Chapter Text
Freedom.
Upon the first steps outside, unforgiving, blinding light shines down from the sky above. The sky- no longer stuck with a ceiling wherever she went, artificial light flickering with age. Though the sun is so much more powerful than the fabricated glow of the Vault. Eyes need adjusting.
Vault air was stale, recycled, as if breathing in plastic. It tasted like the metal of the walls, the tomb of the earth they were sealed in for a couple hundred years. Outside was fresh, untouched. It had dust, yes, but it was different. Air from here could have came from halfway around the world, untouched by anyone or anything. It wasn’t sanitized, but it was clean.
The first steps were shaky. Uneven. The terrain had drops, not steps. Earth was hard in some places, soft in others, and it took time to relearn all these new steps. It was not unyielding like the metal of the Vault. It could be pushed around with a foot, gathered into a hand to cascade down in a sandy waterfall back down. It was different.
But the Wasteland is not your friend.
Within minutes danger had gathered all around. Lanky, snarling beasts bared their teeth and rushed for the throat with intent to kill. Flying insects launched projectiles, seemingly endless, into their target and continued pursuit long after the battle begun. Raiders, men and women who found a demented exhilaration in the slow butchering of life, who carried spikes and intimidation as their only armor, rushed forward with any weapons they could find in an attempt to torture. They gathered in every place that seemed like shelter. Those weren’t the only beasts. These were the least of anyone’s worries.
Luckily, if heading in the right direction, not all hope was lost.
In the midst of discord and death, there are towns and settlements where people, most of them honest, try to survive without losing their humanity. Megaton, a town of metal built around a bomb, welcomes those who are willing to obey the law. Of a quirky shopkeeper with many off-the-wall ideals, a doctor who tolerates no bullshit, and a barkeeper who keeps his malicious actions legal, this is the first town one usually steps in.
The problem is, to fit into a town- to survive- you have to be able to communicate.
The more she stayed in town, the more suspicion was aroused. The doctor took no time to look at her wounds unless she was almost dead, taking her silence for disrespect, while the sheriff spent more time around her, taking her silence as insurrection and trouble. Meanwhile the quirky shopkeeper took her as a spectacle, a code to be broken; here she tended to avoid, as she refused to be put onto display as a thing. As much as the slave-server was kind, the barkeeper almost killed her for her silence, finding it irritating and a waste of his time. But after that he ignored her. As did everyone else, over time.
Even with all its imperfections, the Vault understood her. Mel. From a young age, when she ran down the halls with short ginger curls bouncing on her head, when green eyes took in everything in wonder and unyielding curiosity, smiles and laughter on a silent tongue, she never had a problem. When something needed to be said, light hands would flutter and dance into shapes, symbols, meaning. Words were never needed in such a stale, metal world.
Freedom was never quite so lonely.
It was never a freedom she quite asked for. Her father ran out of the metal tomb without warning one day. She never would have known if the flaring red lights, the blaring alarms, or her friend Amata hadn’t told her. Then she was given her choice: leave, or die. So she left with a heavy heart, but a goal in mind. She had to find her father.
If she could not ask this town for help in finding her father, then she had little reason to stay. She wandered in the area around the town to find supplies-- narrowly escaping death in the Super-Duper Mart, getting cornered often in the Springvale school, being sneaked up on by mole rats. Her gun had never done her well. Her aim was off, she often ran out of ammo, and even with everything she managed to sell she never could afford all the ammo she needed. So she tended to stick to more traditional methods of hunting, so to speak. Sticking to the shadows as if they were her mother’s warm embrace, walking, crouching, towards the enemy with a knife drawn. A quick strike to the jugular made for a quiet death to keep the others around unaware. It wasn’t always successful, especially not in the beginning. She had to learn what worked and what didn’t, and learn to think fast when under the assault of gunfire. These were costly mistakes, in time, caps, and near-death experiences.
This is how all of her travels went, for a few months now. Equipped with gear, more to protect her from the elements than to protect her from bullets, and trusty knife in hand. She never entered a town for long- only to sell, buy whatever she could communicate for, rest, and leave again. It could be lonely, she figured, but she began to love the newfound freedom. There was a yearning for the open sky, the wide open spaces. She could do so much, learn so much, and it seemed never ending. The more she spent away from her- the- Vault, the more she saw it as a cage. She refused to live in a cage.
None-the-less, not all of her attempts at staying in one piece are always successful.
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Her heart was beating fast, echoing in both her chest and her ears. Her breath was coming out in pants, lungs heavy and thirsty for more oxygen. Bark brown boots hammered against the rugged terrain, legs carrying her as far as she could manage. Behind her were the angry roars of giant green monstrosities. Eyesores rippled with muscle, smelled of blood and death, both unintelligent and unrelenting. Heavy gunfire of assault rifles and miniguns sounded right behind her, along with the resounding thud, thud, thud of the melee Super Mutants chasing after her with nail boards and rebar clubs.
