One step rang out with a thump as my boot unceremoniously bore down on the broken and charred flooring, it's followed by a seemingly-echoed clank as the rifle roughly taps after, supporting my weight. One step, two. Three steps, four. It's a slow process to cover the distance as each inch crawled closer takes as much effort as the last.
Eventually, I'm huffing and puffing and looking down at the figure at my feet. The body belonged to a man, that much was clear. His figure was muscular, yet at the same time there was a leanness to him. His short, tuft brown hair was matted and coarse, it looked as if it was caked with blood and ruffled with dirt. The clothes weren't all that dissimilar from the people I saw at Siman's Ridge, save for the bits of armor – pieces of metal fashioned into bits of protection. It was cobbled and patchwork at best.
This was not Anton; he was far less muscular in frame and his hair was surprisingly a lot cleaner (likely cleaner than mine, actually), and I doubt he'd wear such clunky armor. The most pressing detail came when I shifted his head and got a look at his face: it was scarred and angular, almost box-like. Anton's face was more curved and was free of blemishes and the like.
All things considered, this raised an even greater question: who am I looking at and where did he come from? I could make a few guesses, but that'd be nothing more than conjecture – or worse: assumptive.
Slowly lowering down, I began to rifle through his person. I tucked away a handful of bottle caps and five .32 caliber rounds, ten 10mm rounds, and one pack of mentats. No stimpack, nor any clues to his origins.
Had he just been from some band that recklessly attacked this factory and lost his life, or had there been some greater plan? Was he friend or foe? Was he brave or foolish? Alas, the dead shouldn't answer and I appeared to be unable to find anything concrete through my own observations.
Even around the man, there was nothing; as if everything important had been stripped bare to leave him only with a few, small things. The more I had looked, the stranger I found it; none of the super mutants were looted. Which might have been a clue in and of itself. If he had allies and a mission, then perhaps whatever was on him was crucial for his allies to complete their mission; or perhaps they were on a mission they had no expectation of returning from and were going to blow up the factory.
That was pure theory. I'd be remiss if I were to say I didn't let my imagination run wild while I thought up possible ideas, and my plan could certainly become part of their plan. If worse comes to worse—
I shook my head. I'd need to find a stimpack, sooner rather than later. With one last wandering glance amongst the floor for discarded items, I stood and hobbled my way to the next room. One way or another I'd find my things; and if that fails, then... well, I always have the trigger.
Over the blown out door and through the empty frame, I slowly found myself with a new ceiling to observe. Unlike the last room, with a lower roof, this one had heavy metal beams running back and forth creating some kind of support system. As my vision lingered upward, I noticed a skeleton resting atop one of the beams; but with no clear way up I frowned and looked toward the rest of the room.
There was an overwhelming sense of quiet, not a figure moved nor a machine beep or grind. And like the last room this one was heavily shot up as well. More evidence of explosions, too. As I trudged and hobbled my way about, I discovered more and more bodies. Some belonged to the super mutants, but there was an equal amount of (if not more) humans lying about; they were dressed the same as the last one and in far more messed up states. Some wore bashed in armor, others had missing limbs, and two had their heads caved in.
Through it all, none of the humans had much equipment; a couple rounds of ammunition here or a drug there. But nothing more. The super mutants had their weapons, but when I inspected a few closer it became evident that their additional ammo was taken. Their weapons were left behind, as if someone hadn't wanted anyone to get anything useful or to not weigh down their own load.
Turning my attention to the rest of the machines, it was much like the last with metal boxes, conveyor belt systems to deliver goods, and control panels to operate each machine. And just like the rest of the room, these were smashed to pieces or otherwise reduced to a fraction of their former states. Control panels were ripped apart, conveyor belts were hammered down or blown out, and the boxes' shells were riddled with holes or heavily dented (one was torn asunder).
Past those, the walls held proof of this massive, recent firefight. If I followed the flow of the floor layout, it effortlessly led right into another section separated by a thick wall and several doors. Each frame bereft of the doors proper. Thumping along with my rifle-cane, I moved toward this next room, passing through the empty door frame and stepping into another factory floor.
