#so i have gone from fallout 4 to call of duty somehow

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[nukaberries]

𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲

CHAPTER ONE. Into Quietus

A Fallout Fanfiction, Pre-Fallout 4 "For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me."

Word Count: 2448 words

Summary. Born into the cruelty of the wasteland, rather than the safety of a settlement that some had been handed the privilege of, Arden Flores was born only knowing to fight. When her father finally worked up the courage to flee with his daughter from the raider gang she had been raised in, Arden was forced to learn civility behind the walls of Diamond City.

Civility never came naturally to her, not in the way it seemed to come to her father, and so Arden found herself suffocated behind those walls, almost wishing for a Super Mutant ambush or another nuclear bomb - anything to free her from what she was supposed to believe was a better life for her.

When the only person who'd ever shown her love is killed by her own bravado, Arden finds herself in a new town, where civility is a long forgotten memory and that nuclear bomb she'd wished upon would be the kindest fate.

A/N. As promised, here's the fic I've had hidden away for some time now, despite mentioning it months ago. I do have about seven chapters ready to be posted when and where I can, but they'll all definitely require some editing, because the Google Doc somehow dates back to 2021? As for Arden, I do think she's a very difficult character to like, because given her backstory, I didn't want her to come off as this perfect person. You might dislike her at first, you might hate her the whole way through and that's okay! It just means I did a good job at writing her. She'll always have a special place in my heart, but I definitely go back and forth on her myself.

Arden Flores had killed before. She remembered her first kill all too vividly, her mother had just taught her how to use a gun, much to her father’s dismay. She was a natural, something her mother had said with pride Arden had never received from her since that day, so it was only fitting that Amara Murdock would take her daughter on her first raid two weeks later. Her first kill was a young boy, older than her by only a few years, too busy mourning his murdered parents to plead for his life. Arden had a black eye for three weeks after she tried to refuse and the pride her mother had felt was gone as soon as it had come about - she was barely seven years old at the time and it was the first of many signs that her mother was a monster.

Killing became easier after that, not wanting to disappoint Amara again and wanting to avoid getting hurt again. Murder was a common practice among the Murdock Raiders and Arden was no different, being born into the violence. Arden was fourteen when her father finally worked up the courage to escape with her in the night, filled with hopes of a city in the heart of what once was Boston - the Great Green Jewel, he called it. She’d never had a real home before, her mother’s gang moved around a lot and she followed, like the dutiful daughter she always had to be. Home sounded nice on paper, a chance to be a child and start anew, but beginning all over again was never as easy as her dad had made it seem. 

The journey to Diamond City was a long one, looking back on it, Arden figured they were lucky to have survived it. But it came with a price, one that David Flores had paid so selflessly. While radiation had constantly been a problem, it was only now that Arden had realised the severity of it. David had refused to let Arden share the little RadAway they had and by time they’d made it to Diamond City, he was a freshly turned Ghoul. Despite his rather terrifying new appearance, he seemed to fit in with the settlement incredibly well, too well. Arden, on the other hand, could never find a place within her so-called new home, she hated the kids she went to school with, she hated the residents that looked down upon her and she especially hated the ones who tried to sympathise with her, knowing where she’d come from and excluding her father, there were about four people she could tolerate around the city. She wasn’t cut out for a quiet life and everything within her screamed for something more than Diamond City, but Dad was all she had, she had nobody else to turn to. 

Eventually, it appeared that David stopped fitting in with Diamond City, the same way his daughter did. Mankind for McDonough was the end of the peaceful life he’d become accustomed to. The campaign had been started by Guy McDonough, one that advocated for anything not human to be kicked out of Diamond City, but of course, it was mostly the Ghouls that got targeted. One by one, families had been sent away from their homes, left to fend for themselves in the unforgiving wastelands Arden was well acquainted with. A Ghoul himself, David was on the hit list of every self-entitled resident in Diamond City, not forgetting the newly minted Mayor McDonough.

For weeks now, McDonough had been trying to get him and Arden to pack up their things and find somewhere else to live. According to him, there was no place in Diamond City for someone like him, “a walking corpse”, even if he did have a sixteen year old daughter he wanted to keep safe within the walls. They’d gone back and forth arguing about it ever since McDonough had been elected. Arden wasn’t blind to it all, she never really had been the type of child you could tell a comforting lie to, she knew that any day now, they’d be exiled from the city. David had to cave in eventually, even if he didn’t want to leave.

That had been the plan until Arden had taken a life again, for the first time in two years. One of the Diamond City guards had practically barged into their house, making threats and demanding they leave the settlement. Hearing someone speak to her father like that was enough for the same brutal, animalistic instinct that she’d been conditioned into having to take over. The feeling hadn’t changed at all, the same rush of anger you got before you pulled the trigger, the morbid satisfaction right after watching the bullet zip out the gun, claiming its victim and then the adrenaline would wear off, leaving you with a strangely guilty emptiness as you realised just what you’d done.

Dad had decided he’d take the blame and he still hadn’t come home.

There was an urgent knock on the door, the type you heard right before opening up to see the Children of Atom asking for donations or a Diamond City guard asking why you’d been outside the walls past curfew, drinking beer with your boyfriend. Both situations were all too familiar to Arden, but she figured those days were long gone now and in an odd way, she’d miss them. Besides, she’d probably have to break it off with Hawthorne too, not that she really minded much, she never saw it working out in the long run - even if her father seemed to like him. 

“Arden, it’s John McDonough. Open up.” That definitely wasn’t a cult asking for donations. In fact, she’d probably prefer the Children of Atom right about now. Mayor McDonough’s brother, what the hell was he doing here? 

Truth be told, she’d never really spoken to John before and she had no intentions to make a start. From what she heard, he spent most of his time off in Goodneighbor getting high, but he was just as bad as the rest of his family. Arden could only hope he’d disappear as quickly as he’d shown up, she really wasn’t in the mood for anyone right now. Her dad was her main priority, he was taking the blame for her on a murder, she couldn’t think about anything else. 

“I know you’re in there, kid.” John was still outside. Arden fought back the urge to groan in annoyance, clearly he didn’t know how to take a hint. “Look, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important, just let me in.”

She didn’t get much of a chance to respond, what with John almost immediately unlocking the door himself. Arden’s actions spoke louder than anything and he was quickly greeted with a rifle aimed at his face - the same one she’d used to kill the guard. “Get the fuck out of my house.” She ordered in a low tone, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kill someone else today, but she was on edge and having an intruder wasn’t helping.

John didn’t have much choice but to lift his hands up in surrender, although he seemed more adamant on getting her to drop the weapon. “Woah, relax, the key was under the mat.” He explained briefly, slowly tossing the spare key to her feet, a soft jangle filling the room as it hit the floor. “I wanted to get here before security did.”

Rolling her eyes, Arden placed the rifle down on the table. He was harmless, really, probably still coming down from his last high - she knew his kind after all. “Well, I don’t even know you, McDonough.” She pointed out, “So what’s so important that you had to break in to tell me?”

He let out a sigh, “It’s about your dad.”

This piqued her interest. David had been gone for about an hour now and between pacing up and down the house, Arden had half been considering going out to see where he was. “Just tell me how long they’re gonna keep him in jail for.” She assumed his confession of murder was past the point of him having a bail now. She didn’t mind fending for herself for a few days, she was capable and Dad knew that, but when it was her that should’ve been going to confess for the crime she committed? She couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.

The look on John’s face said enough, but she didn’t want to believe it - she couldn’t. “Arden, you, uh . . You might wanna sit down for this.” He suggested hesitantly and she could tell he wanted to avoid this as much as she did. “They didn’t arrest your dad. Between the murder and refusing to leave town, Guy said he’d done too much to harm the city. He was executed.”

No. He had to be lying, he had to be.

“Fuck you.” The words flew out of Arden’s mouth before she could fully comprehend what she’d been told. Her dad was all she had in the world and she refused to believe it would end like this, not when it was her fault that guard was dead, not when she’d been such a terrible daughter. “You’re a liar, you and your brother both.”

He was taken aback by her reaction, understandably so, he hadn’t expected telling her to go down this way. “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.” He insisted, almost offended she’d even consider him capable of something like that. “I’m sorry, I really am, but he’s gone.”

Arden knew he was right, of course she knew he was right. As much as she wanted to deny the truth, it was painfully clear that this wasn’t something she could push to the side. It was strange, for someone who’d already lived such a tragic life, to realise but she’d never really lost someone she’d loved before and she hated how it made her feel.

She’d never been the type of child to cry when things didn’t go her way, she’d never been allowed to cry growing up and if anything, she wasn’t sure she knew how. It was another thing she had Amara to thank for. 

But if she was still with her mother and the rest of the gang now, would this have even happened? Her childhood as a raider had been a blur of blood and chems, but there was a part of her deep down, one that betrayed her late father’s morals, that dared to question if that life had been better for them. Maybe the bruises and scars would’ve been worth it, if she hadn’t known anything else, like she did now.

“So what? I’m next, is that it?” Arden shot back, her voice filled with nothing but bitterness and spite. It was better than giving anyone the satisfaction of her heartbreak, of the irreparable pain that threatened to consume her, “I can’t stay here.”

She hadn’t mentioned it to her father at the time, but Arden was certain they wouldn’t be sticking around Diamond City for much longer. David Flores had always been an optimist, the only thing Arden had ever irked Arden when it came to him, convinced they wouldn’t really be torn from their home; what good that blinding optimism had done for him now.

For a while, she’d been secretly putting her things together, to save time when the day inevitably came around - it was that day now. 

John seemed taken aback by her words, as though he couldn’t imagine his brother was really a killer, he was in denial and so was she. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d make it to the gate and Dad would be waiting for her, it was the only thing keeping her somewhat sane.

“I know a place you can go, ain’t far from here. It’s not.. Well, it’s not as big or protected as here, but it’s the next best settlement in the area, if you ask me.” John informed her, perhaps the first bit of good news she’d heard all day, not that retreating to life in a city sounded appealing to her, but she needed somewhere for now. “The other ghouls that got kicked out? They’re there too.”

Arden slung her bag over her shoulder, she didn’t have much to bring with her but that didn’t really bother her. After all, most of the stuff in her house belonged to her father. He’d been the one who’d wanted to settle down, as for Arden? She always felt this was too good to be true. “Fine, just give me a map and I can figure it out myself.” She stated, holding her hand out.

He shook his head, much to her dismay, “You’re not gonna need a map.” John clarified, causing her to arch an eyebrow at him until he continued, “I’m going too.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Arden let out a scoff, crossing her arms. It was hard to have patience towards the brother of the man who’d killed your father, “I’m not your problem, I don’t need you to hold my hand. Give me a map and fuck off, I’ll go by myself.”

