#but after almost going fucking blind due to a disgusting eye infection and life in general being a bitch

[gentlebeard]

my pathetic ass crawling back out of my hole: hi everyone, i’m back 🥺

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

Author’s notes: Finally, after months, I finally got to updating the fic! Schedule will be still irregular, but if things go according to plan the next chapter might come at around April 7. Thank you for staying tuned, please enjoy the chapter!

XXIX

January 14, 2278.

The green glow of Percy’s Pip-Boy illuminates the dark corridors of the Vault. I squinted, vaguely reading the time as two in the afternoon. She stands closer next to me. My partner does that whenever we explore vaults, and I can’t blame her.

Even I get creeped out by these damn things.

I didn’t know which was worse; the ones filled with insane clones who screamed “Gary”, or the one that filled my lungs with some kind of drug that made me and Percy trip out of our minds and almost hurt each other.

I don’t even wanna remember either. I must shift my focus on helping Percy find the GECK.

The ventilation is dead, and so is the thermostat, with the vault being in a state of decay for fuck knows how long. Some of these underground bunkers were built when I still had skin. Percy was extra cautious, and she was right to be. We faced several super mutants; Percy took care of them from a distance, while I offered additional firepower, ensuring none of those big green muties came within ten feet of her.

Reloading my shotgun, I hid behind a fallen desk as Percy fired another round from her Gauss rifle, nicking one mutant coming from my blind spot. The corner of my mouth tugs upward when I remember the first time we faced super mutants together, in the DC ruins.

I look at her now, and how she’d grown as a fighter.

Once all the muties in the area are dead, Percy sneaks over to a terminal, the glow of the monitor washing her helmet with a sickly green hue. My partner retracts her helmet, and begins typing away.

Shotgun still warm on my peeling hands, I’m alert to my surroundings as usual, though I can’t help but glance at her baffled expression, her frown frown deepening the more she reads the text on the screen.

“Shit. This isn’t science, this is sick! Charon, oh my god,” she whispers, eyes fixed on the terminal. “Some twisted scientist experimented on the vault residents to make the mutants. Vault 87 is where all the muties are coming from. They kidnap wastelanders and take them here and infect them with the FEV strain that doctor concocted.”

Expression grim, I turn to Percy. “Are you hinting that we blow this place up too, like Paradise?”

Sighing, Percy shuts the terminal off. “It’s too dangerous due to all the radiation in the area, and we don’t have the means to do it now. Maybe we can inform the Brotherhood.”

Knowing those tin cans, I roll my eyes at her. “If they decide to do something about it. They can’t even send their own men to fetch the damn GECK and they sent you.”

“My opinion of them is slowly getting worse as the days pass, that’s for sure,” Percy quips, powering down the terminal. “Fuckers have the most advanced weaponry in all of the Capital Wasteland next to the Enclave and they’re hiring a teenager and her ghoul partner as errand runners.”

At Percy’s remark, I chuckle.

“You mean the Wasteland Avenger and the Ghoul Reaper.”

“I thought you hated those nicknames,” she chuckles, the helmet of her suit protracting to cover her face once again.

“I still do, and Three Dog has no fucking problem using them, and us, to promote the Brotherhood. But those assholes don’t even respect you.”

Percy pauses, then her helmeted face turns to me. “Do you think he’s a little bit biased towards the Brotherhood?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, he preaches about how ghouls are people too, and he’s absolutely right about that, but he says nothing about the Brotherhood's bigotry against ghouls. Worse, a ghoul had been directly and indirectly helping them, and he’s still quiet.”

I rubbed my chin at her observation. “Huh. I’ve never thought of it- Percy, your six!”

She turns around, and sees the centaur approaching us, those god-awful tentacles writhing as it advanced. A few things unsettle me, seeing how I have to deal with my ugly mug whenever I look in the mirror, but those things? It makes the hairs on what little skin I have left stand.

It took two rounds to take it down, its head splitting like a rotten fruit the second time Percy shoots it. Disgusting.

Percy seems to be thinking of the same thing, recoiling and shivering. “Thanks.”

I grunt in response. “Let’s get a move on. I don’t wanna spend another minute in this damn place,” I muttered, and my partner nods.

