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Aftermath, Part One
By Slinky Avenger
Gone.
Everything I lived for, strived for, gone.
And only one person is responsible.
She must die.
These thoughts rattled around in Agent Kunshan’s head as he walked purposefully and confidently through the wastelands that were once California. He had a large laser rifle strapped to his back, and a sniper rifle he had personally customized gripped in his hands. The harsh winds of the wasteland tried to deter him, but it merely washed over his power armor like so much water.
He was a tall man, with military style hair and cold, sharp blue eyes. His features were often covered by his power armor, which he had customized to minimize having to remove it.
Agent Kunshan had, only weeks earlier, been a special ops officer at Navarro. His job was top secret...not even the Base Commander had known his true purpose, only that he was to be allowed on the premises. Kunshan’s job had been to eliminate all the mutants on the base when ordered. It had become obvious to the higher ups that the inhabitants of the base had lived in the irradiated land for too long, and had more than likely mutated. Kunshan was to eliminate the base once the virus was released, just in case anyone decided that they would try to escape.
Some one ended up doing the job for him...and that someone ruined everything he held dear. The President had been right...the inhabitants of the wastelands had mutated far too much to be considered pure humans anymore. Humans were the only creatures worthy of life. Now he was the last true human to walk the earth, and it was a terrible burden.
He swore that the so-called ‘Chosen One’ would feel his wrath.
But first, he had to find her.
***
Marcus, the mutant Sheriff of Broken Hills, leaned against his house and sighed.
He was an imposing figure, standing well over 7 feet tall and weighing at least
a quarter ton. Still in possession of the simple clothing the Master had issued
to his troops so long ago, the only addition to his attire were homemade
shoulder pads held together with vices, and some headgear. Marcus had done away
with the ridiculous (in his opinion) Mohawk that most Super Mutants sported.
It had been two weeks since the destruction of the Enclave; two weeks since Trill had failed to return. He was beginning to doubt she would.
Trill, or as she called herself, The Chosen One, had rolled into town in an old Highwayman, and things had never been the same since. The tribal was beautiful, capable, and very deadly. She had fixed the air purifier in the old uranium mine, ensuring the survival of the small town. Not only that, she had prevented a potential fight between the mutant and human populace, all within a week. And that was just Broken Hills. The tough little tribal had impressed Marcus, and when she asked if he wanted to join her, he jumped at the chance. Traveling with Trill, he had seen more action in a few months than he had in most of his life. Hell, he had been ready to take down the Enclave near the end, to go down guns blazing if he had too.
But that didn’t happen.
Trill had asked both him and Goris to stay behind. Neither he nor Goris knew what to say. She had asked others to stay behind at certain points as well. Cassidy, Lenny...even K-9 and RoboDog. The only reason she had left them behind was for their protection...and she was right. The others would’ve never survived tangling with the Enclave soldiers. Whatever she had seen in them before was obviously not enough for them to hold their own. Marcus and the Deathclaw were shocked when she asked them to stay behind, but it was hard to tell what was going on in her head. It was hard to read what she was thinking through the cold steel of her power armor. She had looked at both of them in silence for a moment, perched on the gangplank of the Valdez. Then she spoke.
“If I’m not back by nightfall, go home. Don’t worry about the Highwayman; the Brotherhood of Steel will look after it.”
Without another word, she turned and entered the ship.
He and Goris waited two days for her to return, but there was no sign of her or the tanker. Reluctantly, they left.
Marcus sighed again. He tried not to think about it, but the more he tried not to think, the more he realized had become attached to the tribal...more than he’d care to admit.
“I’m to old to be chasing girls, anyway,” he muttered to himself, turning and entering his dusty domicile. He started a moment, then smiled and rubbed the back of his head absently. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing a Deathclaw, and Goris was no exception. Goris was about 5 feet tall, and that was just his shoulder height. Deathclaws had a hunched over posture, and walked on all fours. Most Deathclaws had a deep ochre coloring, but Goris had a strange, light grey hide. Two long horns protruded from his forehead, and his fingers were tipped with the species namesake: claws that could rip you apart in seconds.
