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Nick Valentine did not like the look of the five men lingering outside his cell. He peered at them through the dirty window; they were huddled close, whispering to one another. One of them turned a knife in his hands. Vinnie, if he remembered right.
Nick tried to count the number of weapons on them. There was at least one knife, but likely more; and after a week of observation, he knew that Skinny Malone’s boys were always packing heat, and plenty of it. So that were five guns, a knife, and God knows what else.
He rubbed his brow.
Damn, how do I always wind up in tight spots like this, he thought.
One goon would be no problem, but these ones were smarter than most; they never visited him without backup. Taking down five of them was possible, but it wouldn’t be easy. And he certainly wouldn’t come away unscathed. If he didn’t want to walk out of there looking like a Gen1 synth, he would have to be smart about it.
He glanced out the window again, trying not to notice the suspicious reddish-brown stains on the glass. The walkway outside had emptied. He all but pressed his face to the filthy glass to get a better look.
Then the door mechanism slid open with a metallic squeal. The five men entered the room. One of them held a bundle of rope. That was Dino; he was easy to remember because he had the least amount of brains, but made up for it with a nasty sense of humor and a willingness to follow any order.
“Planning to redecorate?” Nick said. “Never cared much for the nautical look, but I suppose it’d be better than whatever austere theme you’ve got going here.”
“Eh, it’s not the room we’re here to rearrange,” Dino said with a grin.
Vinnie cast Nick a sneer.
“Alright Detective Rust, we’ve been real nice to you so far,” he said. “But we’re gonna get some answers even if we have to crack open that dome of yours.”
A chorus of cruel snickering filled the room.
“Too bad for you I’m pretty hard-headed,” Nick said.
“We’ll see about that.”
Suddenly they were all around him, grabbing and shoving him about. He tried to shake them off without throwing any punches. Starting a brawl would do no good, but he could at least make things difficult. They forced him into a chair and bound his arms at his sides. His hat toppled to the floor. Dino tied a length of rope around his wrists, yanking it so tight that he could feel the rope digging into his skin.
“Hey, easy on the merchandise,” he growled.
Vinnie loomed over him.
“Let’s start with something easy. Who knows you’re here?” He said.
Nick wasn’t about to tell them about Ellie. The trail of breadcrumbs would lead back to her eventually, but he planned to be out of there long before then. He set his lips into a hard line.
Vinnie grabbed him by the collar and pressed the knife to his cheek. Nick forced himself not to flinch away.
“I appreciate the offer, but it’s been a while since I’ve needed a shave,” he said, struggling to keep the hint of fear out of his voice.
“I’m not gonna ask again.”
Nick had a good idea of what was coming, but still he kept quiet. He knew how these things worked; spilling his guts wouldn’t help his situation any more than spitting right in that smug bastard’s face. He caught Vinnie’s eyes and gave him a sharp, glowering look.
“Okay tough guy. Have it your way,” Vinnie said.
The next thing he knew, his head had been wrenched to the side, held in place by two of the other goons. The knife’s tip dug into the left side of his brow, carving a line down toward his jaw. A cry almost tore itself from him, but he pushed it deep down. He clenched his teeth and waited for it to be over. His breath came in ragged gasps that hissed through his teeth in spite of his best effort. Vinnie paused, resting the knife on the underside of his jaw. Nick almost breathed a sigh of relief. Then the agony began again. Vinnie drew the knife further down his neck, stopping at last just above his collarbone. A strip of synthetic skin fell away.
A sixth man burst into the room, panting for breath.
“Something’s up. Boss wants everyone at his post. Got someone sneakin’ around the place.”
The hands that had been keeping Nick in place disappeared. The men drew their weapons and dashed out of the room.
“Sit tight,” Vinnie said. “We’re not done here. You wanna keep the rest of that pretty face of yours, you better be ready to sing when I get back.”
Then he followed the others out, and the door slammed shut. Nick spat after him.
