn't anywhere near as important as speed.

Even so, my heart tried to jump out of my chest. If they were trying to stay quiet, did that mean they were trying to sneak the kids out? Had they been arrogant enough to think they had me dead to rights? That I wouldn't be able to survive their attack? Had they thought it would be safer to keep them in the city until the fighting was over? Had the three of them somehow managed to hide until now?

Possibilities raced through my mind too quickly for me to process them all. Even if that hadn't been the case, I squelched the speculation; it wasn't helpful and I wouldn't know until I knew.

Despite the rush of emotion crowding my head, despite the sudden, primal drive to dive into the fight, to save them, I forced myself to stop at the edge of Diamond City's 'residential' area. Getting myself killed wouldn't do the three of them any good. If I'm going to do this, I need to play it smart. They know I'm not dead, and while they might think I'm still trapped in the entrance tunnel, any halfway competent commander will have overwatch to be safe. That's combat 101.

The vegetation and crops were thick enough to block my view, but the thuds from the Brotherhood's cumbersome power armor put them maybe half way between me and the exit, 50 meters away.

If they were trying to be quiet, in that armor, they'll take another 30 seconds to cross the distance. It wouldn't take me more than an instant. The only safe places for overwatch would be in the stands above me, or the area over the exit. Anywhere else would be too far away, too exposed, or not provide enough coverage.

I scanned the stands above the exit. There weren't too many places they could be with most of the space taken up by a massive green wall. Limited places to hide probably put that location out by proxy, which left the area over me.

Whoever was moving toward the exit was maybe 20 seconds away now.

How the hell am I going to clear that?

With no time to reposition, there was no way to search for them. What's the best way to deal with this then? I might have a chance to rescue them, but if I take any longer, it's going to slip away.

My mind offered the answer like it was the most obvious thing in the world; the SPARTAN go to: move fast, hit hard. My personal favorite too.

This wasn't a fight I could get excited about though. The thought of losing the three of them, breaking my promise, letting those kids down after what happened to them. It was damn near unbearable.

No, I couldn't find any excitement, but the need to get to them took its place.

I slipped along the wall, doing my best to avoid any plants that might give away my approach. Luckily, Diamond City's well thought out agriculture left two or three meters between the crops and the stands to provide space for, I'd guess, equipment and workers. It allowed me to stay out of sight of the overwatch.

The group was within a half dozen meters of the exit when I drew even with them. I still couldn't see them through the plants. That meant I couldn't risk firing and hitting one of the kids. Barreling straight in was equally risky, but if I waited until they were in the tunnel leading to the north end parking lot, I'd be in another bottleneck.

Three meters.

I don't have a choice.

Goddamnit.

I have to go now.

What if I hit one of them?

Don't

Helpful.

GO.

My legs coiled tight and in the next instant I was flying across the five or six meters between me, and whoever was trying, and failing, to sneak around in that ungainly armor.

I crashed through the crops and drove my shoulder into the lead soldier. My momentum knocked them to the ground and I twisted-

Cassandra was directly in front of me, face a mask of shock. Behind her was Thomas, and standing over him-

I swept my rifle up and practically shoved the muzzle into the helmet of another soldier before pulling the trigger.

The booming report drowned out the two kids' screams as the round punched through the Brotherhood member's helmet. Their head snapped back and they dropped to the ground, yet another soldier behind them, boxy laser rifle coming to bear.

No time to chamber a new round, and I couldn't stay there. I had to get the kids out. My primary objective isn't killing the Brotherhood soldiers, it's keeping the three of them safe.

Against every instinct, I flung the MacMillian back toward the stands and, as the first red bolt speared from the projector and into my shields, I grabbed Cassandra and Thomas, and leapt after it.

Julian! They still have Julian.

One thing at a time.

My rifle smacked into the wall an instant before I did, carrying the two with me. I shoved them both to the ground as laser fire began burning it's way through the crops.

"STAY DOWN."

I grabbed the hopefully undamaged weapon from the dirt floor and chambered a second cartridge. Julian had to have been behind me, in front of the soldier I'd knocked aside. I traced the stream of laser bolts back where the third soldier was and fired another round through the crops.

The spray of red spears of light stopped, but I didn't hear them fall. An instant later, more return fire came from my left, toward the tunnel. Just underneath the odd, twangy reports, I could make out several sets of footsteps pounding on concrete.

That's bad.

Shooting blindly after them was the worst thing I could do, but charging down the tunnel wasn't much better. On top of that, I still don't know where their overwatch is-

My head snapped to the stands above me.

Trying to climb the wall over their exit was a no go, but getting into the stands here would be easy enough.

I turned to Cassandra who was still laying flat, head pressed into the dirt.

"Get moving." I pulled the young girl to her feet and pointed down the wall. "There's a wooden door set in the wall, Nate's waiting behind it."

Her eyes were wide and scared, lower jaw trembling uncontrollably. "Damon- what's", she glanced around, "Julian. Where's Julian."

"Still with them."