Goris glanced up at him from a book he was reading and nodded. Marcus nodded back and sat heavily on his old couch. Dust billowed and then settled.
The Mutant Sheriff had let Goris ‘room’ with him when they had returned to Broken Hills, since he really didn’t have anywhere else to go. Frank Horrigan had seen to that.
Deathclaw and Super Mutant sat in repose for a while.
“I miss her, too, Marcus,” Goris said quietly. Marcus looked at the grey Deathclaw and was transfixed by his strangely intelligent eyes. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then Marcus looked away and out the window, at a loss for words.
The silence was almost deafening. Trill, when she was present, lived up to her name, always yammering and going on, intensely curious about the world around her. Her newness had been refreshing; annoying sometimes, but always amusing.
So wrapped up in his thoughts, Marcus jumped when Goris tapped his shoulder. Marcus turned to look at him, noticing he seemed alarmed.
“What is it?”
“Do you hear that!?”
They both listened intently. Marcus drew in a deep breath.
“That sounds like the Highwayman,” he said softly, more to himself than Goris.
After a few moments of listening, acting almost in unison, they charged out the door and towards the town entrance. Marcus squinted at the flat horizon, and could make out a dust cloud.
“Can you see anything?” Marcus asked. The Deathclaw’s vision was akin to a sniper scope.
“It’s the Highwayman alright,” he said evenly, trying to contain his excitement. They both knew full well that anyone could be driving the car. But they could hope.
As the car approached, a few of the town’s residents poked their heads outdoors to see what the all the fuss was about. It wasn’t often the Sheriff was prone to running around town with the Deathclaw, and the fact that the now familiar purr of the Highwayman’s engine was approaching made things even more interesting.
The Highwayman grew ever closer, but as it did so, something seemed amiss. It swerved recklessly and accelerated and decelerated erratically.
“It’s Trill!” Goris exclaimed. He seemed more alarmed than pleased.
“Goris, what is it?” Marcus asked. He hadn’t liked the Deathclaw’s tone. Goris looked at him grimly.
“I’ll get some medical supplies,” Goris said, turning abruptly and running for the newly set up doctors office, headed by Lenny.
“Dammit, Goris!” Marcus yelled after the Deathclaw. The bastard was fast! He wanted to know what had managed to bother the Deathclaw’s firm resolve, but he couldn’t tear himself from the spot. He turned and watched as the Highwayman came to an abrupt stop about ten feet away. The engine died, but no one exited the vehicle.
Blood dripped from the bottom of the driver’s side door at a rate that suggested much of it had pooled on the inside.
“Aw, shit,” Marcus swore, running to the Highwayman. He pulled open the door and barely caught Trill’s limp form as she tumbled out.
“Shit,” the mutant hissed again, through clenched teeth. The inside of the car was littered with used stimpacks, obviously of no use, and lots of blood. Lots and lots of blood. He carefully gatherer her in his arms and took off for Lenny’s as fast as he could.
Marcus swallowed a lump in his throat. He’s never seen her so helpless. She seemed so light and delicate. Not even the remnants of her power armor contributed much to her overall weight. Her body jostled about loosely in his arms as he ran, as if there were no more life left in her limbs.
He ran faster.
After what seemed like an eternity, he reached Lenny’s. The door was already open and he ducked inside.
Goris and Lenny, already inside, looked up at him, and their eyes widened when they say the state Trill was in.
“Don’t just stand there!” Marcus yelled. Goris acted first, motioning Marcus to the back room, where a makeshift operating table was set up. Marcus carefully laid her on the table. Lenny shooed him outside.
“God help us,” Lenny whispered, closing the door.
Marcus paced for a few minutes, then forced himself to calm down. He absently ran his fingers over his head, but paused before he finished. Something wasn’t right...his hands felt sticky. He pulled his hands away from his head and looked at them.
They were covered in blood.
Trill’s blood.
Before he could react, Zauis approached him.
“Jesus, Marcus! What the hell is going on?”