Shit , the voice in her mind echoed. All she tried to do was sneak around them, stay out of their sight from the moment she exited the metro. Knives did nothing against these behemoths. Explosives only made them mad unless you had them well-placed, or had enough to take down a whole herd of them. She had neither. Who knew that as dumb as they were, they were pretty good at finding their targets?
“I’m going to eat your arms when you’re dead, human!” the one of the monstrous things yelled, the steps sounding closer.
Mel took a second as she ran to reach a hand into the pouches at her waist, pulling out one of the two remaining grenades she had left. Without hesitation she pulled out the safety pin and dropped it behind her, hoping it would slow them down. Seconds passed before the explosion could be heard, the heat of it felt against her back, and the howl of wounded super mutants behind her. She took a second to look.
An unfortunate one took most of the damage as it fell, defeated. But two or three more were starting to recover from their daze. Shit.
Once again she began to flee, running as fast as her legs could carry her. But that second of hesitation killed her momentum, the constricting pain in her chest and legs making itself known. She wouldn’t be able to outrun these beasts for much longer. She needed to find a place to hide or she was dead. But she was surrounded by collapsed ruins, buildings completely inaccessible. So when one showed up on her right, stone faces hanging on the wall and opening completely unobstructed, she took no time to change course and run right through those double doors.
Inside Mel leaned against the double doors, as if trying to keep it closed, her breaths coming in quick and deep to take care of her body’s oxygen deficit. She ran a hand through sweaty ginger curls, limbs becoming shaky with fatigue and fading adrenaline. But she wasn’t quite safe yet, not for sure. If the super mutants were still in pursuit, if they were smart enough to continue that is, it would take seconds for them to break down the door. And if this really was one of the only places available as shelter, that meant that she couldn’t be the only one. There could be raiders, which was unlikely with the mutants but still a probability, desperate wanderers, or even feral ghouls around the area. And with only a knife, one more grenade, and fatigued muscles she would be dead in minutes.
Slowly she got up from leaning against the door, walking around the circular desk in the center of the room and heading forward. Must have been some sort of museum she was in, she figured, looking at the fallen skeleton of some ancient creature on her right, and the fuzzy beast on her left. Ahead was an interesting sight, a door surrounded by a giant skull. Underworld , the ginger read, slightly curious.
Mel weighed her options. This could be shelter, or this could be death waiting for her. Her hand reached down underneath her overcoat, hovering over her explosives pouch. If it was home to hostiles she could use the explosion as cover as she ran. If it was empty, though, the extra wall between her and the outside dangers would be more than worth the risk. She took a deep breath and opened the door, not expecting what was beyond that door.
“Oh, well would you look at that? We got us a smoothskin visitor!” a gravelly, worn voice spoke up as soon as she entered the area. Ghouls were everywhere, wearing all sorts of wanderer’s or pre-war clothing. They were chatting amongst themselves, for the most part, until the one who spoke caught their attention. “Hoooeeee, we ain’t seen one of your type in a long time.”
Mel dropped her guard, hand lowering from the explosives pocket. Her eyebrows drew inward and furrowed, lips moving into a straight line, and nose scrunched up. She took a second to take it all in, before lifting one of her hands and gesturing to the entire place in a quizzical manner. He seemed to understand.
“You’re in Underworld, smoothskin. It’s the only safe place for we ghouls here in D.C. We’re here, out of sight and out of mind. The mutants leave us alone, and the slavers usually don’t come this far into the city, so it’s not bad.” That was good. So she would be safe here from the mutants, chances were. Mel nodded, glad he was willing to stand and give her the whole introduction.
With only a warning not to shoot up the place, Mel continued on her way to explore the new town, if one could call it that. It seemed simple enough. Downstairs was the shop, where with a few bits of pointing and writing she was able to gather some more explosives, medicine, and food. There was also a medical room, but with a name such as the Chop Shop, she figured it would be better to just rest and let her wounds heal on their own. Upstairs was the inn, where she managed to get a bed for the night.
“It’s so nice to see a new face around here,” the sweetheart behind the counter, Carol, told the newcomer as she started getting out the caps needed to pay for the room. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a visitor. Tell me, you travel a lot, right?” That earned her a nod. “Have you ever come across anyone named Gob, by any chance?”
Gob. That seemed familiar enough. Yes, she had come across him once or twice during her time in Megaton. She nodded, watching with a small upward tug of her lips as the ghoul’s face lit up. “Oh! That is wonderful! Gob is my son. Well, not really, not like you would think of a son. We ghouls don’t really work that way. but I love him like he is my own. How is he doing?”
She took a second to nod and give her a thumbs up. He was doing fine, as far as she could tell. Well, despite the fact that he was practically a slave in Moriarty’s cruel hands, but she would never tell a mother that. Besides, she would free him soon enough, when she figured how to remove Moriarty from his reign without suspicion. Upon another pause she made her hands into fists, palms down, using her right wrist to tap her left. Then she took her right fist, thumb sticking out this time and palm sticking out, tapping the side of her lips with her thumb. Gob was working at a bar.
