Note: Minor spoilers for Arcane season 2
Chapter 3: Letting Go
The dish disappeared under the frenzy of Veronica's spoon, each bite vanishing as fast as she could scoop it up into her mouth. When she finally scraped the bottom clean, Veronica let out a content sigh and pushed the bowl back toward the bewildered barkeeper.
"Please, sir, can I have some more?" she half-asked, half-begged, her eyes wide with exaggerated desperation for the heavenly manna.
Dogger took back the bowl with a raised brow, carefully inspecting it. Finding not even a speck of leftovers, he rubbed his eyes and reached for the ladle. With deliberate care, he poured another helping of the thick, greyish-brown sludge into her bowl. Bits of industrially recovered meat and stringy wilted looking vegetables floated to the surface, slopping heavily against the sides of the bowl, the oily sheen glinting under the pub's lights.
It was beautiful.
"Can't say I've ever seen someone take to Sump Stew like you before," observed Dogger, his tone half amused, half mystified.
"Can't say when I've last eaten something that wasn't pre-war or made you wish for one," retorted Veronica, already bringing down her spoon with the same gusto as before.
"War? Did you come from the North?" asked Dogger before shrugging. "At any rate, eat as much as you like, least I can do for the survivor of the bridge and all that." he said with a scoff, before mumbling "Unlike the booze, it costs me nothing to make the blasted stew."
Veronica hummed out an answer, more focused on savouring the smell. "Might this sudden attack of generosity translate into more storage space in your safes for this lot?" she asked, attempting a winning smile, while gesturing to her duffle bag full of supplies and salvage.
"Give me a down payment and I'll consider it," replied Dogger with a toothless grin.
Someone to her left snorted loudly, "Trust miserly old Dogger to cheapskate a hero. Last Drop wouldn't have gotten this popular if it wasn't for Vander's night shift at the bar."
"If Vander wants to give out free rounds, he can do it when he bloody well owns the place. You still owe me money Wallace, so cough it up or shut up, savvy? And as for the rest of you, if anyone wants to buy your hero a drink, then put your coppers where your mouth is."
Veronica had barely taken in another spoonful before she felt the attention of the patrons shift at Dogger's words. The hum of conversation grew softer as people sneaked glances at her.
"Is that really her?" someone asked from the right with raised eyebrows.
"That it is!" replied a vaguely familiar wiry middle-aged man sitting at a table behind her. "The one from the bridge, came back from the dead! Saw it with my own eyes I did!"
"Are you sure Benzo? All this resurrection talk sounds like the usual Janna hogwash to me."
Veronica froze, her spoon hovering mid-air as she swirled around in her seat. "I think you've got the wrong idea. I was dead drunk, not drunk dead!" she said with a weak smile.
"Rubbish!" said the man called Benzo with a laugh, before his face contorted with anger. "Everyone else on that bridge was dead, enforcers made sure of that, everyone but you."
Memories of the violence flooded Veronica's thoughts. How many Sevika said had been killed in the scuffle over her? A dozen? All because she hit an enforcer without thinking.
"I'm sor…" she started only to be interrupted by a tankard of beer being placed before her.
"You hit an enforcer so hard, it smashed his mask into his nose! I'd have paid in gold to see that, but I'll settle for a few coppers' worth of booze!" said a women taking a nearby stool.
"I'll buy her the next round!" declared Benzo, throwing a few coins at the counter.
"Make it three! I heard she took on a whole squad by herself with this big techy puncha and sent 'em running back to Piltover to their mums!" said another, forking more money over.
Veronica blinked as coin after coin fell upon the counter as if it were a pre-war Sunday service collection. No, she was pretty sure she'd punched just the one guy, not a squad.
"I don't see anything on her hand now, are you sure it's her?" pressed the doubter.
"I'm sure!" exclaimed Benzo, "when she saw we was getting into trouble with them enforces, she pulled that fancy handgonne and shot up the rest of 'em! Saved my hide!"
Veronica's stomach twisted, her stew all but forgotten, as she covered her 10mm's belt under the trench coat realizing it was too recognizable. The touch of the gun's cold grip brought back the sound of gunfire and the sickening thuds of people dropping to the ground. All she could do was fire blindly to give her a chance to run, her only thought to her own survival.
"Nothing new there, you've always looked out for yourself, Brotherhood be damned." Whispered a youthful voice in her left ear, but when Veronica turned her head, she saw only the locals around her, their mouths moving yet voiceless as a low-key hum filled her head.
She slowly raised her hands to her ears as the hum intensified along with the size of the crowd. * "I'm surprised you're not wearing that hood to hide your hair like you usually do, Veronica." * the voice whispered again, this time in her right ear, but when Veronica looked, she could only catch a glimpse of platinum gold hair and a dead pair of eyes staring at her.
The sudden touch of a large hand on her shoulder shook her out of her thoughts with a gasp of fright, only to stare into a pair of concerned yet very much alive grey eyes. The earlier hum had vanished as quickly as it started, bringing sound back to the chatter around her.