John was fed up already, she could tell and she hoped it meant he’d give in and leave her alone. “I’m going there anyway, you might as well come with me.” He insisted, although Arden wasn’t entirely sure that she bought it. “I could use someone watching my back.”

It was a pathetic attempt at convincing her, yet she had nowhere else to go and nobody to turn to - in a strange sense, it worked. Arden rolled her eyes, “What? Your brother taking up too much space in the Upper Stands?” She remarked.

“He’s not my brother anymore.” John responded shortly, he sighed almost inaudibly. A part of Arden was still almost hoping he’d give up trying to help her, “Let’s just go before it gets dark, alright? I don’t feel like taking my chances against a bunch of mutants if I can’t see them.”

She took one final glance around the only place she’d ever called home. For somewhere she’d claimed to hate so much, she was really going to miss Diamond City. Perhaps that stability her father had seemed to thrive in wasn’t so bad after all, maybe with more time, Arden could’ve called the Great Green Jewel home. But she had no plans of ever returning, even if McDonough let her stay, she couldn’t spend the rest of her life blessing a green wall that hadn’t protected her father.

Arden nodded, “Fine, lead the way.”

[guqin-and-flute]

Holding Me Holding You--Ch. 5

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

[Ao3 Link]

[This should be the last one of heavy, unabating angstiness--next chapter should the comfort part, finally. If all goes according to plan 😬 But we are mostly through the woods! TW: Dissociative state, mild (dream) unreality, Emetophobia warning--nonexplicit, starts at 'it threatens to curl him over', just lasts for that paragraph line.]

Wangji is wasting away in front of him--like their mother, like their father. It strikes Xichen as he carried his brother back in his arms, blood seeping into rain soaked robes. Wangji remains glazed while he is brought into the bright chaos of his own home, filled with two panicking young boys and the small cadre of confused night guards that had been brought running by their cries. 

Even when the doctor he summons rebandages Wangji's wounds and talks seriously over his body about infection and spiritual energy and scars. Even while A-Fu keeps sobbing and sobbing, wild and lost against Xichen's chest as he mechanically apologizes and apologizes and holds him. Even as they coax Wangji's son from out of the corner where he is cowering from the noise in feverish half-consciousness, Wangji is glassy and unseeing, eyes fixed on the door. As if uncomprehending. As if he doesn't understand how any of this has happened. 

Xichen doesn't understand either. He can't identify when the decay began.

He just knows that he has seen that look on his father, staring into nothing in the dimness of the Hanshi. Has seen it on his mother, near the end that he hadn’t known was the end. Has seen it on countless cultivators lying broken on the battlefield as they bled out.

Death. The end.

Xichen is losing him, as he had lost them. This was never supposed to happen again. He had promised himself he would be better next time. He knows Wangji better than anyone else. He should have done more.

The horrid crimson of Wangji’s wounds flash in the dressing of his back. The sound the strikes had made against his flesh echoes in Xichen’s ears.

He should have done less.

When the other adults leave, finally, the glances that they cast behind themselves are shaken and dubious. The Twin Jades of Lan, soaked and blood smeared and hollow eyed. Fallen so far.

What is jade?

Xichen is shivering and staring at the same blank, white wall as Wangji. A-Yuan has been taken to sleep in the infirmary in a medicated stupor that is supposed to keep his temperature down where the doctors can closely observe him. Wangji is not aware enough to know that he is gone.

 A-Fu refuses to sleep at all, now that he has stopped crying. He digs through one of Wangji’s potted plants and there is just not enough left of Xichen to stop him. Any time he moves, A-Fu’s head whips around to find him, dark gaze intense and panicked. Afraid he’s being left alone again.

He has done nothing but make the boy suffer. Cry.

What is jade? Jade is peerless. Valuable. 

Rain is thundering on the roof. The world has narrowed to this room.

It's wrong to attend to business and leave Wangji. Xichen can't abandon him again. He will stay here. He will let the world burn in penance for how it has failed his brother. 

It's wrong to stay and leave his post unattended. He cannot be selfish. The pain of Wangji's punishment is right to rest heavy on Xichen's shoulders as well, sharing the burden for his part in every crime against the cultivation world and the Lan. He cannot be his father and abandon his duty.

These truths somehow occupy the same reality, one he is unsure whether he himself occupies, right now. Rule number 1,276: Do not be of two minds. Broken.  

A-Fu tips the pot with a dull clank, flopping down with a surprised, “Oof.” Dark dirt spills over his feet. Wangji doesn't blink, staring sightlessly.

It is wrong to inflict the fallout of his inadequacy on this poor orphaned boy. His cowardice. This is irrefutable, singular truth.

Jade is noble. Jade is flawless.

Unbreakable.

When Wangji cannot find it in himself, Xichen can be jade enough for the both of them; for A-Fu, for all the Lan. Unbreakable. 

He will do what is right. 

Tomorrow.

A-Fu tracks dirt over, toddling and crawling until he pulls himself upright on Xichen’s sleeves. Little muddy handprints. His cheeks are blotchy. He garbles something. Xichen can only catch, "Wanna."

Words are...hard. Harder than they should be. So Xichen pulls Liebing from his sleeve. Wangji's drying, bloody handprint glares from its translucent skin from where he had tossed it aside. He plays, winding, low, and slow. 

A-Fu sinks down to squat, blinking slowly, fists still wound in Xichen's sleeves. 

A minute later, his eyelids flicker. Then, he tips himself over and lays his head on Xichen's thigh, glassy eyes hooded. 

He does not let go.

When Xichen pauses for a breath, the boy mumbles, “Again." So he plays songs of healing, of calming, stirs the sluggish sparks of energy through his meridians, for Wangji and A-Fu.

Wangji lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. Closes his empty eyes.

Good.

The music buzzes in his lips, under his lungs, methodical and numbing--meditative.

Until there is an overbright wringing in his core, flashing out through his meridians like wildfire. The note shrills up piercingly and chokes off. Blood spurts over his tongue, past his lips. Bright and iron-sour--ringing and burning and surging--

 He at least has the presence of mind to lean forward, avoiding A-Fu.

He stares at the scarlet splat on the rug by his knee. Feels a single drip from his nose make its way over his lips, down his chin. Overstrained. Qi mismanagement. 

Get a hold of yourself . 

A breath.

A breath.

Quelling. Controlling. 

Slowly, he wipes his face on his damp sleeve. Rule 783: Do not begrime your clothing without just cause. Broken.

He watches the stain sink, into his sleeve, into the rug, absorbed down into the weave of the fabric, drunk up until it’s indistinguishable from Wangji’s slowly browning next to it. Meditates on that. The abstract form of his emptiness blurring at the edges. Liebing is warm in his hand.

Wangji is asleep. A-Fu is asleep.

If Xichen dreams, he doesn't remember it.

When the sun rises, he unfolds from his post and bundles A-Fu into his blanket. He checks Wangji’s breathing (rough), his wounds (oozing), the acupuncture needles (still set). Takes his wrist and loses himself in his pulse. It’s there, bumping up against his fingertips, the nudging nose of a persistent minnow. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

Stay .

He calls for a guard to ensure Wangji cannot leave on his own again. He carries A-Fu back to the Hanshi. Sends instructions back with the disciple that brings them breakfast.

A-Fu insists on clambering into his lap as they eat. Xichen’s mouth is too dry to taste any of the food. He feeds A-Fu with hands shaking so badly, he spills half of it down the boy's robes--but doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he slushes it gleefully across the tabletop.

Xichen barely feels human. 

Then let me be jade.

Something displeases A-Fu about bathing, today, and he angrily tries to shove all the water out of the washing tub in a fit of toddler pique, scowling and hollering nonsensically. Soapy water splats to the floor and Xichen’s chest and lap when he thrashes. 

Xichen lays his forehead on his soaked arms on the edge of the tub and closes his eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

When he is changing his own twice-soaked and bloody clothes, he hears quick little, unsteady feet slaps come around the privacy screen. Then, "Owie." 

He turns. "Owie," the boy insists and raises a hand, eyes fixed on Xichen's back.  Numbly, he turns to the mirror. Finds long, purpling bruises crisscrossing across his shoulder blades and back. It's probably from hitting the shelves in the storage room.

 They don't hurt. Sometime in the night, his body has moved somewhat to the left of himself and sensations are...distant. It is a sign of how he has neglected his cultivation that they have not healed, yet.

“A-niang kissit?” 

Xichen shakes his head, mutely. A-Fu seems to consider this, brows furrowing in thought. Then, “ A-Fu kissit,” he decides, resolutely.

There is a pressure beginning somewhere in Xichen’s chest. Squeezing. 

He kneels down. The kisses are applied by A-Fu kissing his own palm and clumsily smearing them on like a healer’s balm to his shoulder. Xichen accepts them without protest.

When they are both presentable, Xichen takes the child by the hand and lets him totter beside him through the wet and misty grass, lets him pull up a clump of flowers out in the front garden of the Hanshi, lets him take the time to marvel at all the shiny facets of the rocks on the path, marvel at a crawling beetle. For when they come into sight of the temporary orphanage, A-Fu freezes, then scrambles to try to climb his leg. “Up! Up, p’ease!"

Xichen can’t move. When clinging doesn't work, A-Fu collapses like a hamstrung deer, dangling from his hand. And begins to plead.

"No p'ease! No p’ease! Nonono!"

The women have received instructions, sent from the disciple who had brought them breakfast, and they are ready this time. Two come out with sympathetic faces and words. They coax and coo and reason as they pick A-Fu up. Peel his little fingers from Xichen’s sleeve as he clutches and screams wildly, "Nooo!! Ahhhh!! Nooooo !!!" 

Jade. Cold. Flawless. 

Tiny, wickedly sharp nails rake down his hand, scrabbling. 

"A-Huan, you are the eldest. You need to set a good example for A-Zhan. That's enough, now, you're too old for this. Collect yourself. When you are like this, he gets uneasy and unruly. Come, now, show him how it's done. Deep breath."

That pressure is growing. 

Jade. He is jade.

The boy abandons words, just shrieks of raw sound as they carry him away. Echoing off the trees. Reaching back for him.

"Huan-er, don't cry, you have to go with shufu. Oh, I know, I know, I don't want you to go either. I'll see you in a month! Next month-- don't cry, I'll see you then. Don't cry, Huan-er, please don't cry--"

It's for the best. It's for the best. It's...

He looks so scared.

Wangji screams Wei Wuxian's name. He hears it from halfway across the battlefield, despite the din. Hooks in his soul…he is so afraid--

The door shuts. The screams muffle.

And Xichen is left standing alone on the grass. He feels nothing but that intense, crushing pressure. It threatens to curl him over. He makes it to the tree line before he throws up bile. Barely.

A crack. A flaw.

Rule 589; Do not be ill mannered.