He waited until the echoes of their footsteps faded almost to nothing. Then it hit him—the wave of panic, caused by the undeniable fact that yet another piece of him was missing—a piece that he could never get back. He doubled over. A groan escaped his lips.
Pain acknowledged, pain acknowledged… he thought, son of a bitch, I’ve acknowledged it, now go away...
The sting began to fade, but only just so. He forced himself back upright. They had left him alone, and better yet, they had left the knife sitting on the desk. It wouldn’t be long before they noticed the oversight, and he wouldn’t waste the precious few minutes before they came back. Whoever it was causing the disturbance, Nick wanted to shake their hand.
He scooted the chair closer to the desk. He leaned over as far as he could, gripped the knife in his teeth, and began sawing at the ropes around his arm. In time, the last fiber snapped. The ropes fell away. He stood, stepped back through the loop of his arms, then cut the ropes on his wrists. He worked slow, careful to keep the sharp edge away from his good hand until he was free.
He let out a breath. The indentations on his good wrist began to fade. At least some of the damage wasn’t permanent. He paced back and forth, trying to keep the panic from returning, and thought over his situation.
He had the knife; that was good. And he had time to come up with a plan. If he stood just to the right of the door, he might be able to take one of those goons by surprise when they returned. Then he could use the sucker as a bargaining chip to get himself out of there. Ideally, he’d be able to snatch Vinnie and give him what for. But there was a problem—these cutthroat Triggermen might not give a damn about one of their own having a knife to his throat. No, it would be best to keep the knife hidden. He could tell them that he’d spill the beans, but only to Malone himself. Then when the boss arrived, he would have a much more valuable chip.
The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. It felt like fighting dirty. But what other choice did he have? It was only a matter of time before they found Ellie or someone else with a connection to him. He wouldn’t wish this Hellhole on anyone. Except the jackass who carved up his face; that guy could rot here for all he cared.
He stepped closer to the glass and checked his reflection. The glint of his metal jawbone caught his eye. He ran his fingers along the line where his skin used to be, wincing in pain. An hour from now, that sensation would be gone too. At this rate, he wondered if he would have anything left that looked remotely human in a decade. How long did he have before he fell apart completely?
Panic began to creep back into his mind. Something tapped uncomfortably in his chest, and a rattling sound met his ears. He crossed his arms tight and resumed his pacing. Yet he couldn’t ignore the stinging gash on his face.
A gust of hot air irritated the wound. He was overheating; if he didn’t bring down the temperature, the coolant would kick in, which would only make the rattling worse. He loosened his tie and undid his top button. Then he leaned on the desk.
He stared at the strands of rope around the chair. Deep down he knew that coming here was a bad idea; he knew even before he left the office. Now he was missing yet another piece and probably presumed dead. He gripped the desk, letting his metal fingers dig into the wood.
Damn it, he thought.
He bowed his head, fingering the place where his skin used to be.
Damn it, damn it, damn it…
The knife lay on the floor in front of him; he had dropped it after cutting the ropes. He picked it up. He gritted his teeth. If he could get that Vinnie alone, he would teach him a lesson or two.
The door opened. Vinnie walked in, as if on cue.
Nick stepped back out of reflex. He bumped against the desk. The knife slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.
“Looks like I wasn’t a moment too soon,” Vinnie sneered. “You getting some ideas?”
“Just thought I'd hold onto that for you. Little boys shouldn’t play with knives,” Nick muttered.
He let the knife stay where it was. Even if he reached it first, that rat-bastard would have a gun in his face as soon as he stood up. If he let Vinnie reach for it, Nick might be able to land a knee right on his nose. So he waited.
Vinnie did not disappoint; he walked over and stooped down to pick up the knife. Nick tensed, ready to land the first blow. Then he noticed something hanging out of Vinnie’s back pocket: it was the strip of skin he had torn from him. Nick shuddered involuntarily. If he had a stomach, he knew the sight would have cost him his lunch. He hesitated. The perfect moment appeared—then passed him by.