"Are you alright?" asked Vander. The longer their gaze met, the more his eyes seemed to soften with understanding, until he stood away from the barstool with a tankard in hand.
"Everyone," he cut in with a soft yet commanding voice bringing the circle of chatter around her to a close. "I'd like to propose a toast, to all the people we lost on the march for progress and the long years of blood and toil before it, may their sacrifice never be forgotten."
The atmosphere around the bar immediately sobered up. Gone was the earlier revelry celebrating the Undercity's perceived victory over the city above them. Everyone raised their glasses except Veronica and a dark-haired man standing by the doorway. She felt her hand slowly reach out to the tankard the woman had brought her under the weight of the locals' solemn expressions. The drink was everything Veronica had hoped for, and yet she found she could not enjoy its richness or freshness, her mouth only growing drier with every gulp.
The dark-haired man stepped forward, his green eyes scanning the room. Veronica's eyes winced a little in sympathy as their stares met; bruises bristled across his face including a rather noticeable left black eye in the shape of a rifle stock. His already patched up clothes looked torn and bloodied, and yet, he still walked proudly with every deliberate if painful looking step. He stopped to take a seat by the bar to Vander's left just outside the circle of light cast by the bar's lamps, his gaze flicking to Veronica before locking on Vander.
"Silco," greeted Vander, his voice sharp and wary. "I see the Enforces let you go."
"How very generous of them, to give us such an amnesty, isn't it Vander?" replied Silco, his voice taut and sharp yet full of bitterness. "I see you've taken to making speeches now. Toasts for the dead? Tell me, does it help? Does it make you feel better with yourself?"
"Say what you came to say, the rest of you, clear the room, you as well Benzo." ordered Vander, his voice low and dangerous as the pub's patrons slowly walked out of the room until only Dogger was left, who started to pour out three fresh drinks on the counter.
Veronica also stood up to leave, but the appearance of a second drink in front of her gave her pause, "I'd rather you stay here, just in case it comes to blows. Besides, all these drinks are already paid for. I might be a miser, but a deal is a deal so get cracking!" said the barkeep.
Silco ignored the drink in front of him, opting instead to glance at Veronica. "And you must be the famous survivor of the bridge… funny, I don't recall you attending any of our meetings before the march, and I kept a record of everyone to filter out bluebelly spies."
Veronica narrowed her eyes, the last point sounding like an accusation. "Funny you'd mention spying, the last Frumentarii sniffer hound I met sounded more like you than me."
"Oh, I am hardly a hound around these parts," said Silco with a dry chuckle. "Are you a refugee from Valoran? A lot of you about since Demacia closed its borders, and Piltover hasn't exactly opened its gates to you either, has it? Not unless you have something they want." His gaze shifted to her hands. "Where's the gauntlet I've heard so much about?"
"She's not wearing it," Vander said curtly. "And nor should she. Not until every enforcer station knows about the amnesty and they start pulling out their forces from the Undercity."
Silco's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, his green eyes narrowing. "Of course," he said, his words lined with venom. "Wouldn't want to upset Piltover, would we?"
"That's enough, Silco." said Vander, his tone firm but tinged with fatigue.
"No, it's not nearly enough!" Silco snapped, his green eyes burning with frustration. "Piltover doesn't honour agreements, they impose them. What will you do when they break it? Today, you are still the Hound of the Undercity, but in a few years, you will become their lapdog."
Vander slammed a hand on the bar, rattling the glasses. "I've had my fill of fighting! Of burying dear friends. How many more lives do you want to throw into your crusade Silco?"
Silco recoiled, as though struck. "My crusade?" he shouted. "Don't you dare pin this all on me Vander! You were our leader from the start, from the miners' strike until today."
"And I'm the one who has to live with the cost," Vander shot back wearily. "You're so caught up in the fight, you don't even see what it's done to us. To them." He gestured toward the empty room around them. "Do you think they'd want that for their children?"
"I'm trying to make sure they didn't die for nothing!" Silco shouted, his composure slipping as grief sharpened his voice. "You think I don't see them every time I close my eyes? We promised them, Vander, we promised her. She believed in Zaun. She believed in us."
"I'm thinking about the living, not the dead!" Vander bellowed, the tankards rattling under the force of his voice. "Violet, Powder, the rest… they don't have anyone left because of us."
Silco froze, the fire in his green eyes dimming for just a moment. His jaw tightened as he stared at Vander. "Everything I am doing is for them. So, they don't have to grow up the way we did, scraping and fighting for every breath. Better to die for Zaun than to live like a rat."
Vander got up from his seat, towering over Silco. "You don't get to decide that. Felicia died because of you," Vander snarled, leaning in. His voice was low and cold, his hands trembling at his sides. "Because you pushed them too far. Fighting was supposed to be the last resort."
"When they started shooting, they left us no other choice," said Silco. "You heard what the foreigner's little stunt alone managed to do, the people rallied straight back to the fight. They're just waiting for someone to lead them, Vander, and if you won't, I will."