We advance, taking care of any mutants we bump into along the way. Percy sweeps every area we go into for supplies, and terminals she can tinker with. I have a feeling that her accessing the files in this vault isn’t born out of her natural curiosity now. She’s seeking something.

A truth of some sorts.

On one particular terminal she accessed, she recoiled in horror, stumbling into me. I steady her, my large hands cupping her shoulders as she takes a sharp inhale.

“That bad?”

“Yeah,” she gasps. “Look.���

Barely making out the words, I lean over to read the text with difficulty. Thankfully, Percy spells it out for me. “These are death codes. They represent what the vault residents succumbed to. See that?”

She points at a string of text on the screen. “UD000.”

“Unexplained deaths. If I had to guess, they came up with this to cover up the fact that these people actually died due to the experiments their bastard scientists did to them. Now look at this,” Percy continues, typing away and accessing a list of the deceased. Eighty goddamn seven of those were unexplained.

A twisted feeling crawls up my spine, reminding me of the government program I was forced into.

??? ??, 2074.

Lined up, waiting for what’s about to come next, I stood beside Mag. My lanky limbs were tense, and the skin of my neck felt sickeningly tender, the collar around it making it bulge. From the corner of my eye, I look at my fellow trainees, all six of them.

Out of the hundreds of people they brought in, only the seven of us survived.

Sergeant Williams steps in the room, and all of us move in unison to salute, starched black uniforms barely creasing as we raised our arm for the gesture.

“Listen up, maggots! Out of the four hundred seventy three recruits we had for rehabilitation, only the seven of you didn’t wash out, drop dead, or ate a gun. Consider this the greatest honor, for you are now considered rehabilitated from commie propaganda,” he barks, barely concealing his Texan drawl, spittle flying everywhere.

“Consider this the greatest honor, for you are now ready to dedicate your worthless goddamn lives to the USA! You are to follow every damn command issued to you by whoever holds your contracts! You were trained for this singular purpose, are we clear?”

Our voices filled the room as we shouted “Yes sir!” in unison.

That was the day I was given my name.

The sergeant christened me as Charon, burning away whatever was left of Artyom Volkov, or so he thought.

Out of the hundreds of souls that got wasted from the Enclave’s bullshit, I somehow managed to survive, and I still intend to continue surviving. I have my partner Percy, that jackass DeLoria, and the dog now.

I pull myself back to the present as my partner shuts down the terminal, turning to the medical safe and taking whatever supplies we can get.

“C’mon. I don’t wanna linger here any more,” she whispers, a small tremble in her voice.

Following her to a corridor, the red lights glower over us almost ominously as we pass by several holding cells. The goosebumps on whatever’s left of my skin intensify. It was cold, desolate.

Until some crazy fuck lunged at us from behind a reinforced glass window and scared the living daylights out of Percy, who screams in surprise and bumps into me. Out of instinct, I catch her, and use my body to shield her.

The man continued to bang on the window as we both recovered from the damn surprise, a frown on my face as I took a closer look. The poor guy’s been driven mad from being held there. I doubt we can save him.

Of course, what happened made us look inside the rest of the holding cells.

I regret doing so immediately.

Centaurs, blobs of vaguely fucking human abominations and other unsightly shit occupied the holding cells. Percy is visibly disturbed, gagging, her helmet retracting just in case she vomits from the sights.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she curses, sweat dripping from her brow despite the cold. “We should put them out of their misery.”

“Do you really want to deal with them right now?” I ask her as her eyes watered from the scene. “Let’s just come back for them once we retrieve the GECK,” I continue, gently placing my hand on her upper back.

Percy nods, and wordlessly forges on.

As we rounded a corner, we heard a brash voice ringing through an intercom.

“It can’t be!”

Both of us turn towards the sound. Slowly, cautiously, we creeped at the source, and we saw the unthinkable.

A super mutant is locked behind a holding cell. He’s standing next to the window, looking at my partner and I in surprise. Then, he continued talking. Not the broken speech you’d expect from a mutie, but full, actual sentences.

“Either you are quite real, or I’m going quite mad. Could you actually be a pure human?” the super mutant asks, gawking at Percy. Just to be safe, I remain at her side, still gauging if he can be trusted. “And this… is he another of the experiments, like me?” he continues, addressing my presence.