Glancing up, I saw the suspended box that I had been in earlier with Anton. No new bodies sat on the catwalk above, likely meaning that the fighting hadn't reached there. Looking to the factory floor itself, there weren't any super mutants around – alive or dead – nor did I find any humans. The walls and machines looked as they did when I saw them from above.
Hobbling along, I walked down the lines and over some stairs which rose above the belt-system leading to the other side. I moved along in a slow, deliberate manner, all the while I observed my surroundings for anything different. Despite it all, not a hair of a living creature appeared. So I continued to the opposite side, toward a short hall that led into the back of the factory. A sign designated the area as a loading dock.
This area was full of crates, either pried open or left haphazardly about; barrels containing some kind of substance were left in small patches about, a heavy coating of dust had settled around as if they hadn't been touched over a long period, piles of dirt with flecks of reflective materials peeked through a handful of cracks. A ramp led to a raised platform where two massive doors hung open, past one was some kind of large elongated box filled with more stuff. The space within was large yet largely confined, almost suffocating for what was here.
Careful of the dust I traversed about looking for anything worth taking, yet slowly came up blank. I continued on my way, small shifts of my feet moved me up the ramp until I had a view of the outside. The bright dark skies greeted me. A sense of ease washed over me as I stared up at the mote-filled backdrop until my eyes settled upon the moon and a queer sense of guilt soon replaced my ease.
What is this for? With a shake of my head to rid the thoughts, I traveled back the way I came until I was in the doorframe with the brown haired man just a few paces ahead. I scanned the area and soon saw another set of doors which I had seen before – only from the opposite side – and began my way over. Peeking through, I saw the room with the blown out wall that I had originally used to get inside.
Moving about this room carried much of the same results; machines and belts snaking between them alongside a general lack of bodies. It was as if anything still alive had moved deeper within the factory. I traipsed and staggered around the room only carried by the hunting rifle cane until I eventually came close to the hole, toward the spot I talked with the large super mutant, and sitting right where I had been struck was my gear. My bag was just sitting there, several feet away was my chest piece, and my gun not far from them, having likely clattered away after it fell from my grip.
I collected my things, sluggishly pulled on my armor and felt as the gentle rubbing sent tingled I could never describe coursing through my being; shaking that off I attempted to sling the bag on, yet as soon as it touched my body I felt a surge blast through my being which made me jump before falling back, landing hard on my butt – that was going to bruise. With a little exhale, I slid the strap of the bag off my shoulder and used the hunting rifle to rise.
In a more natural and upright position, I fished out a stimpack and med-x from my bag. With those in my system, I felt a slight rush of energy and used that to equip the bag. Continuing with the hunting rifle as a cane, I made my way outside; rifle support in one hand and the .44 magnum revolver in the other.
A calm gaze quickly scanned the exterior yard, looking for any sign of movement, but none was found. Perhaps that theory about the mutants and probably still living humans having moved deeper within had been more accurate than I initially guessed. Either way, I advanced forth keeping an eye out for any motion.
I continued past the broken fence, back up the cragged path leading up the hill, and soon arrived at the area I first gained a view overlooking the factory and its yard. I couldn't understand what was going on inside, but I set my bag down beside me and withdrew some now-smelly bloatfly meat and wolfed it down.
Once that was gone, I pulled out a moderate sized case and popped the latches. Inside was a disassembled weapon, one that I had a vague idea on how to assemble. Over the next several minutes – perhaps more – I set about putting pieces together until I eventually had an abomination... and had to disassemble it back to its base form. Even more time passed before I finally had a rifle, I added the finishing touches by sliding a long-range scope in place and flipped the tripod legs down, and placed it down near the edge of a small ledge.
If I had to estimate the distance between myself and the factory, it'd only be about eight hundred feet or maybe one thousand yards. Then again, I didn't have the best reference for these longer reaching aspects and could be considered clueless.
I then took a moment to inspect the rifle as it was laid out on the ground, the long barrel pointed toward the factory. The black matte coating looked oddly pristine, save for the few odd scuff marks from when I was putting it all together, it looked cold in the soft, low light. The scope was about as long as my forearm, maybe a touch more, and it had various dials and knobs at set points; from what I had read those were to adjust the sights.