She tried to bolt toward the tunnel but I held her in place. "We can't- I can't-"

"Cassandra. I need you to follow orders. I'll get him back, but I can't do that with you."

Is that true? Can I get him back?

I have to.

The young girl looked up to meet my gaze. She was in shock, but there was a hint of grim determination in her eyes.

"Please Cassandra. Trust me."

I needed to go, the clock in my head was way past ticking, but I needed to know she'd listen even more.

After another heartbeat, her face adopted the same fortitude in her eyes and she nodded.

She turned and grabbed Thomas. I had a glimpse behind the tough, crafty exterior; Cassandra was just as scared, terrified, and broken as anyone would be in her situation, yet here she was keeping calm, trusting me with Julian's safety in the middle of a gunfight. That girl might be more courageous than anyone else I've met, certainly more so than me.

My attention returned to the retreating Brotherhood soldiers, a pang of relief blooming at the back of my mind. The job wasn't done, I still have the hardest part to go, but if they can make it back to Nate, they'd be safe for the time being. Now I could focus on making these assholes pay.

If there were any soldiers waiting below, I'd be giving them a clear shot, at least for the moment, but it was an acceptable risk. Going through the tunnel wasn't.

I sprung over the three meter high wall and into the stands-

And was immediately met with more laser fire.

Several lances burned into my shields and I dove to the side, crashing into, and through, a small wooden shack that was probably ready to fall apart on its own. As I came out of the roll, I brought the sniper up and sighted on one of my attackers.

Ramirez.

The stocky, dark skinned soldier wasn't wearing any armor, so the round that hit him just below the base of his neck separated his head from the rest of his body in an explosion of red mist.

Someone to my right screamed before spraying red beams at me. The panicked shots seared their way into the remains of the small structure I'd barreled through and the stands around me, but only one other hit me as I chambered a second round and drew a bead on Gwen. They must have been sent up here because they knew the stadium.

I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't feel a pang of remorse as the woman's head turned into a splatter on the seats behind her. She couldn't have been much older than me. Maybe she fell into the same trap the Brotherhood was trying to pull these three into. Under different circumstances, maybe she didn't need to die.

What? I'm feeling remorse for someone who was just trying to kill me? I don't have time to sit here feeling sorry for a person who signed their own death certificate. Get moving.

After a moment's struggle, I pushed the sentiment out of mind and ran for the northern stands. These people attacked us and are trying to take the kids hostage. I'm not going to pity them for choosing the wrong person to ambush.

Before I reached the edge, I heard the high pitched whine of turbine engines spooling up.

Son of a bitch, they have Vertibirds.

Now I very much wished I had the recoilless gun.

As I came to the top of the stands, I peaked down into the parking lot. There were two of the VTOLs sitting in wait 20 meters from the stadium's exterior, both facing away. Their rotors were already beginning to beat the air and it was impossible to get a clean shot. Three soldiers pulling Julian with them, only one in power armor, were just reaching the far aircraft, two others were standing guard, and one more was trundling their way toward them. That must have been the one I'd run into.

How well armored are those engines?

I sighted on the one the small boy was struggling to stay out of and squeezed off another high caliber round. As the bullet impacted the starboard engine pod, there was a disappointing lack of destruction. The plating must have been at least a half inch thick, and shooting for the rotating assembly was a pointless endeavor.

No sooner had the sparks from the hit faded then the two soldiers in power armor standing guard began peppering my position with suppressing fire.

None of it was effective, but it made taking another shot difficult.

Lucky for me, they showed their inexperience again. The closest Vertibird's rotors reached takeoff rpm and the VTOL lifted off the broken asphalt and began to turn toward me. It had a large chin gun I'm sure the pilot thought would be very effective. He was probably right. What he hadn't thought about was facing me, and pitching his bird forward allowed a perfect shot into the cockpit. If it had been someone- something else he was fighting, that might have been a good idea.

But he wasn't. He was fighting a SPARTAN who was doing his best to reign in a lot of anger.

I put my next round straight through the canopy. The explosion of blood in the cockpit made it impossible to tell where I'd hit the pilot. The where didn't matter. What mattered was the Vertibird continued to pitch forward and it's pounding rotors carried it into the base of the stadium's northern wall. The impact shook the stadium so bad, I struggled to maintain balance as a five meter portion to my right collapsed.

There must have been some safety feature built into the VTOL's engines. As soon as the aircraft came down, I heard a loud bang underneath the cacophony of metal screeching and wood splintering, and unlike most prop-driven aircraft, the blades didn't disintegrate.

That one I didn't feel bad for, the dumbass should have played it safe.

One down.

The second Vertibird was beginning to lift off the ground, all six remaining soldiers and Julian inside.

Dammit. Dammit. DAMMIT!

What am I supposed to do? That pilot wouldn't be stupid enough to try the same maneuver and even if they were, I couldn't shoot them down.

My mind provided another suggestion, and it was an incredibly stupid one.

If I have a chance, I have to take it. I can't let them get separated after everything they've been through.