He coughs. Breathes. 

Rule 712; Be strict with yourself

He does not know how long it is until Uncle finds him there shaking. “Who is making so much noise?” There is a silence when Xichen doesn’t respond right away--he can’t. He just can’t. A hand comes, squeezes his shoulder. “Are you well?”

He just shakes his head. He should be asking after Uncle’s health. Reassuring him. He should be….

“Xichen. You help no one if you do not rest properly.” Uncle’s voice is low and persuasive--gentle.

He is failing. 

Uncle moves closer, presses the back of his cool hand to Xichen’s forehead, then sets his fingers on the pulse in his wrist. That alien pressure squeezes Xichen’s throat until it’s choking him. 

“You cannot go on like this. I will head things until you have collected yourself. Go. Sleep.” 

It is familiar command that draws him up by puppet strings to standing straight, to bowing woodenly. 

“Look at me.”

Xichen does. His uncle looks the same as he ever has, save hints of darker circles beneath his eyes, the skin thin and bruised. His severe expression holds concern and disapproval and a glimmer of something that looks like fear. “You mustn’t do this,” he says with insistent force. “Your people are looking to you and you mustn’t allow yourself to do this. You are to return to the Hanshi and sleep until you wake naturally and then you are to meditate until you are fully within your own control. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, shufu, ” he says, hoarsely. He has failed in his every duty in every way. He is...He is….

Uncle regards him with growing consternation, his mouth tightening. “What on earth is the matter, Xichen?”

Everything. Everything I have done and have not. “I….Wangji.”

Deep lines appear beside Uncle’s nose, his lips whiten and his jaw works. Rage. Grief. Betrayal. Regret. “Wangji is experiencing the consequences of his actions,” he says, stiffly. “He was given ample time and ample guidance and yet he throws it all back in the face of the Clan who has raised him.” His nostrils flare as he glares down the mountain. “How are his wounds.”

Xichen’s breath is tight and burning, as if he is crying, but he’s not. He’s shaking. He’s empty. “...Will you not go to him?” He whispers.

Pain and anger flicker. “I will not. There is work to be done. He is in the doctor’s hands.”

Xichen bows wordlessly. 

And disobeys. 

He returns to Wangji’s home, down the mountain on locked kneed legs. The house smells of char and hemostatic and antiseptic and rain. It burns his nose. Wangji is pale and haggard and alone, somehow rendered small in his own bed by his bandages. Xichen rinses his mouth, sheds his boots and his guan and crawls up to collapse next to him, as he had when they were small and Wangji couldn’t sleep. Just like then, he finds one of Wangji’s lax hands and wraps it in his own.

You have me. I’m not leaving you.

Leaving. The memory of A-Fu’s screams tighten his gut and his throat until he is sure he will vomit again. However, the sound of his mother’s voice soothes it away. “How is he doing?”

When he opens his eyes, he finds her kneeling beside the bed, stroking Wangji’s hair with concern. Sitting up, he scrubs a hand over his face and offers her a weak smile. “ Niang, you should be asleep. Don’t worry, I have him.”

Wangji sleeps, his face turned away, back rising and falling.

Their mother stands and rounds the bed, taking Xichen’s face in her warm, dry hands and kissing his forehead, right over the cloud pendant of his headband. “I know you do, Huan-er. You are the best gege anyone could ask for. Don’t you think you should be sleeping?” She teased, tweaking his nose. 

“I’m not tired.” And he wasn’t, just very curiously heavy. Every movement of his head seemed to take twice as long, every movement of his hand twice as much effort. “I shouldn’t be sleeping anyway. I need….” 

“Oh?”

The words were escaping, jumbling up like mush, and he frowns politely. “Hm.”

“Yes?” 

Looking up into her face, he finds it round and sweet and familiar with glittering mischief in her eyes, waiting with a small smile. “I can’t...think of it.” It doesn’t bother him particularly, not truly--a minor frustration--but moisture buds in his eyes like pebbles of rain. Xichen blinks in surprise and wipes them with the back of his hand.

“Oh no, save those!” His mother gasps in alarm, searching about for something. “No, you need those, don’t, Huan-er!” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, her frantic energy seeping into his chest. He tries to breathe deeply, to center his qi, to close his eyes, but they will not recede, threatening to spill over. “I’m trying, I don’t...I’m not….”

“It’s alright, love, but quickly, try to remember--who was the last person to have them?”

As hard as he can, he tries, fumbling for the memory. “Was it...was it A-Yao? Or Da-ge….” He remembers them holding something, something warm, something familiar. 

“Oh, that sounds right. Here,” she has produced a piece of white silk, though the long ends have been dipped in blood. She hurriedly dabs at his eyes. “Mind your robes.” 

“Yes, a- niang, ” he replies dutifully, taking it and soaking up all the tears into the fabric before they fall, holding the blood away from him as she beams down at him.

“Perfect boy. Do you remember properly, now?”

“I think it was A-Yao. I think...I think it was when I ran….”

Her dark eyebrows rise and she pets over his hair--it’s so light that he can barely feel it at all. “That long?”

“I’m not quite sure….” 

She sighs, shakes her head. “Wangji needs them, remember, love.”

“Of course,” he says, though he can’t quite remember why. He knows that it’s true, though. “More than I do.”

“Exactly. You have to be strong. He’s so much younger.”

Xichen smiles and takes the fabric away to inspect his progress. Only half of it is soaked and the tears have diminished to just hazing his vision. He feels abstractly proud. “Oh, well, he’s grown since you’ve--” When he looks up, the room is empty.

But reality is seeping in the edges with cold fingers, the feeling of waking from a dream. She has been gone from here for a while. He can feel it. He is alone and has been for a while. How long has he been talking to himself? 

 When he stands, slowly, weighted by rocks, he is in his mother’s home, in the center of the dark floor, surrounded by a layer of dust, cleared of furniture. The lanterns are all cold and wickless, the windows stuck shut. It is dim, the air thick and stale on his tongue. Had he decided to stay here? He can’t remember.

A deep unease threads through his chest. He cannot stay here. He knows the rules. He cannot be away too long. 

When he steps forward, he realizes the door is so much further than he had initially thought and with each step, it seems to fade. When he reaches it, it is a smooth, impenetrable wall and no matter how many times he moves around the edges of the room, it does not reappear. 

Did they leave him? Would they be back? 

...Did he do this?

He opens his mouth to call for help when--

Raw sound crashes over him, bolting him up in bed. His breath is heaving, icy adrenaline rushing through his veins. It’s pitch black and smells wrong. Rain hisses over the roof, but the windows and door are in the wrong places and for a moment--is he in--was it--

Silent strobes light Wangji’s room as bright as day. Weak relief trickles through him, even as the thunder immediately follows with a boom of wall shaking fury. Not the Jingshi. The middle of the night, with Wangji. Safe.

Another flash, overlapped by another boom that makes him jump, even though he had been expecting it. The storm must be directly over them on the mountain from the strength and instantaneousness of the thunder. Through the dimness, he peers down at his brother, heart still hammering. He seems to have remained motionless in his needle-assisted unconsciousness despite the noise. As the tail end of this last salvo grumbles away, Xichen’s adrenaline slowly bleeds away as well, leaving him watery and exhausted, even as his breath and heart still speed. Laying back, he stares at the bruised shadows lashing in the ceiling in bright purple flashes and finds himself hoping--though he has no right--that across the Cloud Recesses, A-Fu isn’t afraid.

[repentantsky]

5 Companies That Have Too Much Hype Around Them

Look, we all love our favorite games with a passion, and to an extent that’s fine, but when that passion becomes obsession and that obsession becomes forgetting our own moral compass for the sake of entertainment, it does feel like it’s gone too far. It’s one thing to love what a company releases, it’s completely another to ignore every problem they’ve ever had. Not all of the companies on this list have done horribly un-ethical things, but they’ve at least been anti-consumer, and the fact that people don’t question that enough has led to them sometimes, making horrible mistakes. I am RepentantSky, I love making lists that trash on things that are popular, and these are 5 companies, that have too much hype around them.

5. Nintendo

Already I can hear people getting angry, and in a way I get it. Nintendo is for many people the place where they either begin to play games, or the place they go to keep on playing them when everything else let’s them down, and of course, they put an end to the flipping video game crash of 1983, and no one else will ever be able to claim that from them. That’s all wonderful, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be critical of them. I’ve talked about a number of things they’ve done wrong before, so let me quickly run down the list of some of their anti-consumer practices. They, charge too much for remasters and ports, they don’t drop prices in games, they used to charge for fixing Joy-Cons and now completely deny it’s a problem for legal reasons, despite everyone pretty much having experienced drift, they haven’t been good at getting stock for their items in at least 20 years, and oh yeah, they sell all the content for a remake for $115 on the 3DS, the system and the fans that helped them get by while the Wii U was massively underperforming, all while handing owners of the, at the time, unproven Switch, free content. Nintendo has a tendency to still think like a toy company, and they even used that idea to present the Nintendo Entertainment System as a toy instead of a console when they first game to the West with it, but they aren’t a toy company, their a gaming company that also sells toys, just like everyone else. I get they’ve done amazing things, I own over 150 physical handheld games from them, and a ton of digital games besides, but when they start charging twice what they are worth for SD cards, while releasing games that absolutely won’t fit on the limited space of the Switch, and they simply don’t care when costumers complain, it’s time to at least question their motives.  

4. Bethesda

Boy I used to really rip on this company back when I posted lists on Facebook, but I haven’t done it in a while, so let’s do it again. Bethesda has absolutely spent at least the last 10 years lying to people, Todd Howard, has become famous for it, but I think I might have been the only person who wasn’t shocked when Fallout 76 was the disaster that it was. There were so many things wrong with that game, that I don’t even have time to go over every little thing, but lying, you know the thing that will get another company on this list very soon, was a big thing they did with the game. They promised at one point that they weren’t ever going to charge for items in the game that gave in-game benefits, and they did, allowing ammo and other items to be bought with real money for a time, they promised new, specialized servers if you paid for a yearly service that was way too expensive, and that wasn’t true because people found proof of things missing from what would have been a freshly made, private server, and there’s no excuse for that, games in early access do that correctly, and they aren’t, at least supposedly, even finished yet. I wish I could say that’s all they’ve done, but they also bullied an indie developer over their game Prey, a game they may have bullied the original developer for so they could get cheaper, but we’ll never know because they refused to comment on that when asked, they also refused to update their outdated game engine for years, which caused something they spent over a decade fixing, games releasing with glitches, some of them game breaking. Yet somehow, they have such a fan base that those who love their games will claim the glitches are just part of the charm. That kind of fierce loyalty led to Fallout 76, and even though we make jokes about it even now, the horse DLC from way back in the day, was an indication of everything they’ve done, including trying to charge for mods made for free, meant to be consumed for free, twice. Bethesda is a bad company and they do not care. 