“Wouldn’t want to forget this again,” Vinnie said, heading for the door. “I’ll be back. Don’t try anything clever in the meantime.”
The door squealed shut behind him.
That was it, Nick thought. That was it, and I missed it.
He picked up his hat off the floor and set it back on his head. He still shook, but not from fear. Now it was rage. Vinnie had come alone—Nick had a knife—the whole Vault was likely in an uproar over the intruder and wouldn’t notice a scuffle—he couldn’t have asked for a better chance. Now it was gone, and they definitely wouldn’t slip up like that again.
He clenched his fist. He slammed it down on the desk, leaving behind a sizable dent. He could have torn the old thing apart if he wanted to. It was a tempting thought. But he didn’t want those goons to know they had gotten to him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and went back to pacing. There had to be another way out of there.
Then a snide, familiar voice caught his attention.
“How ya doin’ in there, Valentine? Feelin’ hungry? You want a snack?”
It was Dino; he stood on the other side of the window with a triumphant grin plastered on his face. Then Nick had an idea. Dino was as gullible as he was ugly; if Nick could convince him that he was on the boss’s hit-list, it might sew enough disorder in the ranks for another slip up.
“Keep talking, meathead. It’ll give Skinny Malone more time to think about how he’s gonna bump you off,” Nick said.
“Don’t gimme that crap, Valentine. You know nothin’, you’ve got nothin’.”
“Really? I saw him writing your name down in that black book of his. ‘Lousy cheating card-shark’ I think were his exact words. Then he struck the name across three times.”
The smug grin disappeared.
“Three strikes?” Dino said, his voice wavering. “In the black book? But I never… Oh no... I gotta smooth this over! Fast!”
Dino turned to leave. Then a gunshot rang out. Nick jolted back from the sound. The Triggerman fell dead. Before long, someone new came into view. It was the intruder, he was sure; though it was hard to see through the hazy glass, he could tell it was a woman. She carried a sniper rifle.
That wasn’t part of his plan, but he could make it work. He just hoped she had a good head on her shoulders.
“Hey you!” he called out, “I don’t know who you are, but we got three minutes before they realize muscles-for-brains ain’t coming back. Get this door open.”
“Are you Nick Valentine?” she called back, a little louder than was necessary.
“What? Yeah, I’m Nick Valentine.”
“Ellie Perkins sent me.”
“Good to know. Now uh—the door? If you wouldn’t mind?”
“Oh, right!”
She ducked out of sight. The sound of frantic keystrokes and quiet swearing came through the door.
Well I’m screwed, he thought.
Then the door slid open, and the mystery woman stepped into the room. She had blonde hair bobbed short and looked too scrawny to be much good in a fight. A deep scar stretched down the right side of her face; Nick wondered if it was evidence that he was wrong or proof that he was right. She wore a Vaultsuit and had a Pipboy on her arm, which piqued his curiosity. He hoped they would make it out of the Vault in one piece so he could ask her about it.
He lit a cigarette to calm the last of his nerves.
“Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario,” he said. “Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye.”
She stepped closer.
“I need help finding—“
Her eyes met his. She sucked in a breath and froze in her tracks. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her grip tighten around her gun.
Nick wasn’t surprised. Plenty of folks over the years didn’t know how to react to him; too many of them had responded by reaching for a weapon. He tried to make his stance as easy and non-threatening as possible.
“Look, I know the skin and the metal parts ain’t comforting, but it’s not important right now,” he said.
Her shoulders relaxed some. They looked so thin and frail; it was a wonder she could hold the gun at all. Nick had to remind himself that, in spite of all outward appearances, this gal had managed to cut her way through a veritable army of Triggermen. Glad as he was to be free, he wasn’t sure how much he could trust her. He couldn’t let a “scared kitten” act catch him off guard. And time was running out.