There were only a few seconds to try this, I don't have time to worry about it, I need to go.

Shoving my doubts as far away as I could, I set the sniper rifle aside, and backed away from the edge.

This was a very, very bad idea, but what choice do I have. With one last effort to push the concerns aside, I sprung forward.

Three strides and I was at full speed, the weakend stands groaning in protest. The fourth launched me into the air accompanied by a loud crunch and shower of splinters.

Jumping 20 meters wasn't an issue. Landing on a target wasn't either. Jumping 20 meters through the air, trying to hit a moving target at an extremely narrow angle was incredibly difficult. The fall didn't concern me, nor did the distance between the Vertibird and the stadium. Hitting one of the rotors did though. Not so sure about surviving that.

I soared across the distance, arms outstretched, reaching for the climbing VTOL and my rapidly disappearing target zone. It was beginning to pitch forward, away from the stadium. I willed my arms to grow, my trajectory to stay flat, the aircraft to stay within reach for just a second longer. I wasn't going to let them down, I wasn't going to do all this to fail at the end.

As it turns out, I overestimated the Vertibird's airspeed. Instead of grabbing for the edge of the passenger compartment, I careened through the sliver of the starboard door and slammed into the front bulkhead hard enough to leave a massive impression.

The impact rung my bell, hard.

"Damon!" That was Julian screaming, he sounded… scared. Why was- I'm here to help him, I have to help him.

Shaking myself out of the shock, the first thing I noticed was the soldier standing closest to me, an unarmored man, bringing his laser rifle up.

My right arm snapped forward and I ripped the weapon from his grasp. My left hand clamped onto his vest and I threw him from the Vertibird to the receding ground below.

A laser bolt speared into my chest, my shields flairing. It was one of the armored soldiers crammed into the passenger compartment.

I knocked their rifle aside and launched an open handed strike into the soldier's helmet. The Brotherhood member's head snapped back and-

Another one of the armored soldiers lunged for me. I shoved myself toward the front bulkhead and shunted the charge aside with my left elbow, propelling that one out into open space too.

Turning back to-

Something heavy slammed into my chest.

No.

It was another armored soldier.

No… no. No.

I was falling backwards.

I can't-

My right hand flailed for the Vertibird's frame.

I can't fail.

It landed on the inner edge. I clamped my fingers on it with every ounce of strength I had-

And it slid off.

NO!

I continued pitching backward. I continued falling.

The instant I locked eyes with Julian, being held by the remaining unarmored soldier, seemed to stretch on into infinity. He was scared. Terrified. He was relying on me to save him. The look on his face, the wide eyed, open mouthed panic branded itself into my mind with a searing hot iron.

And I knew, as I felt weightlessness take over… I knew I'd let him down. I'd let his brother down. I'd let Cassandra down. I'd let Nate down.

I'd let myself down.

I'm supposed to be ONI's favorite pet weapon. The SPARTAN they sent in when every other option failed. I knew as the horrified young boy reaching for my outstretched hand disappeared from view, they were wrong. I couldn't even save Julian. I couldn't even save one scared little kid.

"NO!"

It was a moment before I realized that was aloud, but I didn't care. I didn't care I was falling three dozen meters to hard asphalt below. I didn't care about the Brotherhood. I didn't care about the Institute. I didn't care about the UNSC. All I could think about was the Vertibird receding even as I reached for it, hoping it would come back within range.

Even though I knew it wouldn't.

That moment froze in time. Falling, Brotherhood soldier wrapped around my chest, reaching for something I could never touch.

What the hell am I doing? All this time, all those fights, all that pain…

Memories flashed through my head; countless trips to the infirmary, broken limbs, torn ligaments, a fractured eye socket, once with a broken neck. Long hours on the range, in the gym, on the practice course. Deployments, spending days crawling through waist high grass after a week of watching patrol patterns. A barracks full of dead Insurrectionists, Insurrectionists I killed. A high caliber armor piercing round punching through the soft armor over my left hip, ricocheting off the bone and out the side. Limping my way through the rest of that mission, only stimulants and my own stubbornness keeping me upright and conscious because I damn sure wasn't going to fail while I could still move.

What had all that been for? I'm supposed to be elite in a way most soldiers couldn't dream. Bred, built, and trained to be the deadliest warrior I could be. Spent countless hours practicing so I could overcome anything, and even more time putting that practice into action. Against the Covenant, against Insurrectionists, against anyone ONI felt deserved my fury. All of my anger and, now that I recognize it, desperation into every plan, every shot, every blow because I couldn't do anything else. Overcome lopsided odds so many times, usually by leaving a trail of dead bodies, my handler once called me a 'god ordained grim reaper'.

And now, here, in a different reality, against a militia that wouldn't have been on my radar in UNSC space…

I failed.

I failed in a way I never thought I would.

I didn't fail a mission.

I didn't fail ONI.

I didn't fail the UNSC.

I failed a person.

I failed a friend.

Next Chapter: 10/15, A Change of Plans