3. Activision/Blizzard

You know one of the worst things Nintendo does that I didn’t really mention directly in the first entry, is limit the amount of time a product is available, instead of just letting it be there for consumption as long as it’s selling (that was what the toy company reference was about if it wasn’t clear). However, Activision/Blizzard are the Kings of doing this, as they not only limited things while they were in control of Destiny 2 to the point where you pretty much had to use real money to get everything, and never mind everything else they did to it, because we’d be here all day going through it all, but they also don’t support games as a service titles long enough for dedicated fans. Crash Team Racing Nitro fueled, is a prime example of this. People weren’t done with that game, and when fans thought for even a split second that an update was going to come to fix an issue, their hype (mine to) was so explosive, it was almost like we were getting a new game, but then nothing happened, because they didn’t care. A lot of companies that do yearly release titles as a service have this problem and nothing exemplified that more for Activision, than Skylanders, a series originally made off the back of Spyro, who didn’t even wait for a year to release new games, as technically between October 21st and November 20th of the year the first game came out, they released three of them, and I’m not even kidding. Two of them, were mobile games! You might have thought I was going to go after Call of Duty, for this, but that horse has been beaten to ground, somehow, more than Skylanders was. They also, for whatever reason, released each expansion on different generations console generations, at different months throughout Fall, like somehow the season of Fall, they needed a release every month, if not two, and so off they went. I didn’t even get into Blizzard, but all I need to say is “Blitzchung” and all the memories will likely come flooding back. There’s also the fact that in two separate years, after gaining massive profits, they dropped hundreds of employees, and hired more than they’d let go, but I guess that doesn’t really matter to some of you, because when they did it this year, with so little warning, most employees found out via the news articles about it, but we all made such a little stink this time around, it didn’t create any media buzz, so I guess that doesn’t matter, you’d all rather play flipping World of Warcraft, like better MMO’s don’t exist. 

2. CD Projekt Red

I know this one comes off a little more fresh in the mind, and they technically only lied about one game, but man, what a series of lies it was. Also, let’s be honest, one major game, does not a great developer always make. CDPR’s previous two Witcher games did exactly what the author of the books thought they would, and that was almost nothing in terms of making a serious impact, and the reason is, they are kind of bad. They aren’t the worst games out there, but there is a good reason why The Witcher 1 and 2 haven’t been ported and/or remastered, despite how important they are to the story of Witcher 3, and that’s because they both suck. Cyperpunk 2077, was in a lot of ways, them just going back to being the developer they were before, the BIG ONE happened. They lied about nearly everything in regards to the game, including how the main platforms where consumers were going to buy it, were actually running well. I made those references to Witcher 1 and  2 for a reason, although if I’m being honest, they actually look better than Cyberpunk did on day 0, and that’s completely unacceptable. The budget for CDPR was basically nothing for Witcher 1 and 2 combined to what Cyberpunk got, but they were so focused on the PC versions because PC ran the game better, somehow (like maybe because they didn’t try with consoles) and they missed glitches that were so bad, the game felt like it was still in beta, if not alpha upon release. The fact that they’ve only released eleven games in twenty-three years, and only two of them didn’t have The Witcher on them, should have told us all we need to know, and yet the game, even after returns, which was another massive screw-job that led to Cyberpunk being removed from the PlayStation store, still sold Sixteen million units, all because of hype, and because apparently, some people don’t care if they’re lied to. Do you want to know what the other game they released is besides a Witcher title? It was flipping Saints Row 2, a fun game, but also one that’s too goofy for it’s own good, and yet suddenly makes Cyberpunk’s release, make sense, because it was all a massive joke, and a parody of good, well running, open world games. CDPR needs to seriously do something, anything different, and never release a game in this poor of a state ever again.

1. Ubisoft

I put Ubisoft at number one for a damn good reason, and that reason is, that everyone seems to hate the company, but loves their games, and I don’t know why. They haven’t been the overall worst company on this list, although they are pretty bad, but the major problem they have, and have had for at least a decade is that none of their games have any identity, they are literally all the same game, with different coats of paint. Sure, an occasional gem sneaks through like Assassin’s Creed IV, but all of the rest of their games have the same visual style (although ACII does seem to be the base for which they create their art let’s be honest), the shooting mechanics they have in all the games that have guns, all feel exactly the same, which is something even Call of Duty manages to avoid most years (guess I took a shot at them anyways) and yet somehow, someway, I keep seeing people getting excited for their releases, and it doesn’t make any sense. Sure, they throw a celebrity actor in from time to time, and the artistic style they use does look pretty cool, but everything is always the same with them, every single time, no matter what it is, and they still keep making money. It doesn’t really make sense either, because a lot of developers do make games that are very similar feeling, see the Life is Strange team or much as well all loved them, Telltale Games, but at least those titles told extremely interesting stories, and developed their mechanics at least a little, which is something most companies do just on principal, but not Ubisoft. They throw out a few Tom Clancy games every time they talk about what their releasing, the Trials and AC games are still mostly a yearly experience, and I’ll say it again, their entire list of releases since at least 2013, the year the previous generation kicked off, have pretty much all been the same. It would be nice if they made more games like Child of Light, but despite the fact that their games will likely never be as popular as Call of Duty, they keep churning out same-y shooters hoping that one day, maybe just one day, they’ll create their own CoD, and it’s just not gonna happen. The saddest part of all is that when they announce something different, something fans have wanted for years, we get The Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time Remake, which was literally delayed because fans said they wouldn’t buy it unless some actual effort was put into making it, why is this company so popular that it can keep doing this, someone please explain it to me. 

And that’s my list, can you think of any other companies that are too hyped? Let me know in the notes below, hit me up with a follow if you like my content, and give me a reblog, I’d really appreciate it. Have a wonderful life!  

[tsarisfanfiction]

Toffee: Chapter 4

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott, Gordon, John, Grandma, Tracy Family

It’s 5am and I just remembered I promised a fic update last weekend that never happened, so it’s happening this weekend instead.  Whoops.  So here we have the next instalment of this #irrelief fic for @gumnut-logic‘s prompt “toffee on the couch”.

The tale of woe continues for Scott, because this is far from over and the Gordon&John&Grandma tag team is brutal.  What did he ever do to deserve all this?  Oh yeah, drop some toffee on the couch.  Whoops.

<<<Chapter 3

It was the second night in a row that Gordon had gone to bed early.  Begging off from Grandma’s dinners was hardly unusual – Scott himself was guilty of that, as were all of his brothers – but getting himself sent to bed when the sun had yet to touch the ocean was something Gordon usually evaded. Despite Grandma’s assurances that he would be fine after a good night’s sleep, Scott was disturbed enough by the uncharacteristic behaviour to check in on his younger brother.

When Gordon did uncharacteristic things, that meant one of two things: he was ill, or a prank was brewing. Scott didn’t particularly care for either of those, especially for as long as he was on laundry duty and the fallout of a prank would get added to his workload.

“Gordon?” he called, knocking on the aquanaut’s door.  A muffled groan was his response, and he took that to mean ‘come in’, despite the fact his younger brother probably meant something more along the lines of ‘go away’.  The door opened easily and he stepped inside to find his brother bundled up under his blanket.  He was lying on his side, curled around his stomach, and Scott crossed the room in several, quick, strides to crouch down beside him.

“You shouldn’t lay like that,” he reminded him, touching Gordon’s shoulder gently.  Amber eyes opened and regarded him balefully.

“I’ll lay however I want,” the younger Tracy grumbled.  “What did she even do to dinner today?”  Scott supressed his own feelings of nausea at the recollection and offered him a commiserating smile.

“I have no idea,” he admitted.  “But stomach ache or not, you’ll make your back worse if you sleep like that.”

Gordon let out a groan of protest, but Scott would not be deterred, gently poking and prodding him until he unfurled from his foetal position and straightened his spine.

“You’ll thank me when you get up,” he reminded him, and Gordon let out disgruntled mutterings that consisted of a flippant yeah, yeah, and something that sounded suspiciously like smother hen.  Scott shook his head fondly, before lightly mussing blond hair.  It was crisp from too much chlorine, as per usual.  Not quite so usual for Gordon not to wash it out before bed, though.  “And don’t forget to wash your hair in the morning.”  He got another round of yeah, yeahs and smother hen, and chuckled. “Sleep well.”

A simple case of stomach upset didn’t require a constant vigil – it had, once upon a time, but then Grandma had become head chef and minor stomach aches became commonplace. None of his brothers permitted him to fuss over that, so long as it remained minor, and with the frequency Scott would never have time for anything else if he did.  Therefore, it was with a fond smile and barely any reluctance that Scott left Gordon to his misery.  If he was still bad in the morning, then Scott would worry; Grandma’s cooking rarely left anyone incapacitated for long – a small mercy.

Seeing Gordon all snuggled up in bed put him in longing mind for his own.  What with the washing machine packing in, all the handwashing required, and the mudslide rescue – with more handwashing required afterwards – Scott was quite tempted to give up on the day and hide under his own covers until morning.  Unfortunately, duty called and he reluctantly traipsed back down to the desk to face the paperwork.  John might have done the rescue report, saving him one hell of a battle to recall everything that had happened in that mud-covered nightmare, but Tracy Industries had their own paperwork to be completed.

With the chair cover still hanging up to dry, the desk was an unattractive place to sit, however, and Scott allowed himself the small vice of picking up the laptop and collapsing into Alan’s pilot seat to get the work done.  Loading up the metaphorical pile, Scott was pleasantly surprised to find there was less there than he remembered.  Oh, that approval should still have been sent out the previous day – and that one, too – but there was less outstanding work to do than he’d thought.

He might actually get to sleep in his poor, neglected bed tonight.  That was a motivating thought, and he tackled the first in the stack with vigour, startling Alan who entered the room with his virtual headset.

“Uhh… Scott?”

He waved him over.

“Go ahead; I don’t have much work to do.”

Alan’s look of uncertainty morphed into one of glee, and he air punched.  “Hell yeah!  Cavern Quest Final Chamber here I come!  Again.”

Scott chuckled at his enthusiasm, fondly remembering when he had the free time to play video games as a teenager.  It was always good to see that being a part of International Rescue hadn’t stifled that freedom for Alan.  Unfortunately, his freedom for that sort of thing was long gone, and wouldn’t come back as long as he had a backlog of paperwork to do, so with a final fond look at his brother swinging an imaginary weapon and declaring challenges to Blagworts – whatever those were – he returned to the laptop and work.