“Yes, I’m human. He is a ghoul. He’s like that because of the radiation and not an experiment, I’m afraid,” Percy replies, stepping closer to the glass to stare at him back, craning her neck to get a better view of him. What’s left of his jumpsuit are in tatters, and he loomed over the window, as big as the uglies who were dumber than him, if not even bigger. Even I had to crane my own neck upwards. This guy dwarfed me.

Damn, is this what Percy feels like when she’s with me?

“But what are you?” Percy asks.

“Me? You care who I am?” he asks, and I can almost hear Percy’s heart break at the question. He seemed like an outcast, locked away like this. I get the feeling he’s exactly on good terms with the mutants that roam the vault.

“I’m not used to pleasantries, forgive me. I’m more used to being struck around by the others,” he responds, pressing a meaty hand against the glass. Just as I thought. Guy’s an outcast.

“My name is Fawkes. I’ve lived in this cage… all my life.”

I looked at Percy and expected the sympathetic expression on her face. One look at that face and I already damn know she’s thinking of how to help him out.

“I’m Percy Zhou,” my partner introduces herself. “This is Charon.”

“A friendly mutie. Now I’ve seen everything,” I comment, and I hear Fawkes groan.

“Must you use that vulgar term?” he laments, face twisting in disdain, or disappointment, or an approximation of either seeing how the movements of his face muscles are limited. “Indeed I was born in the F.E.V. Chambers, but super mutant I am not. I prefer the term Meta Human. Suits me better, don’t you think?”

I was taken aback. I mean, damn, this guy sounds smarter than DeLoria. Hell, he sounds smarter than me. And that’s what makes him dangerous; if the dumb ones are a menace, imagine the damage a smart one can do.

“Percy, I think we should go. He might be dangerous,” I mumble, and Fawkes moves even closer to us, a shift in his tone.

“No, please! I haven’t had a single civil conversation all my life! Don’t go,” he begs, and though his voice is grating and booming like the rest of the super mutants, you can almost hear pain behind it.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Percy reassures him, pressing a small hand against the dirty window as a gesture of camaraderie. Then, she whips her head towards me, and whispers. “Charon, he’s lonely. Don’t you think he deserves even just a polite conversation?”

Grumbling, I fold my arms and nod. Percy smiles softly, and turns to Fawkes again. “Is your name really Fawkes? Like Guy Fawkes, the man who was involved in a plot to end his people’s persecution by assassinating a king?”

Fawkes seems delighted that Percy knew that tidbit of information. “Ah! You know your history as well! Yes, the name comes from a man who was willing to fight and die for what he believed in. I found it fitting, given my current circumstances. I’ve taken it from a historical entry in the computer,” he replies, gesturing to the terminal in his cell.

As they continued their conversation, I scanned for any threats that might befall us. What’s left of my ears picked up something from their chat, and my head whips towards Percy.

“I’ll get you out,” she said.

I frowned and folded my arms. “Percy, what the hell are you doing?”

“Charon, Fawkes said that the chamber holding the GECK is highly irradiated, and he can get it for us. Don’t you think it’s a good trade? He can have his freedom, and we can get what we came here for.”

“And I’m immune to radiation too. I’ll take the GECK,” I tell her, straightening my back subconsciously out of bravado.  “We don’t know if he can be trusted. For all we know, the moment he gets out of his cell, he’ll attack us!”

“You’re not an errand boy, you’re my partner. That’s perfectly reasonable, but we’ve handled mutants before, Charon. If he gives any indication that he’s going to betray us, you’re free to empty your clip on him.”

This is starting to turn into an argument. I massaged my temples, frowning. “I’m not going to take that risk. I need to protect you.”

“What if he’s actually decent, and we just leave him here to rot and be tormented by the other mutants? You have your freedom now, Charon. Don’t you think he deserves his too?” Percy almost shouts, voice raised, and on her tiptoes.

Her words made me pause. Percy just had to go there, didn’t she? And it was effective too. I look at the big, green super mutant, or Meta Human, whatever he wanted to call himself, and a pang of guilt tugs at my gut.

Grumbling, I relent and nod.

This woman’s heart might be the death of her one day. Setting Fawkes free better be worth it.