"I'll protect them," growled Vander, "From Piltover, and from you if I have to."
The tension in the room was suffocating, the two men just inches apart, their fury threatening to boil over. Then, softly, a melody began to play as Dogger selected a track on the jukebox.
* "There's a girl in town and word's gone around she's just fine…" *
The music cut through the heavy silence. Vander froze, his fists unclenching as he turned his gaze downward. Silco exhaled, the anger in his face giving way back to his grief.
"How are they?" he asked with barely a whisper.
Vander's gaze remained on the floor as he spoke. "Powder has been very quiet, I don't think she understands… she looks so much like her mother," he said looking up. "And Violet, she tries to hide it, but she's frightened, especially for her sister. I don't think she trusts me yet."
Silco lifted his untouched tankard and swallowed hard. "I'll visit them. Tomorrow."
Vander shook his head, and for a moment, neither man spoke. The song ended, leaving each of them to his own thoughts. "We need to sort this mess between us first. I need to know you won't get them hurt." said Vander after a pause. "Tomorrow at sunset, by the river."
Silco nodded, his voice hoarse. "Tomorrow." And then strode toward the door. The creak of its hinges echoed in the quiet pub as he disappeared into the night, leaving an uneasy silence.
"What the hell was that about?" asked Veronica, her voice cutting through the silence.
Vander didn't answer immediately. He grabbed his tankard, downing what was left in one long gulp before setting it back down with a heavy thud. "Trouble," he said finally, his voice heavy with anger or guilt, or maybe both. "I need to get the girls. They've got things at their old place we should bring here before looters get to it. I'd prefer it if you came along."
Veronica raised an eyebrow. "Me? I thought you wanted me to stay away from them."
"You're an extra gun in case there's trouble, and besides, the girls know you at least a little." Vander replied bluntly, standing to his full height. His grey eyes pinned her in place, unreadable but heavy with intent. "That's all this is about. Don't make it more than that."
"I don't usually get dragged into house-moving jobs, not counting that one time we had to carry all of Lisa's heavy stuff from Novac to the Lucky 38. But that was less house moving and more like bomb disposal." said Veronica, standing up and re-positioning her gun belt around the trench coat. "But sure, why not?" She followed Vander down the narrow stairs, picking up her duffle bag from her side as she went, strapping it to her shoulder.
"You know you could leave it here," said Vander as they walked towards the basement.
Veronica shook her head, "I trust your barkeep with my power fist because it's locked up in that safe of his and because you vouched for it staying there. Not with this stuff out here."
The basement of the last drop was dimly lit and cluttered. Its stone walls were lined with crates of supplies for the top floor as well as broken tables and chairs damaged during the occasional bar fight. A faint chill hung in the air, carrying the scent of damp stone and spirits. Two makeshift beds made up of coats pillows and blankets that littered a corner. Veronica frowned, growing up in the Brotherhood may have been spartan, but it was at least clean.
Powder sat cross-legged on a crate, threading purple yarn into the head of a makeshift doll she must have cobbled together from old cloths and rags. "There," she whispered, tilting her head as if listening to her creation. "Yep! Now you're done!"
Violet stood by the far wall, throwing weak punches at a sagging sack of flour. Her fists landed with dull thuds, her shouts more determined than her strength. "One more round," she muttered, panting as she wound herself up for another jab.
"Violet, that's enough," said Vander, his shadow falling over her makeshift punching bag. "I'll get you a proper puncing bag when we renovate the basement. You can use the one in my house for now. Get your coats on, we're heading to your house to grab your things."
Violet whirled to face him with raised fists. "Why can't we just stay there? It's our home!"
Vander crouched to her level, his voice soft but firm. "It's not safe anymore. You know that."
"It was safe enough before," she shot back, her voice brittle and low.
"It's different now, Violet." Vander's jaw tightened, but his tone softened. "There's no one left to look out for you down there. You'll stay with me from now on. I'll keep you safe."
Violet glared at him but didn't respond. Instead, she delivered one final punch to the sack, causing a stream of flour to spill out from a small tare. Powder looked up from her doll, cradling it tightly. "Mom says we should bring everything here," she murmured.
"Just the important things," said Vander, his gaze lingering on the doll with a flash of recognition, before he straightened and headed for the stairs. "Let's get moving."
The eldest girl yanked her jacket violently from a peg, roughly shrugging it on before stopping to gently help her sister into the smaller coat. Veronica lingered by the door, watching the girls shuffle past. Violet shot her a guarded look as she moved to stand between her and Powder. Adjusting the strap of her duffle bag, she followed them outside the pub.
The narrow streets of the lower levels of the Undercity's fissures felt colder the deeper they went. The air carried a faint, sour smell of mildew and neglect, punctuated by the occasional drip of water echoing from the unseen leaks in the piping above. Vander walked ahead. His gauntlets while not strapped to his hands still rattled from their fastenings around his belt just in case. A few sacks lay strewn across his shoulders swaying as he walked. Veronica trailed behind him, her left-hand hovering just above her pistol while her stronger right supported the duffle bag's weight on her back. The girls walked between them in the middle.