Despite being less than he thought, it still took him the better part of three hours to clear all the ones he was supposed to have returned by then; he glowered at one merrily telling him it was due in 8 hours – stupid timezones – before dismissing it for later.  The moon was high in the sky, the villa taking on the reddish hue it often did in the late evening.  Alan had retreated to his bedroom at some point, maybe an hour ago although Scott hadn’t checked the time, and it was with great delight that Scott realised it was before midnight.

He could make a start on that next group of paperwork and maybe even get some of it done on time – a momentous occasion that would probably give the secretary and board of directors a heart attack – or he could go to bed.

Memories of Gordon comfortably snuggled under a blanket several hours earlier won.  He’d save his employees the heart attack and get some sleep. Barring paperwork taking less time than usual, the day had been pretty awful and actually getting to relax in his sorely neglected bed sounded nothing short of heavenly.

He sent a suspicious eye to John’s portrait, half-expecting a midnight emergency (midnight here, probably a perfectly respectable mid-afternoon in the danger zone), but his brother didn’t appear and he unceremoniously shoved the laptop back in the desk before dimming the lights and making a beeline for his room.

It was, predictably, just as he’d left it.  He toyed with the idea of a shower before bed, but decided against it.  A shower was likely to wake him up, and that was the last thing he needed right then.  He made do with kicking off his shoes and tucking them in their little corner of the room before vanishing into the bathroom to perform the required evening ablutions and shrugging on some sleepwear.

From there, it was a perfectly simple matter to send a sleepy call to John letting him know he was turning in for the night, worm his way under the blanket, and let the sandman visit.

A shrill ringing jerked him awake, and with a groan he rolled over to swipe at the alarm clock controls on his bedside table, only to freeze.  All noisy alarms were immediately forgotten at the sensation of something sticky against his leg, and with a hopeless prayer that it was not what he thought it was, a tentative peeling back of the blankets revealed melted toffee gluing him to his bedsheet.

How the hell had that got there?

A pounding on his door jerked him back to the present.

“Shut that thing up before it wakes the bear!”  Clearly Gordon was recovered from last night’s dinner and back to his usual habits, as Scott had thought he would be.  “Scott!”

With a groan he reached out for the controls once again and swiped the off command.  The shrill ringing was replaced by a phantom one in his ears and he shook his head to clear it before regarding the brown mess on his leg and sheet with something that might have resembled despair, although he’d deny it if anyone came in and saw it.  Certainly the moisture in his eyes was typical morning yawn-induced liquid and nothing to do with tears of frustration.

More laundry, and he hated bed linen anyway.  With his promise to Virgil about no more toffee in the washing machine, he was also going to have to wash it by hand until all traces of toffee were gone before he could bundle it in the machine to finish the job.  There went any free time that morning.

The toffee on his leg was at least easier to deal with, and he was glad he hadn’t taken an evening shower as he threw himself under the warm water with vigour, scrubbing at the sticky patch on his leg forcefully and wincing as a few hairs parted company when the sticky stuff peeled away.  Cleaning himself, however, was the easy bit.  Somehow he had to get his sheet down to the laundry room without getting collared by anyone else.

There was a morning growth of stubble on his face but he ignored it for the moment, throwing on his clothes and stripping the sheet from his bed.  Once the fabric was bundled up into a ball – toffee-smeared section carefully away from the rest of the fabric so it didn’t spread – it was the not so simple case of getting to the laundry room.

He was well aware what taking bed linen down to the laundry room first thing in the morning looked like.

The first hallway was cleared, Gordon splashing away down in the pool below and Grandma making threatening noises in the kitchen.  Neither of his other brothers had left their rooms, and barring an emergency call, wouldn’t for some time.  As long as John didn’t pick the wrong moment to check in, he’d be fine.

“Oh, m-morning, Scott!”

He’d forgotten about Brains. How had he forgotten about Brains? Behind the engineer, MAX watched him curiously for a moment before letting out a sound far too reminiscent of a wolf whistle for Scott’s liking.

“Uh, morning, Brains,” he greeted, hoping his cheeks weren’t flushing as the older man took in the sight of the bundled up sheet with a raised eyebrow.  “Toffee, again,” he admitted, hoping the engineer was removed enough from usual social conventions to not start drawing the same assumptions his brothers would.

“O-oh, I see.  C-carry on, then.”  With a little wave, Brains continued towards the den – why was he heading there, why was he out of his lab?  Scott returned the wave and continued his advance to the laundry room, only to be caught up short as he overheard Brains mutter “I-is that what they’re c-calling it n-now, MAX?”

Determined not to flush, Scott barrelled through the laundry room door and shut it behind him firmly.

“Everything alright there, Scott?”

John was floating in front of him, arms crossed and one eyebrow lifted in amusement as he glanced at the fabric in Scott’s arms.  Scott groaned.

“This is not what it looks like,” he protested, and John smirked.

“Clearly, because it looks like melted toffee but you wouldn’t be bright red if it was really toffee, would you?”

The bundled sheet sailed through the hologram as Scott hurled it at his infuriating, know-it-all younger brother’s projection.

“Shut up, John,” he muttered, retrieving the fabric and dumping it in the sink.  “I’m not bright red.”

“Hmm, must be a problem with the colour filters on the hologram, then,” John mused.  “Because you look it to me.”

“Then go fix your holoprojector and leave me in peace,” Scott snapped.

“F.A.B.”  And he was gone, leaving Scott with a sticky sheet and a sinking feeling that today was also not going to be a good day.

With a sigh he scrubbed at the toffee, determined to get the sheet de-toffee’d so he could put it in the machine before the rest of his brothers found out.  Or Grandma, who might at least not jump to immature conclusions but would give him another tongue-lashing about leaving toffee lying around.

An hour later, Gordon was wolfing down something Scott suspected Grandma didn’t know about for breakfast – it looked suspiciously celery-crunch-bar-green – as he entered the kitchen, laptop in hand.  That paperwork with a time limit of eight hours to go before he went to bed was now due, and he should probably get it done while he had some downtime.

“No work at the breakfast table,” Grandma scolded, appearing from nowhere and shutting the device before Scott could properly register what it said.  “And Gordon, snacks are not breakfast.  Have a pancake.”

Scott didn’t hear Gordon’s response, too busy staring at his now closed laptop.

The paperwork due this morning hadn’t been there.

tbc...

[notimetoblog]

Missing

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (kinda)

Category: N/A

Warnings: mentions of blood (just in passing)

Day 4: “____ is lost! Help me find it/them” from @ibwhellospring ‘s Spring Short Story Writing Event [hosted by @itsbuckysworld ]. 

A/N: This is late and I know…. I couldn’t get it up earlier, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I have to thank the always awesome @just-add-butter for sharing this idea with me. I hope to one day flesh this out a bit more , but for now it’s a small little drabble :D Thanks for reading!!

 This had to be a mistake. You must’ve heard incorrectly. 

“I’m sorry,” you heard yourself speak barely above a whisper, a face full of fear on your colleague in front of you. “Can you say that one more time?”

  “Captain Rogers’ original uniform is missing.”

  Something cold spread throughout your veins, a chilly, icy feeling that filled you up completely.

  “How is that even possible?” you voice started to raise, frustration and total confusion more than evident. “A uniform can’t simply vanish.”

“We’ve called the authorities and we’re also checking the cameras to see what happened. But the first we heard of it the security guard with the night shift, Stan I think his name is, first called this in.”

  “Exhibit is beyond closed today,” you said, quickly gathering your phone and laptop and rushing out of your office. “No one even think about letting any visitor within one hundred feet of the exhibit.”

  You heard her your colleague doing their best to keep up with you.

  “Someone get me in touch with this Stan person, I need to speak to him now!”

  “He’s in the security office,” you faintly heard your colleague’s voice a few feet behind you, voice audibly shaken.

  Quickly redirecting your steps to the security office, you tried to process exactly what was happening. In your almost 5 years as collections manager of American History at the Smithsonian, nothing like this had ever happened. Did things always go smoothly? No, but artifacts under your department surely never turned up missing. Not under your watch. Not ever.

  “Hi Stan,” you tried your best to keep calm in front of the elderly man sitting in the security office, guilt all over his face. “I’m the collections manager of American History. I’ve been told you were the guard on duty last night.”

  “Yes ma’am, “he spoke, looking up shyly.

  “How did this happen?”

  “Im – Im not sure, ma’am. I was keeping watch over the security cameras and didn’t notice anything in particular. Nothing that raised any flags. I do a walk-around around 2 in the morning, just to make sure everything is where it should be and that’s when I noticed the uniform missing. No alarms were triggered, no windows broken. It’s like a ghost took it.”

  “Stan,” your voice now had a sharper edge to it. “Captain Rogers’ original uniform, the one he wore during World War II, the one he defeated HYDRA in, the one I poured countless of hours into to help preserve is missing. I need you to help me find it. I need you to do better that this.”

  “Ma’am?” another security guard spoke up, his gaze shifting from the security camera footage to you. “The cameras didn’t catch anything. The suit just vanishes from one second to another.”

  “You realize that’s impossible, right?” you asked, peeking at the footage yourself. “Nothing just vanishes.”

  “This was done by a professional thief, ma’am.”

  “A professional? Why take just this one suit, then?”

  “I said a professional, ma’am. That doesn’t mean this person acted rationally. And besides, Captain Rogers was been on the news the last few days and well, they do say all press is good press, but they haven’t been treating him kindly. So much for being the face of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

  “What’s your name?” you asked, solely stepping away from Stan and making your way over to him.

  “It’s Harry.”

  “Harry,” you began, voice low. “My job is to help preserve our history. To try and ensure that future generations can take a glimpse of the past and somehow feel a connection to it. To bring to life events that happened decades, centuries, ago. I couldn’t care less how they’re treating Captain Rogers in the press. All I care about is that there is a priceless artifact missing and your passing comments on his public image is not going to bring that artifact back. So instead of commenting on issues that have no importance, why don’t you use your training and think about how this could’ve happened or let somebody who can actually help take over your position.”

  With that you left the office, phone in hand trying to think for yourself how on earth you could’ve let this happen.

--

  The day could not have gone any worse. Not only had the suit turned up missing, but large and armed airships had been blown up over the Triskelion building sending the entire city into a panic.

  Arriving home, you wished you could erase the day from memory, act like it hadn’t existed. But much like all of the events that had unfolded today, that seemed impossible.

  So, begrudgingly you sat on your couch, flipping the channels hoping to find something that could drown out the mess of today.

  “More details of the explosions witnessed today are pouring in,” you heard a news anchor say, his voice stern. “Captain Rogers, previously reported as having had a fallout with the S.H.I.E.L.D organization, is said to be involved. He was seen being lifted onto an ambulance suffering from multiple injuries.”

  The image shifted into one of Steve Rogers being lifted onto an ambulance, wearing a very familiar uniform now bloodied and torn.

  “Rogers, you son of a –“

  Are you watching the news?

