Terrence Rockchild's Story

No dreams stayed in Terrence's memories that morning, whatever horror they contained lost when entering the waking world. Sitting up from the mattress, now warm from his body heat, he glanced around in what the dim light allowed by the tin walls would let him. Null was awaking, roused by the dawn peeking through holes in the wall. 'What world did you see, behind those eyes?'

"I guess we better get going, soldier... do you mind if I call you soldier? Null means 'nothing'. I do not like calling people 'nothing'." Whatever the answer, Terrence would leave first, rifle at the ready. The dawn was a beautiful thing to behold, he would not wait to witness it for the hundredth time nor the thousandth.

"Bandit, you awake?"

The familiar sound of life came into her ears, instantly causing a smile to form on her face. Peering over her shoulder, she offered the native a wave. "No, I'm sleep talking. Don't mind me." Swinging herself off the roof, she landed on the earth with a light thud. The dust that was kicked up, she quickly brushed off herself. Hat back on her head just the way she liked, Bandit gave herself a good shoulder roll before tossing her neck to either side.

"Oh," she exclaimed lightly before tugging out something behind her back. Sensing hesitation, she rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to stab you. Sheesh, I was just going to offer up some lizards. I took them out just before you woke. Nothing super fancy, but at least it's something. I get sick of eating dirt." Winking as she teased, the woman tossed the two scaly creatures toward Terrence.

"Also," she continued on, "I think I found us lunch." Directing her hand just a few degrees from Overton City's location, she made a clicking noise while winking her eye. Hand folding into the shape of a gun, she made a light 'pow' noise. "Pretty sure it was a brahmin." It probably sounded out of place, but Bandit had an reason for that. "When Slash and I were entering the shit hole of a ton, he told me he saw a fenced brahmin. With all those explosions and gunfire, I assume the fence broke and that thing took off. Or," her nose crinkled as she riled up a cheeky grin, "my boyfriend cut it loose with the hopes of it running toward us." Hands folding behind her head, the blond smirked. "Either way, we can pursue it and make a meal out of it."

Dropping her hands, Bandit gazed across the wasteland. She really hoped it was Slasher's doing. If it was, there would probably be some sort of sign. Assuming all went well and the trio could get to it, they would discover a canteen looped around its neck -- undoubtedly making this animal Slasher's doing.

Null

---

"I don't want to call you 'nothing' anymore," she whispered to him in the quiet dark, his arms wrapped around her slender, waiflike body.

He exhaled as he thought, racking his mind for it. He could not know it - could he? It had been lost to him for over a decade now. It was impossible to imagine that he could remember it.

Yet the slightest flash of recognition sparked through his synapses as he lay there, wrapped around her form, feeling the warmth of her body against his.

"Michael," he whispered, as much to himself as her - a name lost more than ten years. "...Michael Walker."

He felt her smile in the dark.

"Thank you, Michael."

Returning to reality, the Sigma veteran was very surprised at Terrence's request; it was unnatural to him to have one express concern towards him, let alone to wish to do things. He preferred things this way - humans and their emotions got in the way altogether too much. Logic, he could always predict impeccably; every strategic movement of the enemy was easy.

He slammed a magazine into his rifle, flexing his shoulders as he stepped out the door, eyes half-closed for the first few seconds to allow them to adjust to the light. "Call me as you will," he said. "I have no concern for it."

He had a real name, once. But none would ever utter it again; none could match the beauty with which she had whispered it to him, her quiet thanks that night, before he had lost her. Was he fixated upon her? Fixated upon what she had meant to him? Obsessed?

No matter.

She might have been cut down nine years ago, but that was of no consequence. She lived on inside him, in his memories. Not dead - not as long as he remembered her.

And until she died, he would carry her, her memory the weight upon Atlas' back.

For when he released it, the world she had died in would be long gone.

Replaced by the world he had promised her, that day, underneath a bloodstained sky...

---

It was a few hours later that he stood above the skeleton of the Brahmin, knife dripping blood upon the ground, having bathed in the life of the dead so recently. It had been killed by a bullet from Terrence's hunting rifle, and he had spent no insignificant amount of time hacking at it with his knife until almost every piece of meat was stripped from its bones and placed into leather sacks, piled high upon Frederica's back.

He stepped over to the machine, placing a hand upon it as its servos let out a complaining whine at the increased weight.

"That'll keep us fed for a few more days," he said, wiping his blade off against Frederica's steel plating. "Let's keep moving. We can sell whatever remains in Overton; split the caps between us. Deal?"

As he spoke, his hand rested next to the handle of his knife. Wastelanders tended to get very jumpy when caps were involved.

"Call me as you will, I have no concern for it." Null's distancing of himself from Terrence was understandable. Everyone has a story in the wasteland, each usually end in the same morbid way. Terrence smiled and laughed quietly, memories of a cherished past returning for a moment.

"Reminds me of my father. Would have given most strangers the same answer. I guess military is military, no matter the army."

+ + +

"I'm not going to stab you. Sheesh, I was just..." The smaller lizards were one of the few creatures that had not been as harshly affected by the Ruining, making a good meal in the near future. Terrence cocked an eyebrow, curious about the meaning behind this gift. 'Payment?'

"Also, I think I found us lunch. Pretty sure it..." This helpfulness after the night's mess of accidental kidnap perplexed Terrence greatly, Bandit's forgiving behavior after the Tribal had done something that had deprived her of a companion, 'or whatever he is', seemed to ignore the savagery of a world where much less was just cause for bloodshed. 'Perhaps this is simply because Null is here with a much bigger gun.'

"... we can pursue it and make a meal out of it." Strange indeed.

+ + +

As Null peeled the flesh from the deceased Brahmin's bones, Terrence pulled the two lizards out from his satchel. He stared at them for a moment and shook his head in guilty rejection, turning to Bandit and speaking.

"Not sure I can accept these. I may have saved you life but if you and your... friend were still on good terms, I technically kidnapped you."