The mine foreman gave his friend a concerned look. He’s never seen Marcus so distraught; it didn’t help that he was soaked in blood, either. It was a frightening sight to behold.
“I...I’m really not sure,” Marcus admitted, “I gotta clean this off.”
The Sheriff walked past Zauis, muttering to himself. Zauis shrugged his massive shoulders and waited outside Lenny’s, hoping to get a gist of what had Marcus all worked up.
***
“Yous’ a be lookin’ for Trill?”
“That’s right.”
Sulik looked at the strange man in power suit suspiciously. It was hard to judge someone's character when they were all covered up, but the Spirits were warning him not to trust this man.
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
“And we and I got em for not telling. Trill was our fren, and we ain’t gonna tell some bad dude where she is, ‘less he be havin’ good reason.”
The man was silent for awhile, but it was hard to tell if he was angry or not.
“Very well,” he finally said. Kunshan turned on a heel and walked away from Klamath, his stride confident.
“Strange Dude, eh, Grampy bone?”
Suddenly, the man whirled and unslung his plasma rifle, all in one fluid motion. Before the tribesman could so much at flinch, his leg erupted into a spray of gore. Thrown off balance by the malicious shot, Sulik fell heavily to the ground, clutching at the shredded stump that was only moments ago his leg.
Kunshan loomed over him, and pressed the hot muzzle against Sulik’s havily tattoed skull. Still hot from its earlier discharged, it sizzled against his flesh.
“Now will you talk?”
Sulik, slowly bleeding to death, indignantly shook his
head. Kunshan shrugged and pulled the trigger of his rifle again, quickly ending
the tribal’s life. The agent took a moment to clean Sulik’s blood off of his
gun and armor, and then continued on his way.
***
Hours later, Lenny and Goris emerged from the back room. They looked exhausted,
their expressions unreadable. Both their hands were stained with blood.
Marcus, who had been pacing around the office, looked at them expectantly. Zauis and some other townsfolk peered in the window.
“How is she?” Marcus asked quietly, almost dreading the answer.
Lenny and Goris looked at each other for a moment.
“That girl? She’ll be pullin’ through, no doubt ‘bout it,” Lenny said, flashing a rather unpleasant, but well-intentioned smile.
A collective cheer resounded. Trill was well known and idolized by the people of Broken Hills. Knowing she was all right would help them sleep easier.
“She ain’t awake yit, but that don’t s’prise me none,” said Lenny, beckoning Marcus into the back room. When the three of them entered the room, Lenny shut the door softly behind them. All of them had traveled with the remarkable woman. Seeing her in such a weakened state was strange.
“She never ceases to amaze me,” Goris said quietly. Lenny nodded in agreement, memories of the operation still fresh in his mind. It had been close.
“So...what happened to her?” Marcus said quietly. Goris drew in a deep breath, and then released it.
“A lot. She got beat to hell, shot up, fried, and lost a frightening amount of blood. I honestly don’t know how we managed to stabilize her. Other than that, we’ll have to hear what she has to say when she wakes up.”
“I reckon we shid’ watch ‘er in shifts, so as someone familiar is ‘round when she wakes,” Lenny advised. The others nodded.
“I’ll take first watch,” Goris said. He turned to Marcus, “To make sure she remains stable.”
Marcus nodded, looked at Trill for a moment longer, then left.
Zauis met him on the way out, and Marcus filled the fellow mutant in on the situation. Afterwards, he suggested that the now substantial crowd surrounding Lenny’s disperse. All there was left to do now was wait.
And wait they did.
**
Days later, Marcus was watching Trill, deep in thought. Lenny was worried that she had slipped into a coma, and could possibly never recover. The big mutant sighed and shook his head. He needed a distraction.
Marcus wandered the back room, scrounging for something to read. He checked Lenny’s desk out of curiosity, and was rewarded with a hefty stack of ‘Cat’s Paw’ magazine. Chuckling, he shook his head. He’d never met a ghoul who wasn’t insatiably horny, and Lenny was no exception.
The Sheriff started to peruse the issue on the top of the stack when a small motion caught his eye. Trill had moved! He quickly went to her side.