With a shaking arm, I lowered myself into a lying position and reached out with my right arm – my left was left half numb, yet able to move thanks to the med-x from earlier. I propped myself up and viewed down the scope, finding myself looking at the brick and metal walls of the factory off in the distance. I began to fiddle with the knobs, checking what each did until I had a faint understanding.
Through the scope I looked down at the front yard and eventually found some kind of movements – multiple sources at that, but I only focused on the closest. It had been right near my path as I left the factory, yet I didn't spot it nor it I as it had been lazing about on the opposite side of one of those makeshift walls. I saw some kind of... fat dog? I think. It might have been sleeping, it might have simply been lying about, but my course of action remained the same. I carefully aligned my sights and then squeezed the trigger after turning off the safety.
Bwum!
Before I knew it, I saw the shot hit the target. That isn't to say I hit the dog... thing, but rather something near it. About seven feet short and a short ways off to one side. Why had that happened?
Just as I asked myself that, my hair swished before my eyes as it was carried by a breeze. Of course, I thought, the most I'd done until that point had been short ranged combat – perhaps mid-ranged at most – and that meant I hadn't needed to seriously factor in the wind direction and power into my shots. That also meant that, despite traveling faster than the eye could see, gravity also held sway over the bullet's travel. In which case, what came next was clear: I needed to adjust to compensate.
A few moments passed before...
Bwum!
At this point, the hound (as I'll call it for a lack of a better term) jumped up, finally wise to what was happening. Not because I hit it, no. I had been far off the mark once more, but rather because it had grown suspicious of the noise. I did get close to hitting it though.
Firing off another shot and I saw another miss. This time it wasn't a result of the wind or gravity, rather because of the big-bellied beast moving about randomly just after I had pulled the trigger. If it were sitting still, I'd have been able to hit it without too much trouble, but now that it was moving and zipping about I wasn't sure.
Aligning the sights once more, I followed the movement of the creature looking for any sort of pattern to the chaos. When I finally spotted it, I breathed in, then slowly out. Relaxing both my body and trigger finger. Then...
Bwum!
The great force of impact knocked the hound away, it crashed to the ground and actually bounced once. I didn't see it move again, even after observing it for a short while. I pushed myself away from the rifle and looked at my bag here in the dimly lit land, pulled it close and retrieved more ammunition for the sniper rifle, and grabbed another stimpack and med-x. With drugs freshly flowing through my system, I could truly relax once more and ejected the magazine from the rifle.
I then spent a moment thumbing in more bullets until it couldn't hold anymore before I plopped the box back down beside me and replaced the magazine. After making sure the next shot would be ready, I flicked the safety back on and sat back.
The factory dyed in the gentle blue-like light cast from the moon looked as if I were viewing it through a thin silken curtain, it was oddly beautiful. My long, dirty red hair caught a breeze and was whisked about to and fro, it caused me to reach up and run a hand through the slightly hardened mess, all the while the breeze had been far colder than I had imagined as a chill set crawling across my skin, like a porcelain cup set out in a cloudless night.
With the view, I felt like eating more, so I pulled out more of the smelly bloatfly meat and the bottle of Nuka-Cola that somehow hadn't broken and, following a snap-hiss, the bottle was opened easily enough. I dropped the bottle cap in with the rest of my paltry collection, then tipped back the chilled glass bottle and took a swig. Unlike the last one, this tasted fruity instead of solely like pomegranates and carrots.
I chomped on some of the raw meat and took another swig to chase it down as I turned my attention toward the factory. I had never wished more for the painter's hand than I had in that moment. I ran another hand through my hair and shook my head, which willed me to down another swig of cola to try and keep myself alert yet distracted. It hadn't been long, but my eyes started to become heavy once more.
I need to stay awake, I need to keep going.
I repeated that in my mind until I eventually pushed away the drowsiness (or rather it felt as if I had). I turned my focus wholly toward the factory and my meal, letting the serene night carry me forth. With another hit from the bottle, I sat back and focused on the now strange flavored meat.
-Transmission Incomplete: Recovery In-Progress-
The next chapter should hopefully be out soon.