"... whatever remains in Overton; split the caps between us. Deal?" Null surprised Terrence with his speed at cleanly and completely harvesting the meat from the beast. 'Just as fast with a blade as the old hunters of the Stone Walker Tribe.' As for the caps, Terrence gave no care.

"That is more than adequate. Spotting, shooting, and cleaning feels like a good split of labor. Just hope I can find a trader to exchange caps for pull-tabs with. I come home with just caps again and my tribesmen are going to skin me."

Walking with these two men wasn't the most enjoyable of trips, but it was better than hiking across the land alone. Sure, they were on alert and ready to just at any traitorous act, but they also had a sense of safety to them. In her mind, if you should spend the entire half of a day on someone's back unconscious and then spend an evening with two boys you know nothing about, you're in pretty good hands. Not once did they try to pursue her or even touch her in a way that warranted a growl or smack.

Running a hand down her body, Bandit wondered if she were losing her touch. Since when did men not swoon over her? So what if they were in the desert and fighting for their lives. Everything always reverts back to old instincts. Survive and reproduce. Sex was often whirling around the mind. It wasn't just a survival tactic either; no, it was something to do. It was either fool around or risk wandering the wasteland. From the looks of it, these boys would rather take their chances with the wasteland rather than her. Grin on her face, she couldn't help but question if fear played a role in the lack of a sex-drive. Was Slasher really that intimidating that he could suppress human desires?

Within no time, the trio had made it a pretty decent distance. They caught up to the Brahmin and Null seemed to have things under control. This, of course, gave Terrence a chance to do his own thing.

The woman chuckled when Terrence tried to return the lizards. "Unless you're demanding money, I'm not sure you can call it kidnapping. Your intentions were pure and so long as I'm safe, nothing else matters. If anything, my Slash might just owe you a great big thanks." Tipping her hat, she stepped past the native and up to the soldier. He was quite skilled in making use of a corpse. It seemed as if every inch of the mutated creature was collected or put to good use. Of course, the moment her eyes caught sight of her canteen she smiled. It was definitely Slasher's doing. You're always looking out for me, aren't ya Slash?

"Since you've done most of the work, Null, you can have some more of my caps. I don't really need them. I'm a rare specimen in this day and age. Boobs don't sag and I'm not a brain-eating ghoul." Stepping past the bloodstained ground, she scooped to retrieve her canteen. The weight to it surprised her and instantly she peeked inside. With hesitation, she gave the water a good sniff. Was is the stuff with the demons in it? Was it pure? Radiated? Hell, was it some sample of the poisoned water that he wanted her to investigate.

Moaning, her blue eyes dulled with annoyance. How the hell was she to know what to do with this water. Her palette said to drink up, but her gut warned her otherwise. For now, she would simply suppress the growing urge and hope the sun didn't bake the remaining water from her skin. She had no interest in dying today.

"Odd," her voice was barely above a whisper. Squinting, the blond lass tried to catch a sight on the horizon. A shiver ran down her spine as her ears shifted forward someone. Every bone in her body started to tremble. "Uhhh... guys." She bit her lip. There was no time to cower or speak in riddles now. "We need to pick up the pace and scan the flats for a place to hide." Head swinging around, she looked over her shoulder from Null to Terrence. "A dust storm approaches."

Sand and wind raged outside the cavern entrance, howling like a hunting animal denied a meal by it's prey's luck and skill. Grit flew into the mouth of the cave and settled, safe from the savage gusts of the storm. Around the bend, deeper into the dark illuminated by glowing mushrooms, three strangers sat on what dry spots they could find in the dew of the cold stone walls. The cave wound deeper into the earth beyond, the sound of water dripping echoing from the dark, but the chaos of outside was far away enough that retreating was no longer needed.

Terrence took apart his rifle, parts lying in his hat and away from further contamination, and cleaned what sand and dirt had impregnated the workings of the machine. Running a rag through and across each piece of the Paciencia was a labor, partly one of love towards who it had once belonged to. His hunting revolver needed no such maintenance; the young Tribal had the forethought to stuff it into his bag and away from the oncoming storm.

As he worried for the weapon of his fore bearers, he worried for Null's creation. The grit gets in everything during a storm, destroying even the hardiest of machinations over time. If the parts were already from a scrap heap, the metal creature was sure to be in dire need for cleaning.

Thinking for a moment, Terrence remembered the canteen that Bandit had retrieved from the Brahmin's corpse. She seemed to recognize it, a prospect that worried Terrence in a variety of ways.

"Bandit, what was in that canteen around the Brahmin's neck? A love letter, maybe?"

Null

---

Null sat down in the cave, sighing heavily. Hiding from sandstorms was a new experience - typically, his power armour protected him perfectly from them, and they made excellent times to mount ambushes.

But he was no longer with the Enclave, and now, he had to be cautious.

He grabbed a cloth out of one pouch and started wiping the sand out of Frederica's components. She wasn't in a good way, and would need a solid overhaul when they hit the next town, but she'd make it.

With as much sand out of Frederica's joints as was going to come out, he unslung his rifle and disassembled it, beginning to polish and oil its internal components. As an automatic subcarbine, it was a rather complex weapon, and was rather likely to break if there was sand in the internal mechanism; its parts were not as robust as those of his Peacekeeper.

"Where do you hail from, then?" he asked his two companions.

"Where do you hail from, then?" It was a question Terrence had maybe expected from Bandit but certainly not from the distant soldier. 'Getting bored or attached, soldier?' First looking to Bandit, as if asking 'should I go first', Terrence nodded and spoke.

"Small village to the south-east, tribe goes by the name of Stone Walkers. Nice enough, banditry is generally frowned upon. Bit untrusting of strangers... I say 'a bit' but they did shoot at my dad when he first came across the tribe. He did look like a feral ruined at the time on account of being in poor shape." Terrence paused for a moment, a look of contemplation settling on his countenance.