“The only thing that matters,” he continued, “is why you went to all the trouble to cut me loose.”
“Ellie said you could help me find my son. But… It’s complicated. I don’t exactly know where he could be or…” she took a deep breath, “how long he’s been gone.”
You’ve gotta be kidding me, he thought. Just my luck to get stuck with a dim bulb.
He tried not to let the annoyance show on his face.
“Well, I’ve done jobs with less. Somehow, ‘nice and simple’ never makes it onto the menu in my world,” he said. “Anyway, you’ve got troubles and I’m glad to help. But now ain’t the time. Let’s blow this joint. Then we’ll talk.”
They emerged into the darkened streets of the Commonwealth. An eerie green light illuminated the exit of Vault 114. Nick hadn’t expected getting out to be that easy. It finally made sense how that gal managed to survive; she had a quiet step and an aim that made Nick glad she was on his side. And the way she convinced Skinny’s girl to go home? He had to admit, it was impressive.
“Ah, look at that Commonwealth sky,” he said. “Never thought something so naturally ominous could end up looking so inviting.”
Nick turned to her to find her staring straight up at the sky. She looked like a turkey about to drown in a rainstorm. He wondered how she remembered to breathe from day to day.
“The stars are brighter than they used to be,” she murmured. “‘Would I were steadfast as thou art.’”
“I guess it’s because there’s no more city lights—hey wait a minute. Did you just quote Keats?”
“Oh. Yeah, I did. Sorry, I’ll try not to annoy you with that sort of thing.”
“That was from ‘Bright Star,’ right?”
She looked pleasantly surprised.
“That’s right,” she said. “Do you know it?”
“‘Not in lone splendor, hung aloft the night,’” he quoted.
“‘And watching with eternal lids apart,’” she added.
He smiled in spite of himself. The night had started out rough, but it was certainly ending on a better note. He wondered how far he could take this game. He recited the next line. Without missing a beat, she quoted the next. So they went, back and forth, to the end of the poem.
Maybe you’re not so dim-witted after all, he thought.
“Say—I never caught your name,” he said.
“It’s…” she hesitated a moment, knitting her brow in deep thought. “Just call me Sole.”
She offered a handshake, and he took it. He noticed that she didn't flinch away from his metal hand.
“Oh, I hope this isn't an awkward thing to bring up,” she added, “But I’m sorry for the way I reacted earlier. I wasn’t expecting to find a… a…”
“A synth?”
“A what?”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. She must be fresh out of whatever Vault she came from.
“Do you really not know?” He said. “Synthetic man. All the parts, minus a few red blood cells.”
She looked him up and down.
“Huh, that’s really interesting," she said with a smile. "And I mean that—I’d love to know more, if that’s okay.”
“Not much to tell. I got built, I got old, I got tossed.”
“That’s terrible! Who on earth would toss out such an amazing—?” She caught herself.
He looked at her in surprise. “Amazing” was a new one. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
“Sorry. Got a little over-excited there,” she said.
“That’s alright. Well, I’m—” he searched for the right words. He was still trying to process that “amazing” comment. “I’m headed back to Diamond City. Is there somewhere you need to be?”
“No, I was planning to head that way, too.”
“We could walk together, if you like. Maybe talk a bit more.”
A little grin wrinkled her nose.
“I would like that. It’s a bit nerve-wracking to be out here by myself.”
“I’ve got your back,” he said, starting toward the city. “So you clearly you’ve got a thing for Keats. Any opinion on Poe?”
“Oh, you mean my favorite American author?” She said.
From there they fell to talking as easy as if they were old friends. Few people in the Commonwealth even knew about the classics, and fewer still had read any. Nick hadn’t realized how much he missed having someone to talk to about things like that.
The sun was just starting to rise when they reached Diamond City, and they hadn’t stopped talking the whole way there. When he found out that she hadn’t even asked for payment to bust him out of that Vault, Nick decided he liked the look of this gal. He hoped she would stick around.