"There it is," muttered Vander, keeping his voice low, as they came around a corner. The girls old home loomed ahead, though to Veronica's eyes, it looked more like a typical junked up wasteland shack than the stone structures typical of most of the undercity and topside.
As they got closer, Vander gestured for the group to stop and then pointed towards the slightly ajar door. "Someone's been through here, Felicia and Connol always locked up."
"I'm on it," announced Veronica, pulling out her gun, as she slowly made her way past the threshold. The room was dim, lit only by the faint white glow of a lantern overhead. Much of the furniture, such as it was, had been overturned, draws left gaping and empty while their contents, mostly clothes, were left strewn across the floor. A cloaked figure crouched by a cabinet in the corner, rifling through its contents but evidently finding little worth claiming.
"Hey!" barked Veronica, aiming her pistol at the figure; a gaunt man with sunken eyes and trembling hands who froze in place as he realized his predicament. His clothes were filthy and tattered, but his bony fingers clutched a handful of trinkets of dubious worth.
"Drop that stuff and get out," ordered Veronica. The man's bloodshot eyes widened, flicking between the trinkets it had found and the gun in her hands, before dropping the former, slowly making his way out while Veronica kept her distance to prevent him from rushing her.
Once the figure was out of sight, she exhaled and lowered her weapon, "Clear!" she called back to Vander. "But someone's been through here, probably several someones."
Vander stepped in the moment the girls got inside, his expression hardening as his eyes roamed over the ransacked space. Vi seemed to freeze at the entrance, looking at the defiled space that used to be her home in disbelief while Powder crept in behind her.
"Figures, the Lanes have done their best to bring most of the Undercity together, but the lower levels have always been dog eat dog territory." Explained Vander. "Felicia and Connol made it their life's work to change all that, and this is how the Forsaken repay them."
His gaze flickered to Veronica's gun, "the way you moved just now, drilled, and organized calling things out. I've only seen Enforcers work that way. Was Silco right about you?" He raised his hands before she could argue, "I'm not judging, a few enforcers joined our cause over the years. Silco has good reasons to be suspicious, but not every Pilty is our enemy."
"Oh," stated Veronica lamely, not realizing how textbook her gun forms could be in the absence of much personal confidence in her marksmanship. "Yeah, I trained… far away."
With the threat of hostiles cleared out for now, Veronica allowed her eyes to sweep across the small space in which she could only assume the whole family had lived. A fireplace stood at the centre of room, though only a few coal embars still glowed hot. Each corner seemed to serve its own purpose; one had a dining table and an ice box, another held a large workbench and salvage parts, one had a desk and bookcase, while the last held hammocks and cots.
"Mom says to check the floor under the table first," said Powder, gesturing towards one of the floorboards by holding the doll's hand as if pointing towards it.
"I could use a light," muttered Vander, but before Veronica could take out her flashlight, a clap from Powder's hands seemed to bring the dimming lanterns overhead back to life.
"Connol got them to work after all," observed Vander, before prying away at the floorboards.
Veronica frowned; she couldn't see any electric wires on the lanterns while a sniff from her nose revealed no oil. Before she could ask about it, Vander pulled out a box from the floor. "Their savings," realized Vander. "I'll hold on to it for the girls until they get older. I'm making enough to take care of them, and it wouldn't be right to spend any of this myself."
"Couldn't we just rent a flat for ourselves with that higher up in the fissures?" asked Violet.
"Even if you could, what would you do then?" pressed Vander. "Could you keep the two of you fed and safe? I know you want to look out for your sister, Violet, but this isn't the way."
Violet frowned, "It's Vi, not Violet," she muttered before grabbing one of Vander's sacks starting to throw in the books from the bookcase left untouched by the looters. Powder meanwhile found some crayons and started to paint over the wall drawing Vi's attention.
"What are you doing Powder? We need to take our stuff and go," said Vi.
But Powder didn't stop, "I'm drawing the monsters, so they will stay down here."
"Looks like someone took Connol's tools," muttered Vander as his hands hovered over the workbench and the empty toolbox beside it.
The mention of tools piked Veronica's interest. The workbench was full of the strange blend of primitive yet practical mechanical contraptions she'd noticed since her arrival, the sort of thing she'd have to learn to adapt for her own uses if she ended up staying. Looking into the toolbox revealed it was indeed empty, save for a rusty looking screwdriver the looters hadn't bothered to take, but something didn't sit right with Veronica as she inspected it.
"What are you doing?" asked Vander as she flipped the toolbox over and fiddled with it.
"Good tools are hard to come by where I'm from. I always hide mine when I'm away." said Veronica as she passed her hands over the box until she found a tiny dent that clicked.
The box's bottom opened, revealing a mix of diverse tools from a small electric drill to a fine-looking steel screwdriver, each tool bearing a hammer like logo. "Blimy," exclaimed Vander. "I knew Connol had good tools, but not top of the line Pilty stuff like that."