“Oh! That is wonderful news! I’m so glad.” Mel’s eyebrows went up slightly in alarm, her mouth almost hanging open. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve learned my fair share of sign before the war. Of course, it’s been over two hundred years. I’m quite rusty with it.” Carol chuckled, amused by the smoothskin’s behavior. “Still, if you see him, please tell him that his mother misses him and loves him and that I hope he’s happy.”
Mel wasn’t sure about the happiness part, but she would definitely deliver the message. If she could. Maybe she would ask Carol about writing letters to Gob instead. That would go over much more smoothly than trying to deliver a message orally. With a flat hand moving from her chin outwards, in a ‘thank you,’ the ginger left the sweet innkeeper to her duties.
Now, after running for her life and another near-death experience, sleep would normally be the first thing on Mel’s mind. But after all this, she needed a vodka and Nuka if she could get one. So she headed across the way to the Ninth Circle, according to the sign beside the door. Tables covered the inside of the room, places for drunken patrons to sit, while the floor was littered with paper and old-world stains. She sat at one of the front stools, next to the radio as it sang sweet music, only half-listening when the bartender spoke up.
“Well, lookee here,” the ghoul on the other side of the bar spoke began, his voice gravelly and his breathing heavy as if missing half a lung. Who knew? Maybe he was. “A smoothskin I ain’t ever seen before. What do you want to drink, smoothskin?”
She pointed at one of the bottles on the shelf behind him, along with the bottle of Nuka Cola on the shelf below. He seemed to get the message, preparing the drink. Meanwhile, Mel took the time to look around the area, seeing customers talk to each other, laugh, get mad, or just tumble around drunk. Well, except for one guy. Some ghoul in the corner, extremely tall and straight-faced. When the drink was placed in front of her, she pointed a thumb behind her at the out-of-place character, raising an eyebrow and shifting her mouth to the side.
“That’s Charon. Let’s just say... well, he’s a loyal employee. Don’t mess with me, and he won’t mess with you,” he watched as she took a sip, but the question didn’t escape her face. Instead she tilted her head slightly, as if asking for him to elaborate. “I hold his contract, which makes me his employer. He will do what I ask, when I ask, without question. You see, he grew up around an interesting group of individuals. They, well, I guess you could say they brainwashed him. He is absolutely loyal to whoever holds his contract. Unfailing, unflinching, until the day that employment ends.”
Something about that statement caused Mel’s mind to wander as she took a few more sips of her beverage. Doing someone else’s bidding without question, it sounded sick. The fact that he, the silent one, works for this ghoul in front of her probably meant he didn’t do much outside of this building. He probably stood there, only moving when a customer got too loud or too violent. ‘employment’ or not, he was a slave.
Besides, with someone like him on her side, making it through the wasteland would be so much easier.
Maybe it was the drink in her system, but she reached over by the radio to grab one of the pencils, and reached for one of the ruined papers on the ground, beginning to scribble in hasty handwriting. It was then she got the barkeeper’s attention.
How much is this contract worth to you?
“He is a highly valuable asset to me and the Ninth Circle, you know. What do you have in mind?” The ghoul looked at her with a straight face.
1000 caps. It was a lot, but she could afford it.
“I’m afraid that won’t do,” the barkeeper didn’t even blink.
A frown found its way on Mel’s face. Could she really afford going any higher? She barely had 2000 on her, and that was from months of scavenging and selling repaired junk. Still, this wasn’t about buying a person. This was about removing them from ‘employment’, buying their will back. She focused on the paper she wrote on.
2000 caps, then. Final offer.
“I suppose that could work. Yes... Here’s the contract, and I will take my payment in full,” He grinned smugly. The ginger dug through her bag for the 2000 caps she owed, almost regretfully. Almost. Once satisfied with payment, he handed her the contract. An old, worn paper with ink long since faded. “I’ll give you the pleasure of informing Charon yourself.”
Mel stood from her spot at the bar, heading over to the guy, Charon, in the corner. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to tell her that she was not welcome to talk to him, but her holding the contract for him to see made him think otherwise. “You purchased the contract from Ahzrukhal? So I am no longer in his service. That is good to know,” Clouded blue eyes shifted to the barkeeper with a blank expression. “Please, wait here. I must take care of something.”
Charon calmly walked over to the other side of the room, where Ahzrukhal began cleaning the used glasses. The latter looked up at the former, acting as if he was still in charge. “Come to say goodbye, Charon?”
“Yes,” without hesitation, Charon pulled out the shotgun from where it rested in the holster on his back, and gave out one shot. At such close range, the bullet ripped Ahzrukhal’s head into pieces that flew all over the walls, and part of his chest that splattered all over the floor. Around them gasps and shocked murmurings could be heard from the bar’s patrons. Still, Charon gave the dead body a second shot, either to release some of his resentment for his former employer or to make sure he was completely dead. Maybe even both. “Alright. Let’s go.”
With eyes grown wide and eyebrows raised, Mel looked between him and the obliterated corpse with mouth hanging open. After a couple seconds she gestured to the body with palms facing upwards, as if asking what the hell just happened.
“Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. As long as he held my contract, I was honor bound to do as he commanded. But now you are my employer, and so for good or ill, I serve you.”
Well, shit.