"Come to think of it, he never did tell anybody how he had come to be in poor shape. Might have been ashamed of it, he was a 'proud NCR sniper and master of stealth' or some other brahmin shit." He sighed, shaking his head in amused resignation. 'Crazy old bastard.'

"That is my story; the only story I know, anyway. Bandit, you doing alright over there?"

She had been quiet since the moment they entered the cave. Mind on Slasher and his well-being, the woman couldn't do anything but pray for his safety. Slasher was never the kind of man to wander outside of a city or village and pace the wasteland like she did. In fact, Slasher had only been out on the wasteland once without her and it drove him mad. Mad to the point of losing his mind and becoming a cannibal. He was afraid, scared, and alone. He trusted no one so he killed all those who crossed paths with him. He didn't kill until the third day, when he was in dire need for water. With the body being mostly water, he opted to consume flesh and gorge in the blood and guts of those he killed. When Bandit eventually found him, two days after that, he was a mess. His body trembled and the moral gleam in his eyes was gone. Feral at its finest form, Bandit feared for her life.

Her hands shifted over the hips as she tried to squeeze herself. A numbness came to her and a chill ran down her spine. Would he become that monster again? Would he rape her? Or worse, kill her?

The faint sound of water echoing in the darkness beyond her only pushed her mind into a further state of darkness and panic. She relived those possessed eyes and that sinister smile. She felt his claws dig into her flesh as he blood bated breath panted down her neck. Even though he wasn't a heavy man, he was still a man. Her strength just couldn't fight his sheer desire to hunt the trembling prey that she became. Tears rolling down her eyes, Bandit could only whisper in horror, "You're not the man I fell in love you. You're not the man I fell in love with." She kept saying it over and over again as his head lowered to eat her.

Bandit flinched when Terrence spoke to her. Hollow eyes moved to his figure as she tried to regain her mind. The memories of that dark day still tormented her. Was she raped back then? She couldn't remember. How did she manage to survive? She couldn't remember that either. All she did remember was being scared and then eventually waking up in a lab with needles and hoses sticking her body. She remembered seeing Slasher's smiling face and his hands cupped her own trembling pair. She remembered him saying, "You were attacked but I saved you."

Looking at the canteen, she wondered if perhaps she had demons in her water. Were all those nightmares real? Or was she just hallucinating and remembering something her mind made up.

And then Null spoke. He asked about them. It was so odd to hear him get personal. It almost made Bandit wonder if she were really alive. Had she died and was all this the scene before heaven?

"I believe this canteen has that demon water you mentioned. There's something familiar about the scent of it. Odd, I know, as water never has a scent. But something in my mind brings back memories of a day I when should have died." Her hand raised to touch her pale cheeks. "It's hard to know truth and reality sometimes," she sighed before looking over at Null. Might as well answer his question, she thought to herself. "I have no real home. I call Lemmon City home, but only because it's where my boyfriend keeps his lab. He's a medical doctor, of sorts, so he has a lot of supplies, gear, and tools over there. We have a quaint little home there, too. But I'm more of a traveler and wanderer, so it's hard from me to really peg one place as home. I've always been moving from place to place. I get bored of the scenery and need to change things up. Not to mention, when I find a town useless or no longer having information I seek, I cross them off my list and move on. I've been meaning to scope out Overton as I've heard rumors about things that pique my interest." She didn't want to say, "Oh, I'm looking to learn about how this war started and who I need to kill" for she didn't know Null's alliance. Heck, even Terrence was one to be wary of. Who knew if his tribe were allied with whoever started this whole war. Right now, it was safer to be vague than to make enemies in such a small space.

Terrence slowed his work when Bandit revealed her companion's profession. 'A medicine man? Maybe this Dimitri was not inspecting his kill. He was studying the parts. Wait, when did I start saying 'he' rather than 'it'?'

"I was also on my way to Overton. Explains how we both met up in that cursed town, similar routes to the same destination. You said your... 'boyfriend' was a doctor? That would partly explain the... actions I witnessed before you made your way to my nest; after he finished eviscerating, he started dissecting. He had one of their brains in his hands and was studying it. The organ seemed disfigured, the coloring unhealthy and unnatural. It was like... it was like they had been Ruined from the inside- oh, pardon." The tribal's way of speaking was not common in the world. His tribe's terms were deeply embedded in his own psyche, nearly impossible at this point to shake. Understanding that such confusion was highly probable, he began to explain himself.

"My tribe calls the nuclear holocaust 'The Ruining.' What many call Ghouls, we call 'Children of Ruin.' It is not derogatory, just overly poetic. It is a cultural thing. So when I say those people looked like they were Ruined from the inside, I mean to say they began to look like their insides had become Ghoulish. Possibly at a fast enough rate to turn Feral before even showing outward signs. I had seen a group of robed Ghouls pouring something into the water supply a few days before you arrived, but the town had long been lost to madness before I had set foot in the area. Whatever is in that water, it is not natural." The now clean pieces of Terrence's Paciencia came together with a series of satisfying clicks and clunks, the springs and slides becoming part of a greater whole in mechanical song. Racking the weapon to put a sniper round into the chamber brought a chill down Terrence's spine as dopamine was released into his veins, his body's natural processes congratulating him for a job well done.

"I suppose the polite thing to do would be to answer your own question, soldier. What northern climbs do you hale from?"

Null

---

Null found himself caught a little off-guard by the tribal's question. He was unused to being asked questions about himself; in Sigma, there were never any questions, for they had no need of question, or of each other in anything save a purely combative capacity. You didn't bother getting to know anything about each other except for what mattered in battle.

In the end, he realised, he'd only ever known one human being.

Why did you have to die? He pleaded to her, as he stared outside, into the sandstorm; yet, just as the million times he had asked before, she did not answer. It was never...

He cut the thoughts of her off, trying to persuade himself of a lie to tell. Sigma was secretive; none would know of their existence. Better to leave as many grains of truth in the lies as possible - that way, he would be discovered less easily. Or so he hoped.