"Dad always said a craftsman that uses cheap tools will only make cheap things," said Vi, as a flash of fond memory passed on her face, until it was quickly replaced by grief. She pushed the sack towards Veronica and waited until she reluctantly put the box inside it.
Veronica hated to admit it, but her inner engineer found it hard to let go of the set now that she'd seen it. The oppressed poverty-stricken people of Zaun might have cost to think of, but Veronica couldn't even think of a time she used a tool that was less than 200 years old.
"Mom says we need to find her letters," said Powder, holding the doll towards the large bed.
Vander paled at her words, "the letters, damn it, I nearly forgot all about them."
"What letters?" asked Veronica.
Vander let out a sigh as he followed Powder to the cot. "Felicia built up the Lanes into a popular movement one speech and one letter at a time. She kept records; speeches, songs she wrote, but also letters to organizers and supporters, both here and abroad. Letters that would mean trouble for a lot of people if the Enforcers got their hands on them, amnesty or no."
"That's why mom says we have to find them, to keep them safe," said Powder earnestly.
Vi shot her sister a pained look, "Powder… Mom didn't tell you anything about them."
Powder ignored her, already moving toward her parents' bed, looking first under the pillow, and then the nightstand. "She hid them," she insisted, "but she can't remember where."
Vander sighed and rubbed his hands together making Veronica thankful for the heat of her oversized trench coat. "Could you do something about the fire while we search?" he asked.
Veronica nodded and crouched by the fireplace. It formed a pillar in the centre of the room connected to something more like a venting system rather than a chimney. The still slightly glowing coal embars proved to be easy to coax back into a small flame with a bit of kindling.
Powder slowly got closer and closer to the fire as she searched, holding out her doll like a compass. "Is it here, Mom?" she asked, pulling at a lose board. "No? Ok, what about here?"
"The doll doesn't know Powder, stop asking it!" said Vi, letting out an exasperated sigh.
"Then why won't you help?" asked Powder, sitting down on the floor hugging the doll.
Violet seemed ready to say something but stopped herself. Veronica got away from the fire, and approached Vi, who stood by a shelf, her face set in frustration. "Vi" she asked gently, "any idea where your mom might have kept important things? It's alright, you can tell us."
"Mom said not to tell anyone unless… she was really gone," muttered Violet, closing her eyes to wipe away her tears. She slowly moved toward a large book she'd left on the shelf rather than throw it in with all the others and took off the amulet from her neck, pressing it against a hole in the book's neck. A small draw sprang out from it bustling full of letters.
Vander quickly joined them, taking out the letters and looking them over one by one. "Kiramman … Jagged Hooks … Ambessa Medarda … Dr. Reveck … Amara. Yes, that's all of them," he said, taking those and other letters while pressing the rest into Vi's hands. "Keep those. She would have wanted you to have them as something to remember her by."
"What are you doing!" shouted Vi but she was too late to stop Vander from throwing the letters into the fireplace. The fire briefly burned brightly and then fell back to a red glow.
Vander sighed, "I'm sorry Vi, but there are some things that are too dangerous to keep records of now. Even I didn't know all the details of who Felicia and Silco contacted."
"Mom says it's good that big uncle Hound is keeping people safe," said Powder, offering the doll to her sister, while refusing to let her eyes meet the fire and the burning letters.
Violet's face contorted in fury as she marched to Powder and snatched away the doll, "this isn't Mom Powder! She's dead! Don't you get it? She isn't coming back!" Tears streaked down Violet's face as she shouted, before she turned around and walked back to the fire.
Powder's face crumpled as she hugged Vi's leg in a vain attempt to stop her, but the young girl soon had no choice but to stare into the flames devouring her purple headed doll.
"I just… I just… didn't want to say goodbye," she whispered between growing sobs.
Vi's anger evaporated as quickly as it had flared at the sight. "Powder…" she whispered, her own voice trembling. She dropped the letters still in her hand, already drenched in her tears, and pulled her sister into a tight hug. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I'm so sorry."
Vander crouched beside them, wrapping his arms around both girls as they let out all their pent-up emotions. "It's alright," he murmured, his voice struggling to stay steady against an edge of emotion as his own eyes glistened with tears. "I've got you. I've got you both."
Veronica stood frozen at the scene in front of her. Once again, a strange hum filled her ears as the girls' sobs and Vander's consolations lost all sound. Her hand reached out to the duffle bag until it pulled out a purple heart shaped medallion from one of its smaller pockets bearing the sword and gears symbol of the Brotherhood. An alarm blasted in the distance, getting louder and louder along with the cackle of gunfire and the smell of fire, and burning flesh.
Veronica, listen to me!" snapped a voice through the haze, sharp but trembling. Veronica blinked, gone were Vander, Powder, and Violet; replaced by a vaguely familiar face.
Her mother knelt before her drenched in blood even the red of the scribe's robes couldn't conceal. Emergency lights glared as the alarm blurted another warning. "NCR forces have entered the base, NCR forces have entered the base, all personal to defensive positions."
