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He was almost unrecognizeable in the Silver Shroud costume. His chest was bound down and bulked up by the armor under the coat. His curly dark hair was tied up, tucked away under his hat, and without it softening his features his face was severe and angular. He’d changed his voice, his sweet lilting alto darkening into a gravelly base in an attempt to imitate the one from the radio play. His entire demeanor had shifted, too. In the costume he walked with a swagger and confidence that made Kent wonder if he hadn’t been an actor all those years before the bombs dropped. It certainly would have explained a lot, though in that moment he would have preferred a trained mercenary. Sure, the mayor had come along, too, but with the odds at five to two, Kent was not exactly confident in his own safety.
“Hey there, Kent, you doing alright?” There he’d gone again, switching back to that sweet, reassuring tone when only moments before he’d been threatening Sinjin in the Shroud’s voice. Kent nodded and he wasn’t sure why. After all, with broken bones, dislocated joints, and a gun pressed to the back of his skull he was definitely pretty damn far from alright. “Don’t you worry about a thing, babydoll. No matter what happens, you’re getting out of here alive, I promise.”
Sinjin laughed, “You think that’s a promise you’re gonna be able to keep, Shroud? You’re crazier than I thought.”
“Crazy like a fox, hot stuff,” he growled. Hancock chuckled but Kent didn’t find it that funny.
The raider pressed his gun barrel closer to Kent’s head, the cold metal digging into the skin of his scalp. “Alright Shroud, you wanna know how this is gonna go? First, I’m gonna blow your little friend’s head off and then me and my friends here are gonna come after you. And after that we’re gonna go down and kill every single one of those freaks in Goodneighbor, just to get the message across. You’re nothing but a dead man walking. Any last words?”
“You’re not thinking big enough, Sinjin,” the Shroud hissed through his teeth, “You really wanna do some damage here? Look at me,” he spread his arms and swaggered forward a few steps. The raiders raised their weapons at him but didn’t fire, not yet. “I’m a fucking legend. An inspiration. I’m out here giving hope to the hopeless. You shoot me down who’s to say there won’t be another desperate soul with a trench coat and a tommygun ready to rise up and take my place?” His face split into a terrifying grin, “Hell, I’ve got a fucking revolutionary war hero at my back proving my point, am I right, Hancock?”
“You said it, sister.”
“No, you really want to send a message?” he paused and fixed Sinjin with a cold, challenging stare. “How long do you think Kent and the rest of that town will last watching their new hero get tortured to death?”
The centuries old memories Kent had from before the war were fuzzy and distant, at least the ones he hadn’t bothered reliving in the Memory Den were. Still he could faintly recall the feeling of plunging head first into the Atlantic Ocean one cold February morning on a dare when he was sixteen. The frigid waters had felt like a punch in the stomach and had driven all the air out of his lungs in a fraction of a second. In the cold rushing waters you felt weak and helpless, tossed around like a rag doll between the waves. That feeling came back in full force as Sinjin laughed and he realized exactly what he’d just been signed up for. The pressure on the back of his skull released as the raiders advanced on the Shroud.
“Enjoy the show, Kent. Don’t get too comfortable, remember you’re next.”
The room exploded in a hail of gunfire and Kent felt the hot splatter of Sinjin’s blood rain down on his back. Screams of pain echoed against the walls all around him as his rescuers tore through the room. He’d seen violence before. You couldn’t have survived in the wastes for 200 plus years without the occasional bloodletting, but this was something else entirely. The sweethearted comic book dweeb from vault 111 had transformed into the Silver Shroud who had transformed into a merciless killing machine, right before his eyes. The last of the gunshots trailed off, leaving Kent’s ears ringing and his head spinning.
They were ok. Hancock and the Shroud stood on the floor below him, gathering up bullet casings and talking quietly. No, he wasn’t the Shroud anymore. He was back to being the vault dweller, shy and timid, his hands shaking as he picked through the wreckage to find salvageable armor and medical supplies.
But god, what had that all been about? Kent shivered as he remembered the Shroud’s words. How long do you think Kent and the rest of that town will last watching their new hero get tortured to death? Maybe the Vault dweller hadn’t seen enough to know what he’d been saying, but Kent had seen enough to last a life time. Now memories he’d really rather forget raced through his head with his new friend’s face plastered into the nightmares.
“Kent,” the vault dweller knelt down next to him, “Are you alright?”
“I-I’ll live,” He stuttered in response.
“You’re hurt.” He began pulling supplies out of a ragged medical bag. “I’ve got stimpacks and some med-x if the pain is too much. There’s bandages and disinfectant and-“ His hands trembled as he pulled everything out, setting it gently on the floor. “And I’ve got- I mean I’m sure I have…” The soft reassuring tone in his voice wavered and cracked. Kent jerked back as he was wrapped up in a rib-cracking hug and the Shroud’s cool, confident demeanor shattered into a fit of hysterics. “I’m sorry, Kent. I’m so so sorry.”
Kent held his friend and rested his head against his armored shoulder. The coat smelled like two centuries of dust, a hint of his own workshop, and the blood sweat and tears of the vault dweller wearing it. He let himself be shaken apart, crying in relief, still not entirely sure that he believed he was still alive. But there they were, a little worse for wear, but they were both still breathing. “I’ve never been so happy to see someone in my entire life.”
The vault dweller laughed, “I could say the same to you, to be honest.” He pulled back and wiped his face on his sleeve. “Are you going to be alright?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine, but I dunno. I think…” A vision of his friend’s face flashed through his mind, broken, bleeding, and crying. Sinjin’s laughter echoed behind it. Kent shuddered. “I think I’m done with the crime fighting.”
“You’re giving up?” His voice sounded hurt, Kent flinched. “I mean… you should take care of yourself, of course and I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to but Kent you were amazing.”
“That’s kind of you to say but I’m just so tired, Shroud,”
“Mischa,” he muttered, “I guess I never properly introduced myself. My name is Mischa.”
“Mischa,” Kent rolled the name over his tongue. He had to admit, it was weird to think of them as having a name that wasn’t the Silver Shroud. “Well, I appreciate your help, Mischa, but I don’t think even the Shroud could fix this disaster area.”
“Come on, Kent, why the long face?” He looked up. Right, Hancock was here too. “I’d say you two did pretty well for yourselves.”
“I was t-tortured. Almost died.” Almost had to watch the same happen to someone else.
Hancock laughed. “Well, who hasn’t been tortured from time to time? Price of living free, my man.”
Mischa frowned, it didn’t seem like he liked that implication any more than Kent did, but he wasn’t about to argue with it either. “Look, let’s get you fixed up and then I’ll take you back to Goodneighbor, alright? I don’t want you wandering around the commons in this kind of a condition.” Kent nodded and accepted the stimpack he was offered. Mischa’s hand closed around his and when he spoke again it was as the Shroud. “You did good, Rhett. I’m glad to have you back on my side.”
Kent smiled weakly, “Silver Shroud episode 26.” Rhett Reinhart had infiltrated one of Boston’s seedier gangs to figure out their plot against the Unstoppables. It had been dangerous and had almost driven their friendship apart but in the end they’d been able to save the day, like always. And that’s what Mischa was telling him, he would bet. Sure this super hero business was risky, but in the end, wasn’t it worth it? He sighed, “You know, I’m gonna take a little bit of time to heal up but I think… I think I’ve got another project in mind. And you’re right, we did some real good around here I think that maybe… If you’ll let me, maybe we can do even more.”
“Kent,” he grinned, “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”