For about the millionth time, Null wished that he had been taught how to deal with other human beings in a manner beyond giving them orders or shooting them in the head.

"I come from a small town in the far north of Nova Scotia," Null said. "It is a cold, hard place. Nothing grows there; the very rain is poisoned from the deaths of thousands of years ago, and as that rain freezes on the ground, it takes all life with it. I-" - he choked a tiny bit, for reasons he could not understand, when he spoke with more force again - "do not miss it."

"Nova Scotia, eh?" She was familiar with the place, well at least its location, and decided to throw in the Canadian 'eh' at the end just to tease. "Why would someone from Canada head down into the states? Isn't everything nice and peachy up there as America's hat?" She had no reason not to believe him, which wasn't what she was questioning. It was just... odd, to think that someone would willingly come to Texas. Granted, his garments and demeanor suggested that he was a soldier. Perhaps it wasn't as willing a move as she thought. Was it forced? Even so, the far northeast was a long-shot away from Texas. Who in their right mind would march on Texas.

She wasn't overly sure how much Terrence knew about NS and its location to them. A part of her wanted to blabber everything that fell into her mind. The other half did not for she didn't want to alert the other to her ceaseless pool of questions.

"Slash has... had?" her nose wrinkled. "Not sure how they fair. Either way, Slash's origins lay in Russia. He's told me a lot about the cold; all stories from his family's book." Bandit reached out and touched her earlobe. It was what she did when she needed to calm her wandering mind down. Giving it a good rub, she waved the action off as if she were twirling her hair. "Assuming the world doesn't end anytime soon, I would love to visit Russia. Or even Germany, which is why my ancestry comes from."

Kicking her feet around, she squared off so she could look at Terrence. "That's pretty neat that your tribe came up with tales regarding wasteland trash. Ruined sounds better than ghoul which sounds better than zombie." She chuckled lightly. "Your people sound very interesting -- and I mean no disrespect for that. It's just neat to see how other people live and think. Such lore and language as yours Terrence has always excited me. I guess I always loved the myths that came from travelers."

Bandit looked over toward the entrance. It was still storming. Hopefully, sooner rather than later the sandstorm would pass and they could move on.

"Why would someone from Canada head down into the states? Isn't everything nice and...." The term Nova Scotia was lost on Terrence but 'Canada' was more easily recognized. Terrence understood that Null spoke of a place above the snow line, the degree of latitude where winter comes with snow and not just shorter days. At most, he had suspected that Null had come from Nebraska or Iowa, maybe South Dakota or Minnesota. Canada just did not seem plausible without a large caravan or working vehicle, things rarer than diamonds thanks to the electro magnetic pulse that accompanied the nuclear warheads that had bombarded the country centuries ago.

"That's pretty neat that your tribe came up with tales regarding wasteland trash. Ruined sounds better than..." Terrence smiled at the thought of outside minds finding entertainment in the stories told to the Stone Walker children. 'Writers, every one of us.'

"Tell you the truth, sometimes I wished we were not so colorful with our language. We have such an artistic flair when it comes to story telling that truth reads like fiction and fiction like truth." Terrence chuckled as he thought of the Chronicle, a collection of the Stone Walker tribe's history spanning from some time shortly after the war to the present. It was mess of tangents and symbolism that muddied the clear nature that a proper history book should be.

"I would accuse Vault-Tec of putting as many writers as they could into one vault but it is not as if I could find out. We have migrated and 'refined' stories so many times that none of us can say where our true origins lie. Could have been a Vault-Tec vault, might have been a private bunker, might have just been a hole in the ground. The whole thing is a mess." Terrence rubbed the ridge of his nose in annoyance, smiling in bemusement.

"But now I have to ask. Null, if you're from Canada then how did you get to Texas? Steam train? Vehicle that was shielded from the atomic blasts?"

Null

---

Null cursed himself for revealing so much. How could he have been so foolish?! He could hardly say that he'd been brought down in a Vertibird - the only faction in the Wasteland with a full fleet of functional Vertibirds was the Enclave, and he suspected that they'd shoot him here and now if they knew that he had worked with the Enclave.

Even now, the scars still remained of Richardson's crusade; perhaps they would never fade, just as his memories of that day would never fade. How many innocents like Anna had the Enclave cut down in their long, bloody history? How many more would they cut down, given the chance?

He felt himself reaffirmed. This was why he still lived. This was why he acted. Not just for those who had fallen, but for those who would fall if he did not fight.

Nonetheless, he knew that he had to answer, and quickly. Thus, he crafted another half-truth, hoping for it to satisfy them.

"I walked; part of a reconnaissance expedition," he said. "Took many months. What happened between our arrival in this place and my meeting with you, not your concern. Suffice to say, my employers and I are no longer on speaking terms."

That should sate them. He'd heard of groups walking those distances before - in the early days of the program, before enough fuel was secured for regular Vertibird transport, Sigma teams would walk all the way down to Mexico on reconnaissance operations. Their tales became legend among new recruits.

Did he seriously just say walk? He walked from the furthest point on the east to one of the southern most points of the original 50-states. He made is sound so casual. So easy. 'Oh, I just walked.' No. One couldn't just walk. There had to be something more. They had to take something else. Right? But the timeline of months seemed likely. If they took cars, they could have made it from New York to Florida in about a day. If he flew, it would have been about half a day. Null said months. Months meant one thing -- nearly 4000 kilometers, or about 2500 miles. What was that? About one month? But the crew would need to stop, resupply, and, of course, ward off whatever laid in their wake.

Bandit was by no means the smartest girl in the world. Having Slasher with her for so long, however, had proved extremely useful. The guy could read and write. He taught Bandit a lot of geography, namely for the sake of her knowing where she was should she ever get lost. She had to learn how to walk from Massachusetts to Texas, from New York to Texas, from Michigan to Texas, from Montana to Texas, from California to Texas -- you get the point. He picked some of the potential abstraction and abduction locations. In the wasteland, it was best to know a lot of options rather than one solid plan. Often times, plans A through H failed and you would have to rely on I through Z to get you home, alive.