Trill moved a little, then moaned softly, her brow creasing. Her face was just about the only thing not covered entirely in bandages. Slowly her eyes fluttered open, and she squinted at the harsh overhead light.
“Hey,” Marcus said softly, putting his hand on hers. Trill’s hand was lost under his massive one.
She smiled and cleared her throat.
“Hey,” she said weakly, “I lived, huh?”
Marcus laughed and nodded.
“Barely, from what Goris and Lenny said.”
Trill grinned and slowly sat up, wincing.
“Careful,” Marcus warned, helping her sit up.
“Christ, those bastards did quite a number on me,” Trill muttered.
“What happened?”
Trill sighed, and gave Marcus what was perhaps the most pathetic look he’d seen in his life.
“I’ll tell you later.”
He nodded, and Goris and Lenny entered.
“Trill!” Goris said jubilantly. Trill grinned at him.
“Howdy Goris. Say, thanks for fixing me up,” she turned to the ghoul, “You too, Lenny.”
“T’was nothin’ I wern’t do fer a friend.”
“As long as you’re all right, Trill,”
Goris beamed.
The Chosen One winced again.
“Geez, don’t you guys have anything more comfortable for me to sleep on?” she complained, patting one hand on the cold steel of the operating table.
The three men were speechless for a few minutes. Trill giggled and shook her head slightly.
“I’m just teasing. Well, sort of. Now that I’m awake, I wouldn’t mind something less...sterile.”
“You could stay with me and Goris,” Marcus offered quickly. She raised an eyebrow with him. Marcus blinked and put up his hands.
“Whoa! Heh heh, nothing like what you’re thinking.”
Trill laughed heartily.
“Sounds good!”
Lenny grumbled that she shouldn’t be going anywhere for a while, but supposed he wouldn’t be changing any minds. Goris, Trill, and Marcus made small talk while Lenny fussed over Trill’s many wounds, and then finally declared her well enough to be moved.
**
Later that night, Marcus settled down on his couch while Goris curled up on the
floor, where the Deathclaw insisted he was most comfortable. Marcus grinned to
himself. ‘The Ultimate Watchdog’, he thought.
The old mutant found that he couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling for a while. Partly, he was uncomfortable. His feet and most of his lower legs hung over the couch, and it was hardly wide enough for him to lie on his back. Mostly, he was thinking about Trill. Marcus wondered if he was going crazy, having feelings for a little tribal who could decimate bands of raiders without so much as a blink. Hell, he was just disturbed that he might’ve fallen for her. He loved women as much as the next mutant, but he had never counted on having any kind of lasting relationship with one. After being turned into a Super Mutant, he hadn’t even counted on living this long.
Times like this found Marcus missing his friend Jonathan. Jonathan had been a ladies man, always chatting them up and occasionally seducing them. He would’ve been able to give Marcus some advice.
The Sheriff eventually drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
Goris dreamed of Vault 13.
**
Trill lay in Marcus’ bed and inhaled deeply, releasing the breath loudly. She was alive! A smile crossed her delicate features and it spread into a grin. Those Enclave bastards hadn’t gotten the better of her. She had had her doubts. Frank Horrigan, the ugly government freak, had nearly killed her, and she had barely escaped back to the ship in time. The atomic explosion knocked the tanker off course, and it took them nearly a week to return to San Francisco, in which time she managed to hap-hazardly patch herself up.
When she finally reached land, Trill headed for Broken Hills, only to be ambushed by a large contingent of very, very pissed off Enclave soldiers.
She barely escaped with her life.
The soldiers had not been so lucky.
Now she was among friends. Trill wished she could say she was home, but after seeing one of her elders die in front of the chasm to Arroyo, she had, in her mind, become homeless. Of all the places she had traveled since, however, Broken Hills was her favorite. Maybe she could make it her new home.
***
“Trill eh? That bitch is probably holing up with her fellow freaks at Broken
Hills,” spat the slaver, fiddling menacingly with his shotgun.