[spine-buster]

Chapter 3 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

As the days came and went, Fergal settled into his routine.  He’d wake up in the mornings, fix himself an easy breakfast (usually cereal, granola, or toast, sometimes Greek yogurt with fruit, or if he was feeling naughty, chocolate chip Eggos), and drive the short distance between his apartment and the physiotherapy clinic.  There, he’d see Gemma, nod to her politely, be ignored by her, and then be put to work by John.  Sometimes, if he was feeling extra energetic, he’d put in another half an hour to an hour of physio, but John was smart and didn’t want to push it.  The risk for re-injury was too great, and John did not want to take that risk.  No chances could be taken with one of WWE’s top guys.  

The day had started routinely enough.  After a granola and berries breakfast, Fergal had shown up to the physiotherapy clinic and gave Gemma a nod, who was sitting across the room.  She stared at him a big longer than usual, but ignored him nonetheless, like she always did.  He greeted John and they began their session with the usual stretches.  As John helped him move his shoulder, Fergal began to wince and whine, taking deep breaths and groaning in pain.  John encouraged him through it all, getting him to finish whatever reps or stretches he was working on.

“How’s the pain threshold today?” John asked as they took a quick break. Fergal had been sipping on his water bottle, his throat dry due to all his heavy breathing and gasping.  “Same as most days, really.”

“What about after rehab?”

“Getting better.”

“And at night?  Before you sleep?”

“Getting better, too,” Fergal answered truthfully.  “I take my painkillers but the pain isn’t as bad anymore.”

“That’s a good sign,” John smiled.  “We can start weaning you off them sooner rather than later.  And your scar hasn’t become infected, has it?”

“God no,” Fergal shook his head.  “I’m a clean boy.  My mammy taught me how to take a bath,” he laughed.  

“Good.  You don’t want to know how many people actually get those fuckers infected,” John laughed along with him.  “It’s fucking gross.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, man.  It’s disgusting.  Clearly their mammies didn’t teach them how to take a bath.”

Before Fergal could respond with another quip, a small crash and thud was heard from the other side of the room, followed by a loud shriek of “Fuck!!” from a female voice.  Both John and Fergal looked over to see that the thud and shriek came from Gemma, who was currently on the floor and being attended to by her physiotherapist and one other assistant.  

“Fucking hell!  Are you fucking serious?!” Gemma wailed out as they tried to get her up.  It was clear to Fergal that she was crying, probably because she was in a lot of pain.  Of course, he didn’t see the actual fall, but if she was crying and swearing this much there was a good chance she did something to aggravate whatever injury she had.  

Whoever was helping her finally got her back on to the physio bench.  She kept swearing, quite loudly, and grabbed whatever was beside her and decided to throw it against the wall.  It bounced off the painted cinderblock but hit nobody; that didn’t stop the physiotherapist from grabbing her arm and pushing it down, warning Gemma not to throw anything else.  

Fergal stood awkwardly beside John, watching the whole scene unfold.  Gemma’s physiotherapist was being an utmost professional, trying to calm her down, but she wasn’t being successful.  Fergal looked at John, and John knew what that look meant.  “Don’t,” he warned.  “Don’t get caught up in it.  It’s not your battle to solve.”

“My pain is through the fucking roof now!” Gemma screamed out, turning Fergal’s attention back to her.  Even through her tears everyone was able to hear her heavy sense of sarcasm.  “Does that make you fucking happy?!  Like you’re finally doing your fucking job?!” 

“We’re taking you to the back, Gemma,” her physiotherapist said sternly as she began to wheel her away.

“Fucking hell,” Gemma seethed as she was pushed along, eventually disappearing through a hallway.  

Fergal looked to John again, knowing they would have to resume their session despite the awkward interruption.  “I wonder what that was all about,” Fergal said.

“Don’t worry about it,” John said almost absent-mindedly, shaking his head to himself.  “Like I said, it’s not your battle to fight.”

Fergal couldn’t help but become preoccupied with thinking about Gemma.  He wondered what exactly happened, where she was wheeled off to, if she had to be given an extra dose of painkillers.  He had no idea why his mind was so concerned with her.  It wasn’t like she was friendly.  It wasn’t like she gave him the time of day.  He greeted her every morning, and she ignored him.  Yet he kept doing it.  