Veronica felt her mother's hands lift her before she could argue. "Get in the shaft. Now." She commanded, opening one of the covers off a ventilation shaft. "Don't stop running until you see people in power armour flying in helicopters towards you, do you understand me?"
"But…" started Veronica, feeling her voice waver and tears swell in her eyes as her small hands tried to hold on to the robes. Mom couldn't leave her! Not again! Not ever again!
But her mother's arms proved so much stronger as they pushed her into the vent. Before Veronica could try to resist again, she felt a kiss land on her forehead, causing her to freeze in place. "Veronica… you're going to survive, until you've made your mark upon the world."
An explosion signalled they'd run out of time. "Now go, and don't stop until you see blue skies beyond the vent's cover. You know how to get it off." she said, pressing an old Swiss army knife into her hands. It was dad's, but when did she get it? He usually kept it on him.
"I… must go join your father now," said her mother, trying to hold back her own tears as she put the cover back on the vent. "I love you," she finished, her face half hidden by the vent's covering grill, before she took out her 10mm pistol and ran towards the flames and gunfire.
"Mom!" shouted Veronica, but it was no use.
Tears soon gave way to her survival instincts as she felt her small hands crawl through the vent. A brief rattle of gunfire punctured the area in front of her with bullets as she saw one of the scribes fall, firing as he went down. Soldiers dressed in khaki emerged from the flames firing into the helmets of fallen power armoured Brotherhood knights to make doubly sure they were dead before pressing on. One of the soldiers, however, stayed behind for a moment.
For a brief second, he looked up at the vent causing Veronica to freeze in place, as if caught by the headlights of the soldier's terrifying gas mask and its two glowing red eye sockets. But that moment passed, and he left. Veronica didn't know how long she crawled through the ventilation shaft; minutes? hours? a day? A touch of blue seemed to emerge out of the infinite blackness of the metal tunnel, giving the girl the impetus to crawl even faster towards it.
At first, Veronica tried to kick the cover off, screaming when her legs could only knock off one of the more rusted grills but none of the others. The outside world was right there! Why couldn't she reach it!? But then she remembered her mother's words, she knew what to do, and with that she felt her hand reach out to the Swiss army knife her mother had given her. The first tool she selected was a bottle opener, the next one was a knife that cut her finger forcing her to suck on it until it stopped hurting, but the third revealed a screwdriver she used to unfasten the screws, working through the gap in the grills her kick had created.
Veronica fell out of the ventilation shaft as she leaned against it, giving out a brief startled scream as she splashed into the water below. After a few moments of struggling against the waves back onto the beach, she got up, dried herself off, and looked towards the horizon. The great pre-war bridge greeted her eyes in all its rusted red glory connecting one city ruin to another. It was only now that it dawned on Veronica that she was all alone in the wasteland.
A distant sound reverberated in the air from the horizon, turning into a repetitive thwop-thwop-thwop as it grew nearer and nearer, until Veronica could see a machine surging through the air suspended between two rotating propellors. Mom had shown her pictures of the machine, and said the Brotherhood had captured a few from a mean group called the Enclave, but she'd never seen one in action before as they had too few to use very often.
The helicopter soon made its way above her. Veronica waited until she could see the power armoured figures riding inside it and the hammer and gears symbol before she ran towards it waving her hands. The onboard minigun rotated briefly but stopped before it could fire.
The helicopter's rotors whipped the beach's sands into a frenzy, stirring up a thick cloud of grains that stung Veronica's eyes. She shielded her face with her hands, squinting through the whirlwind as the machine's side hatch slid open with a sharp clang. A figure stepped out, clad not in towering steel of power armour but in the distinctive armoured robes of a field scribe. The Brotherhood's insignia gleamed on the chest piece, worn but still proud.
The scribe's gaze fell on her, sharp and assessing beneath the shadow of his helmet. He was old, his face lined with the weight of years and leadership, though strands of black hair still wove through his greying head and beard here and there. Veronica slowly recognized him.
"Father Elijah?" she asked, having not met her parents superior very often.
"You're from the bunker… Paladin Santangelo's daughter," he said. It wasn't a question.
Veronica nodded, her hands trembling as she let the Swiss army knife fall from her hand and rushed to hug the elder. "They… they're all gone," she stammered, her voice breaking. "Mom, she told me to run." Tears blurred her vision as the words tumbled out, too fast and too raw. "There were so many soldiers, and the scribes were fighting, but then, then."
"Enough," the man interrupted gently breaking the hug. His voice softened, though his expression remained solemn. "You did what they wanted you to do. You survived." He glanced over her shoulder at the smoke rising from the outpost, his jaw tightening. "And you are right. It is too late for us to help them now. We must leave before the NCR spots us."
Veronica blinked, sniffing away her tears, "But… who will take care of me now?"
For a moment, the only sound was the persistent thrum of the helicopter's rotors. The man straightened and held out his hand. "From this day on, the Brotherhood is your family."
Veronica took his hand and let herself be pulled up inside the helicopter. The old bridge glittered under the sunset as she felt the sand rise to her eyes again when they took off.