  Your phone flashed with a text message from your colleague.

  Guess we know who took the suit

  “The extent of his injuries are unknown,” the news anchor concluded his report.

  I hope he lives, you typed out quickly. I have a MASSIVE bone to pick with him.

  If he lives he’s gonna wish he hadn’t lol, read the reply. Poor guy.

  Poor guy, indeed.

[boarix]

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XVI

Who We Are

Trigger Warnings: Canon violence/language/drug, alcohol and gun use. Suggestive content.

Bloody Mess Warning!

Game spoilers!

Please enjoy!

 “Attention Tenpines, this is General Wraith. Captain Danse’s patrol is to hold position there. I repeat; the long patrol from Sanctuary is to remain in Tenpines until further notice! Do you read?!”

“Transmission received; however the patrol has left. Do you copy? General?”

Wraith stood frozen as her field of vision narrowed to single point to the east. The radio operator’s urgent questions growing dim then silent as the rushing, roaring reverberations of fear and rage filled her ears.

“General?”

 Infamy was frustrated.

The plan had been to take out the largest of the two adults then set the herd on the other while Atom’s Assassin made short work of the child. A swift and easy kill, it would allow them to move on to MacCready and minimalize the loss of the ferals.

Infamy was misinformed.

Expertly trained, Shaun was far and away from an easy kill. Ignoring the cut on his hand, his priority was helping MacCready. But before he could, Shaun decided that the glowing one, leering and taunting before him, needed to be dealt with first.

Rad-X… need Rad-X…

Normally while facing an opponent, Infamy could tune into visual cues that would allow them to predict when and where the next attack would come. But there was something different about this child; his whole presence suddenly changed to what could only be described as absolute stillness.

Infamy was intrigued.

The ghoul charged him as soon as Shaun reached for the chem pocket on his bandolier. Allowing the glowing one to close the distance he deflected their blade and twisted away trying to trip them as they passed. Just as the weapons came together, his opponent sent a small burst of radiation down their arm, directly into his face.

When the child dropped to the ground, his Pip-boy Geiger counter ticking wildly, Infamy had a passing notion that this might be a short fight after all. Triumph turned to dismay as Shaun slashed their ankle in an attempt to sever their Achilles tendon. Rolling a few feet away then vaulting back to his feet, the youth turned back to Infamy, his face expressionless.  

“Back where we started? Is that what you think? Won round two?! Oh very good, little boy. But, mine will heal in a blink… your irradiated wound will take much, much longer though. Hmm? Yes, that’s right; poison, poison, poison. Hehe.”

A sudden, agonized scream from the cliffside indicated Dogmeat had found Danse’s shooter and the ferals were beginning to dwindling as MacCready overcame them.

Infamy was in trouble.

In the space of a blink Shaun flicked his wrist and a small throwing knife flew toward the ghoul. Using the distraction he dashed to his fallen rifle. Rather than stoop to retrieve it, he hooked the strap with his boot and spun it up his body while simultaneously sheathing his bayonet; turning and firing twice into Infamy’s central mass as soon as the weapon was in his hands.

Answering an unspoken call, the few remaining ferals disengaged from MacCready and sprinted to the assassin.  The glowing one, who had been hunched over the wounds on their torso, suddenly lifted their head and threw back their shoulders, casting out an enormous blast of radiation. Pushed to the ground, Shaun was unable to fire again and the collective escaped into the brush. Staggering to his feet, he prepared to pursue, but MacCready’s call stopped him.

“Shaun! RadAway, NOW!”

His vision blurred, he fumbled with the snaps, “I… don’t… are you…”

MacCready screaming his name was the last thing he heard before the dirt rushed up to meet him and the world turned to black.    

  He couldn’t see.

Pain. So, so much pain. Breathing hurts… where? What happened to me? What was I doing?

He couldn’t feel his leg.

Is it gone?! No… it’s underneath… I can feel blood… Why CAN’T I SEE?!

All he could hear was ringing.

If I call, will anyone hear me? I think… need… a medic. I… I need…

“Elder Maxson… Arthur? Haylen! Rhys! Are you there?!”

Where is my armor?! Am I still on the Prydwen? Did… did she fall?!

“Can anyone hear me?! I… I need help… please…”

  “Open your eyes for me, kiddo.”

MacCready’s voice seemed far away.

“Please, buddy.”

“RJ… you’re squeezing my hand too tight.”

Shaun could feel strong arms gently embrace him and then soft shaking as MacCready’s fear was broadcast through his touch.

“You scared me half to death, kid.”

“Danse!” Lurching to his feet, Shaun lost his balance and had to rest against MacCready, “Ugh, it’s so dark. How long was I out? We have to go look for him!”

“You took a pretty heavy, direct hit. You’ve been out for almost an hour.” Holding him at arm’s length, MacCready’s brow was furrowed; he knew Shaun wouldn’t like what he was about to say, “I’m taking you back to Tenpines…”

“NO!” Wrenching himself free, he pointed accusingly, “I know you don’t like him, but he’s our friend! We can’t just leave him! He needs our help! He may still be alive…”

“Or he’s not.” Shaun’s shocked and angry expression made MacCready hate himself, “I never said I was going to abandon anybody. Dogmeat will stay. You are still sick. You need help. Right now you’re alive and right in front of me. You are the priority.” He lifted his chin, “The faster we get to Tenpines the faster I’m back out here, with a Minutemen medic, looking for our friend.”

Finally noticing the pain and fatigue in MacCready’s voice, Shaun switched on his Pip-boy lamp and took a closer look at him, “OH MY GOD… YOUR EAR!”

“Ow! I can still hear out of it, ya know.”

Wraith had modded a new duster for MacCready and so in spite of being chewed and clawed at by a baker’s dozen of feral ghouls, none of his injuries were life threatening. His face had suffered some minor bruises and scratches but the thing that was really pissing him off was his ear.

“Don’t tell me how much is left… fu… frickin’ monster bit me…” Turning away from the light he set a brisk pace north, “And no, I don’t want a stimpak or gauze or… it’s fine, just let it bleed.”

Wordlessly, Shaun put the rejected aid back in his pockets and followed.

He’s… he’s such a badass!

   Wraith, Hancock and Curie were sprinting to Tenpines. Flanked by the Gáe Bulg Hounds (including Strong), all three were wearing Heavy Dragoon armor, packed to the gorget with as much heavy-duty ordinance and medical equipment as possible. Having little to no information on the size and firepower of Infamy’s force, Wraith was leaving nothing to chance. This wasn’t a time for stealth.

The Calvary was on their way.

  “MacCready, I want to find him as much as you do, but I don’t think climbing down a cliff in the dark is… safe.”

“I didn’t ask for your stupid opinion, Jesse. I told you to come over here and hold a flashlight!”

After leaving Shaun in the care of the Tenpines settlers, MacCready, the settlement’s head medic Varsha and two Minutemen ran back to Dogmeat. They found the canine sitting on the cliff’s edge, whining while looking down to where Danse had fallen.

“It’s fine, Jesse. Just do as he says.” Varsha tied a rope to a nearby tree stump, “Louie, I want the rest of the lines and the block and tackle secured from those trunks over there and we should weight test them before we climb down. Captain Danse is a large man and one way or another he’s coming back up the cliff with us. We’ll use the walkie once he’s secure.”

 MacCready froze when they reached him.

“Oh… I’m very sorry MacCready… I know you were friends.”

It didn’t seem real.

“I’d understand if you don’t want to help me, but if you wouldn’t mind keeping your flashlight on…”

“He’s not dead.”

“MacCready… he… look at him…”

“He. Is. Alive.”

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Danse’s chest rose and fell as he breathed.

“Well, holy shit!”

  Curie practically flew around Tenpines’ small clinic. Setting up for surgery without the benefit of triage was frustrating her. After sanitizing her hands and the various medical equipment, for perhaps the eleventh time, she felt the tears start.

“Sacrebleu, I had best get this out of my system…”

Wraith had gone outside and was stomping around the settlement in her power armor; her laps an attempt to calm the roaring in her ears.

“Wraith… sure as yer goin’ to wear out yer core…”

“I know, Cait. I know, but the sound is very satisfying… Shaun’s lucky I haven’t been carrying him around with me…”

“Ye knowin’ that’d embarrass the shite out of him?”

“GrrrrraARRRRRAH! How could I be so stupid?!” Deciding that it was too late at night and she was being too loud, she exited the armor and waved to Strong, “This isn’t working! Come on Strong; let’s go punch some trees down.”

“ALPHA HAS THE BEST PLAN!”

  “Stop it! You stupid… How are you even awake?! Quit fighting me, man!”

Danse was partially conscious and was hindering all attempts to secure him to the backboard. As severe as his injuries were, he was still strong enough that MacCready and the medic were worried that strong-arming him might cause further damage.

“Who’s there? Where is Scribe Haylen? I have to return… Cutler… I’ll never forgive you!”

“Danse, it’s MacCready!” Wincing sympathetically, he used a boot to hold down an arm so he could secure a strap, “Snap out of it!”

Varsha frowned at his tactics, “Easy! He’s concussed and delirious…”

“I could see his stupid SKULL; I KNOW HE’S…”

“For fuck’s sake, stop yelling! Though I doubt he can hear you… or see you…”

Hardly daring to believe it, MacCready passed his flashlight back and forth in front of Danse’s eyes. There was no discernable reaction. Staring hard at the blood stain, which grew ever larger, on the bandages wrapped around the large man’s head, his voice was a soft whisper, “Is Curie going to be able to patch a hole that big?”

Varsha took it to be a rhetorical question. Stepping back, she shown her light back up the cliff face, “We are going to need to somehow guide him up… he can’t afford any more bruises.”

“Of course I know about Elder Lyons! Get out of my face… I can’t stand the way they look at me! Why do they make me sad?!” Danse’s eyes filled with tears and he gasped as they spilled down his cheeks, “I had to kill you! Don’t you understand?! You were my brother!”

MacCready didn’t know how Danse was suffering, but he could see that it was more than physically. Shocked to feel tears of his own, he cleared his throat, “We… You should ride up with him and I’ll help pull. Keep the walkie on and you can yell at us if we’re too fast.”

Varsha shook her head, “Now that I’m looking… Grinding over the rocks… I don’t know if the ropes will hold.”

“MacCready, you there?”

“That sounded like Hancock…” Simply hearing the ghoul’s voice, crackling through the walkie-talkie, sent a wave of relief through him, “So the Calvary has arrived, huh?”

“That’s no joke! Look, I should be able to hold the pulley out away from the cliff. I’ll be a crane so we can haul up the Cap’n plus one. Case one of ya wants to guide him over bumps.”

“I’m not sure taking that much Buffout is wise, Mr. Mayor.”