Not wanting to come across smarter than she was, the blonde decided to take the safer, dumber route.

"Eh!? Walked." Her head twisted around so that she could gawk at the man's legs. For being disconnected from it all just moments ago, she sure seemed lively now. "How did your legs not fall of..." a coy look took control of her face. "I bet you have sexy legs." A devilish glint in her eyes suggested that she wanted to do more than just look at his legs. To touch was to understand and, of course, enjoy. There was a bit of a swooning sigh that came next. "Soldier got legs for days. Mmmmm." Wink following, she let out a quick giggle. Since Null addressed that the other half of his story was not their concern, Bandit didn't think it wise to pry. No point in taking a bullet to the knee, right?

Not wanting Terrence to get jealous (was that even possible, she questioned), her sapphire eyes moved back to him. "There's nothing wrong with artistic flair. It's actually... nice. All too often, words and language get lost with such destructive wars. The fact that your people survived and have tales to tell, well, it's more than impressive." She thought about reaching out and touching his knee, but held that gesture back. "I know you don't like Slash, but you two might have more in common than you think. He's also a fan of storytelling and romantic language and artistry. Granted, his is far more grotesque, but it's the same principle of expanding the mind and educating those less fortunate with fancy words and slurs."

The statement was not impossible but Terrence found himself unable to accept that scouting would have been an acceptable use of military personal in any outfit during turbulent times. 'Months of walking to scope out an area to far away to do anything about? What military outfit would bother; the intelligence gained would be horribly out of date by the time the team came back. If he used a vehicle that he doesn't want to talk about... vertibird? If that was the case they'd need a pilot and not many groups have the know-how for operating those flying machines. Brotherhood of Steel doesn't seem the type to enlist children like Null suggested in his introduction. That would leave... Enclave? But they're national, why recon all the way from Canada if they could have just radioed info from base to base in their network?'

The puzzle was not exactly clear. The world was a big place, any number of other groups could have a military bent and be willing to have child soldiers, willing to send those brainwashed youths to walk for months just for a scrap of possibly useful information. Terrence shrugged his shoulders, unable to come to a conclusion.

"Soldier got legs for days. Mmmmm." An eyebrow cocked for a moment before Terrence shook his head and laughed softly. 'Enjoy the little things, I guess.'

"Hey, none of my business why you and your 'employers' split paths. I can already guess why you had your differences from your introduction last night." Terrence scratched the back of his head and looked to the storm outside, wondering how long this would last, turning back when the others spoke. Normally it would not be more than a few hours before the wind settled but the weather was unpredictable sometimes.

"The fact that your people survived...." Terrence again laughed quietly and looked outside again, not even bothering to audibly argue the point further. 'What use are stories unable to be discerned from truth?'

"Granted, his is far more grotesque...." The Tribal's face became hard, annoyed at the second time Bandit came to the defense of Slasher's blood lust as if it was just another part of life.

"I have said what I have needed to say on Slash. The glee which he took from slaughtering those people, violent as they may have been, should not have labeled him as a beast. Doing so insulted every creature hiding from the same storm that we do." Terrence stood from the rock that supported him and walked slightly deeper into the cave, stopping at the edge of darkness.

"The thing I can not figure out is this; every time I describe his actions, why do you act as if it is normal? You do not defend him or excuse his extreme enjoyment for bloody mayhem. My guess is because you're used to him doing the same thing to other people. Sane people. Healthy people. Innocent people, maybe?" Terrence stared into the shadows, hoping to hide silent tears. He reached into his bag, feeling for the wooden handle of his Hunting Revolver.

"How many fathers?" His voice almost faltered. "Mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters. How many did he greedily devour until you started to pretend it was norma- run." The large mutated form had been hidden in the shadows beyond the light, almost imperceptible from the rock until it moved and the mucus around it's mouth reflected what light could reach. A bundle of tentacles slammed into Terrence's chest and slammed him backwards, knocking the breath out of him as he landed on the hard stone back in the light. The beast came forward.

It should have been dead; it looked like some black rotted insect grown to impossible size, whatever creature it had been horribly disfigured by the hands of a god driven insane. Some unkind force had seen fit to make it crawl forward on multiple sets of human arms running along it's lower proportions. Three sets clawed at the ground, barely able to move the massive seven foot tall form forward except to slide it across the ground. Its torso stood straight upwards and ended in a almost human face stretched open at the jaw to allow for several thick tentacles to protrude outwards. There was no pain in it's eyes, only hate and hunger. Its breathing was the worst part, labored, rasping, and phlegm filled. It was the sound of death itself, present yet unable to lay claim to the soul of this abomination.

Terrence could only stare at it in terror, unable to move, as it moved to slam its heavy tongues on his legs. Bones cracked under the force and weight of the beast, sheer pain dizzying the Tribal and further rendering him unable to fight. As the creature lay on the floor it's tentacles began to wrap itself around Terrence's legs, securing its prey. Then it began to slowly pull him in. As broken bones pulled away from each other and stretched muscle, Terrence screamed.

With Terrence's light chuckle, Bandit found herself feeling a tad happier, in a better mood. It was hard to crack a smile in such distraught situations. War was afoot and a wild, wild wasteland laid all around them. To find inner peace was to find happiness. And happiness always started with a smile, or a laugh. She was almost in a good mood. The worry that once ailed her was slipping away. The fear that Slasher might not be fairing well died with each passing second. For a chance, she thought all could be well. She had new friends, if it were safe to call them that. Friends, yes, they had to be friends. Both men had allowed her to accompany them, now whether it was out of fear that she would turn traitor on them and stab them in the back was beyond her. Perhaps they genuinely enjoyed her company? At that inner remark, she laughed. There was no way they enjoyed her company. They had hardly spoken to her, save for a few questions here and there. Only Slasher seemed to really enjoy her. He would talk to her for hours on end. Ask her of her hopes, her dreams. He would make her feel as if her life had meaning. When things turned south, he would be there for her to hug and to hold. No slurs or tormenting words would even enter her system for Slasher would ward such attackers away. He was her knight in a white lab coat. He was the one person that she felt important to. As if she belonged here somehow.