"Veronica, did you hear me?" said a distant voice, cutting through the dust storm.
Veronica blinked and used her available hand to clear out the sand from her eyes only to find none was there. The image of Father Elijah and his thick white beard slowly faded from her mind, replaced by Vander's rough black beard and his more youthful features. His brow furrowed in concern as he glanced down from her face to her hand. Veronica followed his eyes until she realized her fingers had clenched around the Purple Heart medal, gripping it so tightly the sharper edges had punctured her skin leaving a slight trickle of blood.
"Sorry," she murmured, shaking her head to clear the remaining haze as she picked out a bandage from the med kit around her waist to wrap around her bloodied hand.
Vander grunted, his expression softening as he turned his attention back to the path ahead. The sun dipped slowly beneath the horizon, casting its final rays over the riverbank. The Bridge of Progress loomed in the distance, catching the light of sunset in its shining steel beams. For a moment, Veronica thought she was looking at the Golden Gate Bridge.
"Are you sure you're alright back there?" asked Vander, glancing over his shoulder.
"Yeah," replied Veronica, forcing a small smile, "guess my mind's just flying around like a Vertibird…" She could only frown at the unfortunate parallel and at Vander's confusion.
"A what bird?" he asked, but Veronica shrugged, making it clear it wasn't important.
She looked down at the medal, and started to shove it down into her pocket, but not before Vander's eyes caught the movement. "What's that medallion you were holding onto?"
Veronica hesitated, before pulling out the medal once again, her fingers brushing over the engraved surface. "It's… a medal, the only thing I have left from my parents really."
Vander's steps slowed, "Your parents?"
"They were soldiers… well, dad was one, mom was more of a scientist." She said quietly. "They died when I was around Powder's age trying to hold the NCR, our enemy, from… something that seemed important at the time. This medal was given to me by our group."
Vi, walking a few paces ahead, stopped and turned; the suspicious gaze she had previously reserved for Veronica softened as she looked at her now. "They gave it to you… to remember them by?" she asked, her hands wandering to the necklace tied around her neck with a frown.
Veronica slowly blinked, realizing she hadn't done much remembering of them since Father Elijah took her under his wing, but then nodded. "I guess, it's an old custom we kept from the old US army. Usually, they give one out for each person, but I got this one for both."
"You should wear it!" suggested Powder with a small smile. "It's good to remember people who aren't here anymore…" she added weekly, "and it'd look really pretty on you."
Veronica chuckled at the suggestion, for she had done so once upon a time, until the obvious Brotherhood symbol became a dead giveaway when she went undercover. Since then, she'd just felt unworthy of it, having forgotten that more than a Brotherhood symbol, it was a living memorial to her parents. Perhaps she could start honouring their memory again at least?
"Alright kid," she said with a smile, before pulling the ribbon over her head, letting the medal rest against her chest finding it still fit her fine. Powder beamed, looking satisfied.
A faint clicking sound broke the quiet, followed by an ominous erratic cackle. Veronica froze, glancing down at her bag, where she'd stuffed her Geiger counter in the expectation she wouldn't need to use it in this world. This was the first time it had activated since.
"What is it?" asked Vander as he observed Veronica take out the machine for a closer look.
"I don't know," Veronica admitted, her voice low. The detector's beeps quickened causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise along with her alertness. Something was out there.
A sudden explosion of blue light tore a hole through the night over the river. A sharp and all too familiar skittering noise emerged as Veronica's hand instinctively pulled out her pistol. Several yellowish arachnids quickly landed on the small wooden platform over the water.
"What are those things!?" demanded Vander but didn't let his confusion stop him from puncing the approaching oversized scorpion with one of the gauntlets he'd kept on his belt,
"Barkscorpions!" she shouted, letting go of her duffle bag as Vander stepped in front of the girls to protect them, allowing the sacks drop from his shoulder onto the wooden platform.
The first wave of the mutated creatures surged toward them, their armoured bodies gleaming in the dim light. Vander swung his gauntlet at them with immense force, smashing one scorpion aside as its stinger struck uselessly against the gauntlet's metal front. Veronica aimed her 10mm pistol and fired rapidly at the more distant members of the swarm. The shots rang out, mostly on target, as the barkscorpions began to fall beneath the hail of bullets.
"Stay close to me!" Vander barked at the girls, his voice cutting through the chaos.
Powder clung tightly to Vi, he eyes wide, transfixed by the many dead eyes staring back at her from one of the fallen scorpions. "Why are the monsters here? I thought they'd stay down there." sobbed the young girl while Vi did her best to position herself in front of her sister.
As the first wave fell, a second group of scorpions emerged from another blue charge of the anomaly, faster and more coordinated. Veronica cursed as she noted their darker larger forms, recognizing them as proper radscorpions and thus more heavily protected by their mutated exoskeletons. Noting her clip was empty, she replaced it with one with AP rounds. While she reloaded, Vander swung his fist again, but this time, one of the scorpions managed to strike him, its stinger finding a gap in his defences through which it could deliver its poison.
