"He's changed."

You sit on a chair in the corner of the barracks of the Leviathan, listening to your grunt comrades. After your promotion, you were granted your own room on the upper levels of the vessel. It is nothing to gawk at, but a personal lavatory gave it a large leg up from what you previously had. Nearby, grunts entered and exited through the door, creating the long, drawn out ruckus you were glad to leave behind. Even during the night, people would galavant about, making other soldiers stir. Now, a peaceful night's rest is only a bedroom away.

The eldest of your entourage, Livia, pulls her legs up into the seat. Her scarred fingers trace the corduroy weave in her black socks, a nervous habit that she picked up over the years. "He's changed after he got the nitro. The Don I used to know wasn't like this. He wanted to create a utopia, but not destroy one in the process." She pushes her salt-and-pepper hair away from her eyes.

Damien, a recruit brought on about two years before you joined, nods in agreement, his decorated dreadlocks jingling as they wave in the air. "He's not a...monster, but I would be careful. The fact he let you off today like that is...I don't know." Damien leans back in his chair, pulling his water bottle to his mouth, taking in a long sip. "Weird."

"Maybe he's getting better."

"I dunno. That nitro can really, really hurt people. Small doses are, uh, 'fine', if you want to call it that. But how much he has? Constantly? The side effects have to be permanent. His brain has got to be-" Damien clenches his fists before quickly splaying his fingers, simulating a miniscule explosion.

"Just stay away from him, please." Livia pushes her legs back down, placing her feet flat on the floor. Her eyes flit from one detail of your face to another, sipping in every ounce of reaction and emotion.

"How can I do that?" you reply. "I work with him. That is what they want me to do."

"Your life matters more that what they want you to do."

"Maybe just don't piss him off," Damien adds. "Don't pester him with morals. He doesn't care." Damien drinks more water, and you watch it travel up the bottle's straw before descending back down into the pool below. "No one here does," he whispers, a solemn haze whispering over his face.

. . .

You lie in bed, your mind focused on the full moon sweeping its light over the Leviathan. You window's blinds are open wide, allowing the celestial body to peek down at your unbecoming behavior under the sheets. You couldn't help it as the desire flamed deep within your groin, pushing you to retire to your room to release yourself. And as much as you despised it, you couldn't help back acknowledge that this sudden fit of self-pleasuring was dedicated to the thought of Don's body.

If they ever found out, you think, taking a pause in your strokes as Livia and Damien's warning come to mind. How could you ever come back from admitting that you had intimate fantasies about...him? But no one has to know, you remind yourself as you resume.

Just the though of him taking off his shirt would melt you into a horny mess, let alone what lies below the belt. On windy days, you would sometimes catch yourself trying to get a peek of his rear underneath his trench coat as the gusts blew it away for your viewing pleasure. And his beautiful calves. You want to feel their strength as you make love in the silence of the night...

A familiar pressure fills your member as the climax shudders through your body, and hot splatters of semen drop across your belly. You let out a soft grumble as the horniness subsides and your heartrate slows. A sudden knock at the door interrupts the calm, and you lift your head.

"Yes?" you squawk.

"You awake?" Don's voice rumbles through the door.

Shit! You look down at the intimate mess across your body and then towards the bathroom. "Be out in a minute!" You bound over to the restroom, quickly spinning the toilet paper, letting the sheets chaotically spiral out. You rip off a clump in a shaking fist and wipe yourself down before tumbling back to the room and dressing yourself. After a sharp breath, you open the door to see Don, his skin bathed in the blue light, the nitro running through his veins. He looks purple.

"I want to apologize for earlier," Don says. "I know my behavior is erratic."

You nod, self-conscious about the moment you just shared with yourself. The silence festers for a moment more. Don turns outwards a bit, his eyes still magnetized to you, the air pulsing as the nitro within his face heats it.

"May we go for a drive?"

"Where?"

"Nowhere. Just to talk some things over."

"What about just a walk?" Something felt too personal about being in a closed, private space, especially under the cover of the velvet night.

Don nods his head.

"Okay. Let me put on my shoes." You slump onto your bed and pull your shoes towards you. The hair on your arms stand at attention as Don promptly follows you into the room. He looks around, slowly yet objectively.

"Good room," he states. He points at a faded poster on the wall. "I like Metallica, too."

You glance up at him before returning to tie your boots. Your room is stale and militaristic, just like the countless others. Don allows for one item of decoration in a general's room, and anyone lower than you isn't allowed any personal affects on the wall. You get to your feet, and Don focuses down on your footwear, cocking his head.