Bandit wasn't sure why, but tears were swelling up in her eyes at this point. Her chest was heavy and her heart was in her throat. Every thump-thump rung louder with each beat it made. Hands shaking and nerves on the fritz, the blond wanted nothing more than to feel Slasher's embrace. She was scared. No, petrified. She had made it three years without him, but it was on luck and luck alone. Every time she got in a pickle, someone was always there for her. Not once had she really done something herself. Not once had she been her own hero. Often, she left the saving up to someone else and she would just steal all the glory in the end for the partner would... well, tend to die.

She wouldn't let them live in vain, though. Bandit would speak stories of such great men, and women, who went through great lengths to save the world. She would rise these travelers up to be heroes. Well, sidekicks. Bandit wanted to be the hero of the tail. After all, with none of her old partners alive, save for Slash, who could call her out on her tales and antics.

Blinking back the fear that gripped her, the woman began to hear the darkest of words she had ever come to hear. Not once had she ever heard such vile things. Often people jeered her but none dared to cripple Slasher. No one ever dreamed of labeling him as this man did.

Each word of Terrence's whipped her and the lashes ripped open wounds that caused her smile to fall into an angry grimace. This man, how dare he call Slasher all those things. He knew nothing about the man. Each word the slipped off Terrence's tongue was nothing but a lie -- a false belief that this tribal man was throwing up to protect him from the truth.

She wanted to speak. Oh she wanted to chide him for his tongue. Hell, she wanted to cut off the man's tongue for speaking such heinous lies. Slasher was a doctor, of sorts, he saved more lives than he took. And every life he stripped away, it was for a valid, true and pure reason. The monsters at the town she came from, where they human? Were they sane? No. They were killers and Slasher killed them before they could kill her. The town before that? They can wandered across a refuge of wastelanders who were hiding from feral ghouls. A woman was in labor and Slasher helped save the baby, but at the cost of the mother's life. It was okay, though for the mother never would have lived past three more days. She was painfully ill and Slasher knew it just by looking at her. The baby, though motherless, could at least try to live on and would probably survive. To ensure its survival, Slasher husked all the ghouls and strung their skinless-corpses around the band of refugees as a way to scare off any ghouls that dared venture close to their hideaway.

Were his means twisted? Where they dark and grotesque? Yes and of course. But Slasher wasn't as bad a man as Terrence played him out to be. A burning fire lit from within her and she prayed, oh did she pray, that Terrence would find his ill-fated justice. The man deserved to burn due to his poisonous words about Slasher killing people.

Perhaps prior to her, Slasher had killed brothers, fathers, mothers, and daughters. But now? Now that Bandit righted his wrongs, the man would only kill those who were corrupt or evil. He would kill one if it would save at least two. It was the way she trained him. It was the way Bandit would allow the monstrous man to become her husband. He needed to stop the senseless murder and only do what was necessary to survive and help others to survive.

She had plugged her ears by now, deafening out Terrence's lies. "Tch, karma is a bitch. She will find you for your tyrannous lies," she murmured to herself. As her ears became free of her hands, Bandit caught the tale-end of Terrence's sentence. "How many did he greedily devour until you started to pretend it was norma- run."

Blue orbs picked up from the ash-gray ground she'd been staring at to lock on the ungodly sight before her. Her eyes jerked between the action. No matter how dark the cave was, it wasn't dark enough to hid the horrors that laid within. The wicked, sea-monster like tentacles that smashed with a thunderous boom as they slammed across the cavern walls, were enough to cause the woman to pull away lightly in shock. The air, now fresh with blood, wafted toward her. And, in that moment when Terrence's body melded with the ghoulish monster, a small smirk played on her features. The scream that followed? Oh, it only made her cackle with delight.

Goodbye, Terrence.

Null

---

Null moved fast.

He hadn't been focusing, and he cursed himself for it. It had cost him precious seconds; he gave the psychological command to activate the GRX implant, but it was too late - the creature already had a hold of Terrence. The man screamed, but by then, the synthetic hyper-adrenaline was sweeping through Null's system, cutting off all emotion, heightening every sensation to its peak.

It was then that he saw the abomination in all its glory. An enormous monstrosity, as tall as the cave roof, a slithering mass of bleeding pustules and writhing elongated tongues, human arms scrabbling at the ground beneath it to drag its bloated weight forward. He could barely even tell where its maw began and ended, hundreds of twisted and distorted razor-edged teeth gnashing out of time with each other, massive insectoid tentacle-limbs tearing at the walls. Its skin was covered in cracked scabs hardened to form armour plates, some half-hanging off, revealing flayed, diseased skin underneath; bulges covered every inch of its horrific body, gigantic tumours that bled out acid liquids that steamed and smoked at its skin. Its face might have once been human, now grotesque and distorted in an endless scream; mixed in with the disgusting sound of the dripping beast slicking its way across the ground was a high-pitched, broken roar, human distorted by something that was fundamentally inhuman.

Gazing upon it was as though gazing upon something man was not meant to ever witness. Every time he looked at a component of it, his eyes were dragged elsewhere, to another horrific feature; he could not see it in its entirety, could not conceive of every single part of it. Nothing he had ever witnessed - Ghouls, Super Mutants, Centaurs, anything - came remotely close to the sheer existential terror he felt at gazing upon this entity. His heightened senses made every smell choking, every scream ear-splitting, every image in ultra-high-definition.