When his physiotherapy session was finished, Fergal walked out into the parking lot and got in his car, ready to go home.  He was going to Skype with Rami this afternoon, and catch up on a book he was reading.  He lived a pretty simple and uninteresting life outside of wrestling, unless his friends were in town.  He’d meet them for dinners or to go see a movie, but he never did anything too crazy.  It just wasn’t in his nature.

As he backed up from his parking spot and drove around the parking lot to get out, he noticed a familiar figure standing near the bus stop, leaning on a crutch and looking down at a phone.  Recognizing the short, unkempt hair, he knew it was Gemma.  Judging by the way she was standing and looking at her phone, she was probably waiting for a ride – an Uber or a taxi, probably, because due to her injury she couldn’t drive herself.  

Even from his view of her from the car, he could see her eyes were red from her crying.  He put his car in park and rolled down the window.  “Hey, Gemma!”  She pulled her attention away from her phone and looked over at him.  He waved.  “It’s Fergal!”

“I’m not blind,” she said.

“You want a ride?” he asked.

“No.”

“Where do you live?” he asked.  She didn’t answer.  He wasn’t going to let her get away with it.  “Where are you staying?”

“Lake Baldwin,” she finally answered, avoiding eye contact with him. “That’s where I am!  Get in!” he offered.

“No.”

“Gemma, I’m literally going the same way as you are,” Fergal argued.

“It’s okay.”

“Cancel your Uber and get in the car.”

“No.”

“Gemma, I’m not leaving until you get in the car,” Fergal said.  

Fergal felt like he was in a Mexican standoff with her.  He could see her fighting with herself internally, looking between her phone and him in the car.  After a few swipes and taps on her phone, she limped her way over to the passenger’s side of the car, opening the door carefully yet violently, anger still present within her.  Fergal pushed the seat all the way back to give her ample room.  

He unclicked his seatbelt to get out and help her, but she shut him down immediately.  “Don’t,” she warned.  “As if you could help with your bum shoulder anyway.”

Fergal brushed off the comment, trying not to let it get to him.  He clipped his seatbelt back in as he watched her get in the car without any help.  She winced through it, but she managed, and she only gave him a look to signal that he should start driving.  

“What street do you live on?” Fergal asked as he turned on to the street.  He glanced over at Gemma, who was looking out the window and not paying attention to him.  

“Buchanan Street,” she answered curtly.

That piqued Fergal’s interest.  “That’s just two blocks south of me!  I’m on Patterson,” he told her, smiling slightly.

She said nothing.  She didn’t even look his way.  There was an awkward silence between them and Fergal kept to keeping his eyes on the road.  After a few more moments he decided to speak again, trying to start conversation.  “So as you can probably tell, I’m not from here…I grew up in Ireland, just outside of Dublin.  How about you?  Did you grow up here in Orlando?”

Nothing.

Fergal didn’t get frustrated, or angry, but he became wary and careful of her attitude and anger.  He didn’t exactly want her to punch him because he got her angry.  He wasn’t sure what she was capable of.  For all he knew she was a professional boxer or MMA fighter and could turn him into a human pretzel is seven seconds.  

“Do you enjoy living in Orla--”

“Listen, I appreciate the sentiment of you giving me a ride, but in case you missed my little outburst in the clinic, which I’m sure you didn’t, I’m in a really bad mood right now, and I’d appreciate if you don’t try and talk to me or cheer me up,” she interrupted, her words angry and intense.

It was the most Fergal had ever gotten out of her.  Despite her aggressiveness and anger, he didn’t necessarily see the conversation as a complete and utter waste of time; he didn’t even see it as a defeat.  He nodded curtly instead, giving in to her demand.  “Okay then.”

The rest of the car ride was silent.  Fergal didn’t even bother turning on the radio.  The only sounds heard were the sounds of the other cars outside.  Once he got into their neighbourhood, he made the turn onto Buchanan Street, stopping when she abruptly told him to.  She wiggled herself out of the car; Fergal didn’t even both to even attempt to help her.  She slammed the door behind her, limping towards the front door.  He waited until she was fully inside of her apartment before driving off, two blocks away to his own apartment.