“…I’m in power armor, kids. Let’s hurry it up! Chafes somethin’ terrible…”

When MacCready reached the group he couldn’t help the semi-hysterical laugh that tumbled from him, “What are you wearing?!”

Bright Nuka-Cola red with the words “Justice and Liberty for All” emblazed in gold above the Dragoon’s standard, Hancock’s power armor was a sight to behold.

“What, ya don’t like it?” Sweeping his arms out wide, he somehow managed an elegant turn, “Danse modded it just for me. Though, I don’t use it much ‘cause the… cockpit don’t cut it, ya feel me?”

“Yeah, I feel you.”

   The sun had made its way well into the sky before Curie and her medical team emerged from surgery. Weary and bloodstained, the doctor sank into a chair. With the Tenpines clinic being as small as it was Danse’s worried friends were taking turns waiting in the anteroom. Hancock was on duty and he rose from his own chair to offer her a container of water.

“So, how’s our boy doin’?”

“He is still critical. If I could, I would have him in an ICU. He will need additional blood… I was able to save his leg but mon ours will need knee-replacement surgery, much like madame and her shoulder. He has multiple broken ribs and…” Trailing off, she had brought a hand to her forehead but now held it away from her, staring at the bloodstains in horror, “These conditions are unacceptable! I need the equipment in my own surgery and I needed to have had the modified memory lounger online… The pressures on his optic nerves might abate…” Standing now, she stared at her palms while tears streamed down her face, “I cannot save him here! I cannot move him from here! I must save MON AMOUR!”

Hancock embraced her, “Stop, Baby Bird! He’s strong and so are you!” He held her tightly for a moment before easing her back to her seat. When he spoke his tone had dramatically changed from his normal gruff mean-street slang to something closer to a parent, “You are overdone right now and you need to shut your eyes and rest. Varsha has a chart on him, correct? She and I will monitor him. Wraith and Shaun will hold his hands. There are people here who love you both and will be here the whole time to help you.” He waited until she nodded, “Rest now, fight again later.”

  Despite the risks involved it was clear that Danse would have to be moved to Sanctuary. The settlement brahmin were sweet and docile but neither were trained wear a harness, let alone to pull a cart. And while Wraith was certain she was strong enough to carry him, his bulk would be awkward for her to hold over the distance. While Wraith redressed MacCready’s ear wound, Shaun brainstormed with her on something that the more adaptable mutant hounds could pull.

“Their saddles don’t have the right… parts.” Shaun was hung-up on the idea that it had to be a wheeled vehicle, “He needs to ride as level and steady as possible.”

“OW! Wraith, I’m begging you, please stop!”

“Mac, if you’d stop pulling away from me… What about the power armor? Maybe…”

“STRONG WILL CARRY METAL MAN!”

Surprisingly, they hadn’t noticed the super mutants approach and so there was a collective flinch. Struck dumb, the group stared at him wordlessly.

“HUMANS BROKEN?!”

“Sorry Strong, ol’ buddy, just didn’t expect you to volunteer.”

“Don’t like it here. NO FIGHT! STRONG TAKE METAL MAN, THEN STRONG CAN GO BACK TO ROCKET AND WORK WITH BEAR-GHOUL.” He nodded to himself as if it was a unanimous decision.

“It might be too bumpy a ride, Strong.”

“ALPHA TRUST STRONG.” He drew his hand through the air in a steady line, “Strong smooth.”

“I think I might have lived my whole life just to hear that.”

“Mac…”

  Strong indeed had the capacity for smoothness and the journey back to Sanctuary was nerve-wracking but ultimately uneventful. Wraith had sent a plea for assistance to Dr. Amari over Radio Freedom even before the group had left. And after returning, she arranged for the doctor’s escort, set about establishing contact with all emergency Minutemen patrols and went through a settlement radio check-in.  

Islode was sympathetic, but had no more insight that was particularly helpful, “General, I have told you all that I know. Please allow me to return to my people.”

“I can only assume that she or they are watching the roads.” Wraith was grim, “Watching and waiting. You step one foot outside Sanctuary and you’re toast.”

“I have to believe she wouldn’t kill me. My own daughter…”

“So she has been acting in a manner that is completely normal for her then?” Dropping the diplomatic and formal tone, Wraith was sarcastic, “Totally sane and not fanatical or psychotic at all. Right. She’s predictable based off of past behavior.”

“You have every right to your wrath and your mistrust, but what is the point of keeping me here? If she were to kill me, then what would be the determent to you?”

“What… Islode, I know it may be hard for you to believe, but I am not a conqueror!” Rising from her office chair, she swept an arm through the air, “This is not my throne room. This is my office in my home. The Children are my neighbors. I am trying to cultivate a peaceful relationship with them and you are key to that process.”

“Holding me prisoner isn’t very peaceful.”

Arms falling to her side, she lowered herself slowly back to her seat, her green eyes twin lasers aimed directly at Islode’s, “Nor were the attacks on Kingsport Lighthouse.” Leaning back, she allowed her gaze to soften, “I don’t want you to die Mother Islode. I care about you as a person. You may leave any time that you wish, but you will have an armed escort.”

“I fear then that after you, Infamy will be set upon me and all potential for peace will have been shattered regardless.”

“Then I won’t let them get past me.”

  All of her busy work was meant to take Wraith’s mind off the fact that in addition to the constant threat of attack; Danse had not woken up since Curie had administered the pre-op anesthetic.

“With Sturges’s assistance, I should have the lounger modified and we will get some nice images of Captain Danse’s brain soon.” Amari smiled and patted Curie’s shoulder, “His vitals are remarkably good, considering all he’s been through! He is breathing on his own and appears to have maintained limb sensitivity… You and he have both done very well, Dr. Curie.”

“Merci beaucoup, Dr. Amari. I…” Swallowing back tears, she lifted her chin, “We will not give up. We will fight.”

“If there is anything else you need Baby Bird…”

Sagging into her office chair, Curie placed a hand on her forehead and closed her eyes, “I feel that I am tied into knots! There are items that I was going to request of you before… They would have been useful now, but I cannot ask you to…”

“Ask! Please! I can’t help Danse directly like you can and I’m going bonkers; I’ve already re-organized my re-organizing and also double-checked my already-organized task lists and check lists!”

Laughing, Curie shook her head, “There is a difference between task lists and check lists?”

“I have to check-off my tasks, don’t I?”

Rising from her chair, she held her arms out for a hug, “Oh Madame, thank you for that.”

Wraith gently patted her back, “I’m glad I could make you laugh. In all seriousness though, what can I get for you?”    

“I need a GC/MS, LC/MS/MS, HPLC a FID or even a GCD.”

“That’s… a lot of letters…”

“I have Institute technologies and a Biometric scanner that aid me in many, many things but data for therapeutic reference ranges… The research I am doing on new medications would be greatly enhanced by these machines.” She held out her hand, asking for Wraith’s Pip-boy, “I can give you a list and mark possible locations on your map.”

“Couldn’t I just, pick them up from your old lab?”

“Most of the remaining data and equipment in Dr. Collins’s lab has been scrapped by Vault Eighty-one’s residents. I had some of my students look into it a little while ago and I had hoped to have assistance from Dr. Cabot and Doctor… Virgil…”

“I should’ve helped you with that…”

“Madame has not spent all her time and efforts training us, either directly or securing teachers for us, to still do everything for us.” Realizing the irony of her words even as she handed Wraith back the Pip-boy, she frowned and sat motionless for a second, “Oh…”

“No take backs, Curie”

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t beat them, grandma!”

Wraith was having Shaun help her get gear together to give him another opportunity to vent. She felt bad that she was leaving and wanted to give him as much one-on-one time as possible before she did.

“There is nothing to be sorry about! I know that you’re frustrated but please believe me when I say that you did a… awesome job fighting them off.” She grabbed his arms and gave him a gentle shake, “MacCready says that you were incredible!”

“Yeah, well, not incredible and awesome enough to help Captain Danse… or you.” He stuck his lip out, “I want to contribute! I want… to be a valuable team member.”

“Oh, honey.” She wrapped her arms around him, “Of course you helped us! You were able to fight off a assassin which gave Mac time to get free of the ferals. If… WHEN, we save Danse it’ll be because you fought for us.”

Burying his face into her embrace, his sullen reply was muffled, “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not. You should be proud at how… multifaceted you are. You are a competent fighter as well as an engineer. You contribute! Just… hold off on being a warrior for a little while yet. At least until you’re taller than me.”

 MacCready elected to stay in Sanctuary, explaining, rather unnecessarily, that he wanted to watch over his son. Although, Wraith had a suspicion that, due to how much time he spent walking past the clinic, he was also harboring feelings of guilt over Danse’s condition.

“Turrets, Minutemen, the Hounds, Dogmeat, Panther and Lloyd are fine and all, but there’s nothin’ quite as good as me.”

“And so modest too…”

“Hey man, I’m just stating the obvious.” A brief flash of doubt crossed his face and he hurried to cover it by turning from Hancock and kissing Wraith goodbye, “Where exactly are you two going anyway?”

The ghoul noticed his consternation, “No worries, MacCready. We are going to pop over to Med-Tek, maybe Medford Memorial and be back before you have to trim yer goatee!”

He favored him with a dramatic eye-roll before giving him a kiss as well, “Who’s worried? It’s not like every time she’s out of my sights, disaster falls.”

“Hey now! I’m not… that’s not… accurate…” Hands on her hips, she stuck her tongue out at him, “I don’t always get hurt!”

“I didn’t say the disasters befall you.”

“’Befall’, huh? Fancy.”

“I thought you’d appreciate.”

She extended her middle finger behind her as she turned away, “Love you.”

   Med-Tek was a surprising bust. Most of the equipment had been smashed either by the ferals or the slowly decomposing building. And although they were able to acquire some hardware components with the idea that Curie may be able to build the devices herself, there were no whole, undamaged machines.

“I really thought that we’d find everything here.” Failing to mask her frustration she kicked at a block of fallen debris, “I was itching to be out doing something, but now I’m anxious being away.”

“I know what you mean… not exactly a fun adventure this time.”

Wraith was elbow deep in the ruins of a machine a few moments later but turned her head to look at Hancock when she heard odd crunching and smacking sounds, “Are you feeding them?!”

“Yeah, they keep looking at me like their beggin’.”

“What are you feeding them?”

“Just some Crisps…”

As they had fought their way through the facility, as would sometimes happen near Wraith, three of the feral ghouls had come to their aid and subsequently followed them through the building to the research lab. Hancock had dubbed the trio Larry, Moe and Curly. Wraith shook her head as he tossed them another handful. He reminded her of an old man, sitting on a park bench feeding pigeons.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” She came to flop into a chair next to him, suddenly sad and tired, “You have to make sure everyone gets fed.”