Bones snapped like gunfire as the abomination dragged Terrence into its gaping maw, and the man screamed again, louder this time. Null felt the tiniest twinge inside of him; like a distant knowledge that he had long forgotten, a ghost of a memory of a feeling. He ignored it. There was nothing he could do now.

He snapped his fingers at Frederica, the robot sitting at the mouth of the cave, and the lumbering beast of a machine started dutifully marching out of the cave, completely unwitting as to the nightmare it was escaping. Null felt the razor-edged tip of what looked to be a giant scorpion tail slash above him, slamming into the wall, showering him in dust; another slash grazed his shoulder as he leapt to the side, tearing off the left shoulder plate and upper bicep covering of his reinforced leather armour; the movement seemed effortless on the part of the beast, the creature wielding unimaginable strength at its beck and call; even full power armour might not be able to stand up to a blow from that thing.

Something wet and squishy splattered in front of him, and he felt his lighting-quick thought processes freeze for a second when he realised that it was a leg, blood spurting from it, tendons and shattered bone hanging loose from ragged flesh. He glanced behind him, seeing Terrence bleeding profusely and screaming horrifically as he desperately fumbled with a bottlecap mine; another tentacle slammed down on his solar plexus, and Terrence's scream changed pitch. Null's mind automatically narrated -

Left lung punctured; stomach crushed and burst. Left kidney crippled. Chances of survival - 15%. A second later, another strike to Terrence's right chest - Scapula shattered, all major left shoulder ligaments torn through, right lung crushed, heart received lethal impact shock. Chances of survival - 3%.

Then the entity bit down.

All major organs below upper chest critically damaged. Nervous system rendered inoperable. Skeleton crushed beyond use. Chances of survival -

Zero.

That was it. Without giving it another moment's hesitation, Null turned and just ran. He dropped his subcarbine, grasping Bandit by the back of her collar and dragging her away on instinct; she barely slowed him down, and he could swear he could hear her cackling. Glancing down at her, his mind denoted - Potential psychological break - investigate further. Rock shrapnel impact in left leg - non-serious. A monster he was, without question, but he was trained to never kill anyone if he didn't have to - if nothing else, it had the potential to lead to complications down the road. And he was not going to let anyone die like that. Well, almost no-one.

A tiny, distant, twisted part of him wondered if he could somehow bring one of those things up to Nova Scotia.

He rocketed out of the dark cave, emerging into the sandstorm; he didn't care in the slightest, just moving away as fast as he could. He caught up to Frederica, who was making a surprisingly decent pace - the repairs he and Terrence did must have held. Thinking back, he felt another tiny twinge inside of him.

He turned.

Within the dark mouth of the cave, Terrence was still screaming. Null pulled his sidearm from his holster, the whole world still in slow-motion because of the GRX flowing through his system, raising it slowly to eye-level. With cold eyes, his finger curled around the trigger.

At the last moment, through the haze of sand and the dark of the cave, he could swear he saw Terrence mouthing something -

"Tell Roland I said fuck you."

A single, booming gunshot later, and Terrence's screaming stopped.

Another few moments passed as Null turned and grabbed Bandit, looping one arm under her to support her and making a fast jog north-bound. He didn't care where he was going, not in the slightest, just so long as it was away from the cave. The lumbering machine somehow managed to keep pace next to them, trotting along happily, blissfully unaware of what had just transpired. He heard a blast behind them, followed by a massive crashing of stone - a glance confirmed that the cave had collapsed. He breathed a silent thanks to Terrence. Even in his final moments, the young man had managed to save Null and Bandit.

There was that twinge again.

Eventually, he ducked into a small recess in the ground, out of the wind and the sand; it was barely deep and wide enough to hold the two of them, but it would do. The GRX had long ago worn off, and he slumped against the wall, feeling completely drained, his left upper arm pulsing with pain; a glance confirmed blood dripping down it. He didn't care. He was alive, and momentarily safe. That was all that counted.

"Status," he said coldly and matter-of-factly to Bandit. He didn't care about being polite now. Didn't care about anything, except staying alive and breathing.

Whatever the thing was, be it man, mutant, beast, or alien, it did a number on Terrence. The way it ripped at his limbs, leaving nothing but a bloody mess. The way it cracked all his bones and forced a red-mist of air from his failing lungs. The way it screamed into the darkness of the cave and deafened the howling winds of the sandstorm. Everything about the monster swallowed her whole and plunged her into a state of despair.

Terrence wasn't the only one to take heavy loses. As his life was peeled from him, Bandit witnessed her own life became nothing but a pile of dry ashes. The world she once saw as gray now became nothing but black and white. It was live or die. There was no middle ground. There was no need for happiness. There was no need for riches, rules, or rights. It was just life. Just living and surviving the cursed land they lived on and were forced to call home.

For a second, she almost thought about raising a gun to her own head. This bleak world was too much for any one woman to deal with. Everything was ripped from her. What she once loved was now something she feared. The freedom of stalking the wasteland became a lingering sickness that would never fade. She was petrified. How could she have been so naive. To trek across the desert all these years and not once come across something so horrific was beyond Bandit. Had her luck run out? Was this God's way of saying, "You've run your course, young Jessica, now it's time for all your bad karma to catch up to you." She gulped hard but found her mouth dry.

Dehydration does wonders on the body. Soon her mind was overlaying new illusions. The monster was no longer eating just Terrence. No, now it was gripping at her. Her leg throbbed as its million tongue-like antennae started to gnaw away at her leg. If she could find her voice, she would have screamed. But a hand seemed to be around her neck, forcing the life from her. Her screams never came and soon the hand became a pair of tentacles. Her mind was running wild with vivid imaginations. Her death clearly portrayed alongside Terrence's own demise.

Should she have held back her inner monologue? Those wicked wishes about Terrence dying and being a bastard. If she never said them... would she still be in the hands of this monster? Tear rolled down her cheeks. Hand raising up, she cleared them away. Now was not the time to cry. She still had a chance to live. As she pulled back her hands from her face, her baby blues caught something that pushed her over the edge. Blood. Blood on her hands. It came from her face.