Vander staggered back, gritting his teeth in pain. "Take the kids and run!" he shouted.
"Not happening!" she growled in reply, firing off another clip to take out the approaching radscoprions as her other hand dived into her med pouch until it found a small vial. "Here," she said, couching beside him to inject the serum into his arm. "It will take a few moments to kick in, but you will quickly recover. Count yourself lucky it wasn't a Barkscorpion sting."
Vander nodded weakly; his breaths laboured as the poison began to take its toll. The Geiger counter buzzed again, heralding the arrival of another radscorpion from the anomaly, this one much larger than the others. Powder screamed as it approached while Vi grabbed a loose rotting plank from the wooden platform only to see it break as she hit the scorpion with it.
Veronica fired her gun at the new threat, only to see her armour piercing bullets bounce off harmlessly until her gun decided to jam, "Damn it!" she shouted, throwing the gun aside.
At least she got the radscoprion's attention away from the girls as the giant turned its attention towards her. Now, she only had to figure out how to kill the creature with nothing but her fists to use against it. She would have managed it with her power fist, but it wasn't here, while Vander's gauntlets were still strapped to his hands and thus out of reach.
Left with no options, she grabbed her duffle bag and ran towards the radscoprion as it carefully skirted over the wooden planks, clearly not all too keen about being this close to a large body of water. Just as the scorpion moved in its stinger to strike at the incoming threat, Veronica threw the bag straight at the appendage, allowing the weight to push it backwards until its entire body tripped over into the water falling like a rock along with her bag.
"No, no, no!" shouted Veronica when she realized what she'd done, diving into the water after her bag without a moment of hesitation despite Vi and Powder's calls for her to stop.
The cold polluted water swallowed her whole as she desperately ripped away her oversized trench coat to try and swim towards the bag as it steadily faded away from view. Once free of the weight of her coat, she managed a sudden burst of speed catching hold of the bag for a fleeting moment until it burst open, scattering her supplies into the murky depths.
Her lungs burned as she kicked towards the surface, blindly clutching at whatever she could mange to grab until her fingers finally settled on a piece of delicate fabric, a familiar red and black dress weaving and twisting against the current as if it was on the body of a dancer.
Her vision blurred, but in the darkness, she could almost see a faint light, a flicker of something warm and familiar as someone started playing a strange tune on a piano.
* Begin again in the night... *
The breath she'd been holding gave way, her body aching for air, but the melody soothed her, pulling her away from the pain and into the water's comforting embrace. She could see a slender feminine hand rise from the depths to touch her cheeks. Christine? Is it you? Another hand dived after her from the surface, desperately trying to get a hold of her. Vander?
* Your arm on my shoulder, your cheek against mine…*
Christine smiled at her, but as she spoke, her lips made no sound. She felt her hold on the dress weaken; she couldn't hold on to it, she couldn't hold to anything anymore. The weight of her bag, of her memories, all of it began to dissolve in the depths. It wasn't important. It never had been. The hand from the surface meanwhile finally got a hold of her waist.
* Where can we go, when will we find that we know...*
The light dimmed, her eyes closing against the pull of the water. Veronica felt herself surrender to the song, its final words echoing in her ears as her body fell still and all went black. In her last moments of consciousness, she could vaguely feel her body being carried back to the surface, the dress slipping away from her fingers as it danced down into the abyss.
* To let go…*
Notes: Well, long time no see in so far as this story is concerned. Sorry about that, but at the time I did somewhat lose interest, and when I tried to get back into it, I realised it would make more sense to wait for Arcane Season 2 to plan things out properly. Two years later, I've decided to return to this project with somewhat different intentions for it.
The core ideas I had going in are the same, and I found that despite my own development as a writer since, there's nothing I want to change in the prior chapters save for minor points of consistency (I will write what I've changed and when once I settle on my long-term plans for the story.) Still, I am coming back to this project with more ambitious intentions.
I can reveal that the first story of the New Zaun series will be one of three I plan to write in it. I am not sure how long it will be, probably around 24-30 chapters for each story in the series. I had hoped to keep the chapter length down at my old average of 3K, but my other objective of writing in Arcane's symbolic style makes that too limiting so length will vary.
The same logic I had in mind when I started still applies. Arcane's story is just too good for me to play around with it in its original form. I might have a few issues with season 2 here and there, mostly things I'd like to expand upon, but it's a lot more interesting to do it in this story's expanded Fallout scope than to write up a shorter story using Arcane only.
There's still a lot of thinking that needs to go into planning out just the first story truth be told, but I am confident of my plans for this and the next four chapters. I am also writing an HP fic I don't want to put on the backburner and I'd rather take my time with this one anyway meaning I can't commit to a regular update schedule. Hopefully monthly.
Still, I do hope readers both old and new to this fic enjoy this story as I resume work on it.
Thanks for reading,
Umbradius.
Disclaimer: I don't own either the League of Legends or Fallout franchises and their associated products (Arcane & Fallout: New Vegas) or songs.