“I gotta be me… I can’t be right for somebody else, if I’m not right for me, I gotta be free, I’ve gotta be free.”

After turning himself into a ghoul, Hancock’s voice had changed and it troubled him deeply. For a time his singing hobby was shelved and it wasn’t until he began traveling with Wraith that he felt the compulsion again. She admitted that she had no frame of reference but assured him that despite its growling edge, his voice was remarkably compelling. On those rare occasions that he did sing now, his newfound joy was in her enjoyment.

“Heh, look. The Stooges like my howling too.”

All three of the ferals had stopped shoveling Crisps into their faces and were sitting at rapt attention.

“Maybe we’ll start a band…”

Wraith chuckled, kissed his cheek and went back to looking for parts, “Medford has extensive labs that were surprisingly intact the last time I was there but they have something I really don’t want to deal with.”

“Mutants… I thought you cleared ‘em out for Garvey.”

“I have. Twice.” She casually flipped over a filing cabinet, “Last reports have a new batch that have set-up there.” She twirled her wrist, “Just how Mac and I cleared all the ferals here, yet here we are lighter in ammo and heavy in gore.”

“And richer in friends.”

“Oh, noooo. I’m sorry but those three will have to stay here.” She was surprised that Hancock actually looked sad, “It’ll be safer… for them.”

“Have you given any more thought to this Mother’s Favored One bit?”

“Any more thought?” Her tone was harsh, “How about none?”

“None thought, huh?” He gestured to the ferals, “You appear to have more clout with my cousins than most.”

“As you said, I gotta be me. And that ain’t me.”

“How about that… you being… being my wife bit?” His voice was soft and fearful.

Abandoning the rubble, Wraith moved to Hancock and bent at the waist with her hands on her knees so she could look directly into his eyes, “Did you just purpose to me?”

“I… dunno… I’ve��� I can’t get free of what mom Atom said.” The normally brash and brazen ghoul was humble, “Would you? I mean, I understand if you don’t wanna put labels on it.” His laugh was forced, “Heh, I know you and MacCready‘ve been married before so…”

“All I know is that I love you both dearly. We should talk to Mac, but I honestly don’t think he’d object. If you want to get married then… let’s do it!”

The joy on Hancock’s face made Wraith’s heart hurt. Both teared up as he stood and swept her into his arms. He twirled her around before the two settled into a deeply passionate kiss. They soon broke it off when they noticed the ghoul trio had shuffled closer. It was almost as if the ferals thought they might have to intervene on Wraith’s behalf.  

“Can we have a big party? Like Nicky?”

“Sure, Hancock. Big party.”

“Invite everybody?”

“Sure; everyone we know.”

“So… the Stooges…”

“No, Hancock.”

   “… send them some aid?”

Deacon wasn’t listening. Recently, a synth had passed through Underworld who looked so much like Wraith that it had twisted his insides and fogged his mind. Even now, during an important meeting, as soon as her name came up, his mind went someplace else. Back to when he first realized he was in trouble. Back when his greatest lie was that he hadn’t fallen in love with her.

They had stopped in an abandoned house between Railroad missions and Wraith was making them dinner. She had her Pip-Boy tuned to Diamond City Radio and was humming along; off-key of course. She had removed her heavy armor pieces and was in long john pants and a t-shirt. He had gently ribbed her on the quality of her performance, but instead of getting mad she had smiled at him and began dancing and singing to the ladle as if it were a microphone.

He was utterly entranced.

I don’t want us to just be… this. I want to dance with her. I want to… I want to make love to her and hold her in my arms after.

“Harley!” Nyx made a grab for his sunglasses, “Are you asleep? Please fucking pay attention!”

“Sorry, Boss.” Evading her swipe, he leaned back in his office chair and brought his arms up behind his head in a big, fake stretch, “I’m really tired. Fawkes and me have been practicing our synchronized swimming routine… huge competition coming up…”

Nyx’s mouth twisted in an attempt to hide a smile triggered by the ridiculous image her brain concocted, “Not funny. What’s the last thing you heard?”

“Uh…”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, “Oh my fucking… To recap; we have reports that Infamy has been hired to attack Minutemen settlements. So far there has been minimal damage, however…”

“The General can take care of it…”

“However…” Nyx’s voice softened, “We have it on good authority, that Danse has been killed.”

Deacon’s insides went cold.

“With Wraith involved, there is a chance that agent Governor and the Commonwealth branch may come under threat as well. So I’ll ask again; should we send our expert on Infamy? Should we send them aid?”

“We have a Infamy expert?”

  The four super mutants milling around in front of Medford Memorial looked particularly nasty.

“I’m less then excited to engage…”

“Your report say anything that might make this easier? I’m all for runnin’ in with guns ablaze, but we don’t know how many more there are and it’s like you said, we are lower on ammo than when we started this hike.”

“Just that their alpha… Hmm…”

“Whatcha got for me?”

Wraith took Hancock by the arms, kissed him fiercely and stared into his eyes, “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely.”

To the ghoul’s utter shock Wraith popped up out of their hiding spot and marched confidently toward the enemy.

“I CHALLENGE GOREKNUCKLE FOR ALPHA!”

The reaction was shared by the mutants and they stood with mouths agape. Wraith was less than 20 feet from them when one finally managed to corral enough brain cells for a response.

“STUPID HUMAN! GONNA EAT YOU!”

“HA! WEAK MUTANT WORDS FROM… A WEAK… shit…uhhh… BLEEDER!”

To Hancock’s relief, the mutants seemed just as confused as he was and none were even reaching for their weapons. Jogging out after her, he decided he should play herald. “Not just any human; Wraith, General of the Minutemen, Wraith-the-Undying, Death-in-the-Shadow, The Fog Walker, Grinder of the Bucket Heads, Alpha of Strong, Slayer of Fist, Conqueror of Swan and Deathclaw’s Bane!”

Standing as tall as possible she set her hands on her hips and laughed maniacally, “BWAAAHAHAHAHAHA! Bring me to your alpha; if he isn’t too scared…”

Setting their brutish heads together, the group discussed whether or not it might be worth having an ear literally chewed off for granting the crazy human’s request. In the end, the general consensus was that they were bored, and this was… something. Even if they didn’t fully grasp what it was.

“STUPID HUMAN FOLLOW GUT BAG!”

 At first glance, outside of a slight yellow cast to his skin, Goreknuckle seemed much like any other super mutant. But his eyes held intelligence and his voice was relatively soft, “THIS IS STRANGE, HUMAN. IT’S NOT SMART TO COME HERE. BROTHERS SAY YOU CHALLENGE ME FOR ALPHA. THAT’S STUPID.”

“So, you don’t accept? Afraid I’d win?” Wraith folded her arms to hide her shaking hands, “I don’t blame you; I’m really scary.”

The alpha’s sudden, bombastic laughed surprised them all, “HA! YOU’RE FUNNY. OKAY, STUPID HUMAN. I WILL LET YOU CHALLENGE ME.” He gave her a sly smile, “WE ARM WRESTLE!”

“Perfect… except my forearm isn’t long enough. How about a thumb war instead?”

“Uhhh, Alpha Wraith? Quick word?”

Wraith let the ghoul lead her away from the group, “Problem?”

His eyes briefly narrowed as his head twitched sideways, “You seriously gonna wrestle a green skin?”

“Strong has never beaten me.”

Hancock’s dark eyes widened and then he flashed her a sultry smile, “I want you so bad right now.”

“Not in front of the mutants, dear.”

 The battle was to take place in the operating theater so that the entire pack could watch as their mighty alpha crushed a puny, stupid human in an epic… children’s game. Wraith suggested the venue to count the packs numbers. She was happy to see they only had 7 mutants counting Goreknuckle.

She could work with that.

The dramatic contrast of size as the combatants squared up was as comical as the contest itself. Sitting cross-legged on the surgical table, Wraith appeared calm and unconcerned as a seated Goreknuckle loomed over her.

Hancock and Gut Bag stood behind their respective alphas and made threating gestures at each other.

“Do you know the rules?”

“GOREKNUCKLE KNOWS.”

“Winner is alpha.”

“GOREKNUCKLE KNOWS!”

“Say it. Unless you’re too… yellow.”

“GRRRAHHHHHHAAAA! WINNER IS ALPHA OF GOREKNUCKLE PACK!”

“Oh! Hey, can you count? Cause we’re supposed to chant…”

“GOREKNUCKLE KNOWS!”

Wraith pinned him in a half second.

It was so shockingly anticlimactic that the entire room went completely silent.

As intelligent as he was, the alpha quickly degenerated into a wild beast and “broke the rules” by roaring in Wraith’s face and attempting to shake himself free. When he found he couldn’t move his arm he brought his other to bear, swinging it about in a ferocious punch. Jumping slightly, Wraith caught his forearm between her legs and rolled, twisting his limbs together painfully and locking them with her knees. Remembering that he could stand up, the alpha brought his arms and Wraith high into the air before smashing them onto the steel table.

Hancock flinched, “You okay?! That one looked like it stung…”

Wraith snarled in response before twisting herself free, ripping the alpha’s arms clean off as she did.

Goreknuckle was not unlike a lawn sprinkler as he spun away; a great spray of blood coating his fellow pack-mates who had the unfortunate luck of sitting in the splash zone.

Wraith roared at the mutants triumphantly, bringing the disembodied arms above her head and waving them around like pennants at a ball game, “GRRRAAHAAAAA! I am your ALPHA! You are the Pack of the Wraith now!”

It only took a second for the mutants’ eyes to shift from disbelief to murder.

An expert at reading an audience, Hancock tossed a grenade into the seats. After a couple of clean-up shots with his shotgun the room was secure. Wraith was still on the table when he circled back around; staring at Goreknuckle who remained standing even after death.

“He’s like a Venus de Milo…”  

Hancock laughed, “You okay?”

“I hurt my butt.”

“HA! It’s just like MacCready said; disaster! You want some Med-X?”

“Yes please.”

Hancock helped her down and passed her the chem, “What would you have done if they’d gone for it?”

“I’m sure I would have thought of something… they could have helped us today; Curie also needs nitrogen and helium tanks to run her alphabet machines.”

“Oh, I see how it is! It’s perfectly fine for you to bring six super mutants home, but I’m not even allowed three small feral ghouls!”

Wraith giggled, “Can you imagine… us coming back with… No, I knew it wasn’t going to work. I took me a long while to earn Strong’s respect. And he’s more receptive to new ideas than most mutants I’ve met.”

“So you saw seven super mutants and thought ‘I can take ‘em’?” Hancock wrapped his arms around her, gore and all, “And people call me a monster.”

“I gotta be me.”

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my Wraith in the Ruins tag for the story link-tree. If you have any questions/comments/concerns please feel free to send me an ask. Anon too. More to come =^..^=