"What's your favorite song?" you ask.

"Do you want to get new shoes?" Don lifts his head, pointing his finger down at the rugged grunt boots. "They'd be good for our walk."

Why is he kinda...dense? you think for a split second, but the intrusive conclusion is quickly pushed to the back corners of your subconscious. "Maybe when we come back. I like these. Broken in." You leave the bedroom, Don trailing after you.

"But you could break in the new pair for tomorrow."

"That's alright. But thank you."

"Where do you want to walk?"

"Maybe to the beach?"

"That sounds nice."

You walk down the deck, watching Don's shadow follow behind you, lumbering and loyal. A gust of wind rustles his hair and whips the tails of his trench coat, and you listen to them snap as they fold quickly around themselves.

"Fuel," Don grumbles.

"Hmm?"

"That's my favorite song."

"Oh, yeah. That's a good one." You placed your hand on the guardrail of a flight of steps, and your footsteps clank in soft unison with Don's as you make your escape into the night.

"That's my favorite song ever," Don adds. "It just moves me. Just raw human enjoyment of power."

You finish the flight of stairs and wait at the bottom. A chilling breath of wind funnels into the staircase, sending a bristle up your spine and through your cheeks. You slip your hands into your pockets as Don childishly jumps over the last two stairs, landing with a metallic thump at the landing.

"It is a very exciting song. Love the solo as well." Don scoots up beside you as you walk down the main ramp of the Leviathan. The sand scrunches beneath your feet, introducing a slight wobble to your gait as your body balances atop the changing surface. Don walks unbothered, his larger boots making it easier to traverse the desert. You and Don stick close to the side of the ship, its large body blocking off the orchestra of icy winds yowling above.

You jump a tad as something hot hits your forearm. You look down to see a small, orangey tube in Don's hand, one end of it touching your sleeve.

"I can tell you're cold," Don mutters. The armor on his chest is lightly dismantled: one of the panels is in his other hand, revealing the main components that pushed nitro through his body. Large pipes pulse like jellyfish, forcing the electric sludge to continue on its path. A dozen of small vials, no longer than six inches, cradle near the center, sloshing with a thinner, stickier solution, like mucus. One is missing, now extended towards you.

"Don't you need that?" you remark.

"Never needed the nitro. Just want it. The tubes are waste product of the used nitro, anyways. I empty them, but they are good to keep people warm." Don releases a somewhat forced chuckle as he watches you take it into your hands. His fervent demeanor soon snuffs as you lock the tube back in place in his chest.

"Why did you make me general?" you whisper. Something is awry. Or possibly is. It is almost impossible to tell with Don.

"May we go to the beach first?"

"Why?"

Don looks about. "The beach. Please."

You shove your hands back into your pockets before ambling off into the bluish oblivion towards the inky sea. Don follows beside you, his nitro infused form casting a lantern-like glow across the dunes and lyme grass. The hushed voice of the waves soon comes within earshot, and you look back at Don, stopping in your tracks. Don walks a couple feet ahead, unaware of the lack of your presence. He soon halts himself, turning to see the shadows absorb your form. The moonlight accentuates your features, showing off the bridge of your nose, the crown of your head, and your shoulders.

"What is going on, Don?"

Megalo Don sighs and looks around. "The Machinist said you would be good for me. You were her solider, right?"

You nod. You used to work at the Redline Rig, watching over the stores of nitro that fuel the legions of Wastelanders. "What is that supposed to mean? Good for you?"

Don shrugs. "I don't know. She wasn't direct about it. I was looking for a new general, and she said, 'With everything going on with me, you would be a good fit.' She wouldn't elaborate, but Scarr agreed with her. I took it as you would be a good fit as an advisor. Maybe my plans aren't as foolproof as I previously thought."

"So what am I? Personal advisor or general?"

"I...I don't know. I should have told you sooner."

You nod in agreement. "What else did she say about me."

"You're detailed, always on time, a bit quiet but that's fine, but she said that most importantly, you are kind." Uncomfortable silence blankets over you two. Don blankly rubs the toe of his foot in the sand. "Kindness is for pussies, in my opinion."

The snide comment sets off a deep-seated anger boiling within your belly. Your muscles tense as you belt out: "I'm not here to be the therapist for some pussy that can't understand his own emotions."

Don's eyes glow brighter in the indigo night. "The fuck did you call me?"