Bandit began hyperventilating. Heart-beat spiking to a dangerous level, the woman was on the verge of wearing out her weathered heart. Great heaves of tears pulled the blood from her face and set the soiled liquid crashing onto the cavern floor. With each drop, the sound of a thunder boomed within her mind. Her senses were heightened and the noises killed her. She was literally dying and there was nothing to be done.

Suddenly the air was forced from her and Bandit's body went flying backwards. The illusion cracked and her eyes started to see through the fog that dehydration had crafted. Glancing down at her person, Bandit saw that she was relatively unharmed. Unstable, sure. Mentally-damaged, of course. But her body had no new wounds.

Wait, a pain tore at her brows. Touching just above her mask, she found a small slit in her head. It was jagged, probably caused by falling rock. Her neck ached too, thanks to the sudden jerk.

They stopped and Bandit fell face-forward into the sand. She coughed while Null took Terrence's misery away. His screaming stopped immediately after the crack of gunfire. Blinking, she zoned for a second. It was still too much to take in. She had suffered lose and been a part of great fights, but nothing compared to this moment. Hand reaching up, she tried to hold the cave in her hands. Just as she was about to pluck it from the ground, her body shot backwards again.

Null, of course.

She never said a word until the man finally slowed. Tucking themselves into a small pocket of 'clean' air, she huddled in closer to the male. What could she do? Keep her back exposed to the sandstorm? No, she needed to keep as close to him as she could or she would become nothing but dead weight to the man.

When Null shifted, Bandit quickly slapped his shoulder down. It was time she start looking out for him. with his uniform torn, the rough, abrasive sand from the storm could rip into his skin and cause all kinds of infections. Pressing down firmly, Bandit shot Null a scolding look. She was telling him, 'If you shift that shoulder, you're going to be sorry. Keep low and tucked. I'll let you know when it's safe to move again.'

The blond finagled her other hand around her backside, tugging lightly at a holster on her rear. It was a small pocket of sorts. With quick yank, she freed a handkerchief and carefully laid it over her face, as well as Nulls. It wasn't much, but it would keep the sand out of their eyes and noses. Having to hold it in place, Bandit gingerly snaked her hand down from Null's shoulder and onto his face.

He spoke and she drank in his words. His voice something she desperately needed to hear. It would replace Terrence's screaming and give her something else to latch onto.

"Thank you," she whispered. Her masked face shifted closer to his, keeping Null's nose just an inch from her own. "Aside from dehydration and this little smudge, I'm fine." The hand that held down the semi-transparent cloth glided over his face and cupped his jaw perfectly. "And you?" she breathed, her dry, smokey breath wafting over his features.

Null saved her life. He was bold and brave in the grave situation that transpired in the cave. He didn't falter and he wasn't selfish. He was a man worth looking up to and admiring. If he would allow her, once the storm passed, Bandit wanted to kiss him before give him a full-body examine. Odds were, he was going to need some patching up and she would be happy to oblige while tenderly kissing whatever wounds he acquired.

As she raced around the fortified city, Bandit began to lose herself to her thoughts again. Each face she passed seemed to bore a deeper hole into her mind, etching a face, a name, and feeling. Shiver running down her spine, she jarred to a halt to really rattle her head. "Stop, stop, stop," she muttered to herself ceaselessly. "You don't love Slasher, Bandit. You don't love him." Only, the more she said it, the more guilt-ridden she became. Why, why was he tormenting her mind so much?

Visions of Null hulling her sorry ass across the desert crossed her mind. Then, as if on cue, an image of Slasher racing across the sands to unmangle her bloody body came next. Blinking, she saw Terrence fall victim to that fiendish cave dweller and Null step to the plate to save but himself and her. Again, a vision of Slasher came into her mind. He was standing over her, teeth bared, eyes crazed, and knife ready.

He was always there. Always. Her hand subconsciously rubbed her arm. Why was Slasher so protective? So nice? So willing to die for her name, her sake?

Blinking out the tears that blurred her vision, the blonde woman tried to really suppress all the visions that came with Slasher.

Why was she even thinking of him now? Why did any of this matter? Was it really all Null's doing? Were those kisses and vivid wishes ripping into her core? Since when did guilt riddle her? Since when did she, the Bandit of the Wasteland, care about being fair?

Hand on her lower region, she stroked the nonexistent baby. To think, years ago she tried to bring a child into the world with Slasher and now she was trying to lock him out of a city so she could have her way with Null instead. She was so selfish and it burned her innards.

Grit teeth and hand extended, she jumped onto a dumpster and pulled herself up onto a roof with the bolted down gutter. It was a sloppy move, but she wanted to be utterly alone now. Or at least alone enough to weep into her own folded arms and legs. Hair casting shadows across her sorry azure eyes, she just let it all out. Her long-felt need to cry. She cried for herself, for Slasher, for Null, and, most of all, for Terrence.

Terrence. Her mind tried to picture his face pre-monster. He was a nice man. A kind man. He helped her. He was her original savior. And she just let him die alone in that cave.

Hands slamming onto the roof below her rump, a growl quivered her lips. Brows collapsing and stern look washing onto her face, Bandit cast her cold gaze to the sky.

"I swear on your soul, Terrence, that I will not let your kindness go to waste. You saved me wherein I could not return the favor. And so, I will pass it forward. I will spare another life in honor of what you did for me, for us -- Null and I." Hand now on her heart, she rose before clearing the tears from her eyes with her hand.

Focused, ready, and determined, she stepped forward to let her gaze fall upon the streets below. As she looked about, she happened upon that all too familiar form.

"Null," her voice a burly bark reached his deaf ears. Staring down at him, she knew exactly what she had to do. There was no talking to this man. He wouldn't budge or alter his course. No, it was time to turn to the one man she had leverage over.