“Broken Hills. Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not fuckin’ sure, toaster man,” sneered the swarthy slaver, “But that’s my best guess.”
Kunshan nodded at the filthy man, and started off towards Broken Hills.
“Hey, don’t I get a reward or nothin?”
Kunshan turned, and stared at the man for a long while. The slaver met his gaze, but turned away quickly...staring down a man was one thing, staring down a man behind a mask was another. He supposed he’d have to take solace in the fact that the crazy Enclave bastard was probably going to take out Trill. May the righteous bitch burn in Hell, he thought snidely.
***
“Trill, wake up!”
Trill sat up groggily, but abruptly, reflexively grabbing for where a weapon was usually holstered on her back.
Goris chuckled, a mildly disturbing sound coming from the Deathclaw.
“Time?” she asked, her voice laden with sleep.
“Past noon. Time for all good Chosen to get up and eat breakfast.”
“Funny. I didn’t know Deathclaws had a sense of humor.”
“I didn’t know humans could be so lazy.”
She smirked and stretched. It had been almost a month since she had came to Broken Hills, and made an incredible recovery.
“I normally would’ve let you sleep, but Marcus kept me up all night with his tossing and turning, so I thought I’d get revenge.”
“Revenge, now?” Trill mused, “Poor Marcus...we should switch now that I’m better...”
She muttered to herself and searched around for her Vault 13 jumpsuit. Goris let her have her privacy and left. He entered the living room, where Marcus was going through a stack of holodisks. He browsed the shelves near him and selected what was probably the only book he hadn’t read yet.
Moments later, Trill breezed in.
“Hey Marcus, you can have you’re room back. I’ll go find a place to park myself, okay? See ya,” she said quickly, leaving.
Marcus and Goris stared after her.
“Ok,” Marcus said to the door.
He stared at the door for a few more minutes, a bemused look gracing his rough features. Abruptly, he put aside his holodisks and heaved himself off the couch, following after her. Goris smiled to himself and buried himself in the book.
She hadn’t gone far. Trill was checking out a small building near the old ghouls home; it had been uninhabited for some time. The roof needed patching, and the whole structure could use a good cleaning. The inside wasn’t as bad, and needed dusting at best.
“What are you up to?”
“Is anybody thinking of moving in here?” Trill asked, brushing dust off her jumpsuit.
“Just you,” Marcus replied.
Trill nodded and smiled.
“Good! I just gotta patch up roof, clean it out, and it’ll be good as new! There any scrap metal around here?”
“Talk to Zauis about tha-”
“Thanks!” Trill said, dashing off towards Zauis’, not letting him finish. Marcus shook his head. The girl ran everywhere! Not that he minded. Watching women run wasn’t a bad way to pass the time. Sadly, there weren’t a whole lot of attractive women running around in these lean times.
Moments later, she came back with a sizeable piece of sheet metal, and leaned it against the building in a huff.
“Wheeew! Heavier than it looks!” she breathed, hands on her knees. Being stuck in a bed for a few weeks had really knocked her out of shape.
“Need help getting it on the roof?” Marcus asked. She nodded, caught her breath, and then clumsily scaled the building. While she got situated, Marcus hefted the sheet metal easily and lifted it to the roof. After a moment, he felt a tug, and he pushed it upwards. With a metallic bang, the metal came to rest on the roof. She dragged it across the roof and over to the hole, covering it, then leaned over the edge.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any welding tools, would you?”
“No, but I can get some for you.”
Marcus walked off. While she waited, Trill fiddled with the placing of the metal, until Typhon walked by.
“What are you doin’ up there?” the lecherous old ghoul asked. Trill leaned over the edge, unwittingly giving the ghoul a nice shot of her cleavage.
“Fixing up my new place,” Trill told him. Typhon
brightened up as he realized e could see into her house from his window! He said
a quick goodbye and shuffled back to the home as fast as he could…the others
would be glad to hear such information. Trill stared after him with a raised
eyebrow, and absently zipped her jumpsuit up more. Realization slowly coalesced
in her mind, but before she could yell after the perverted ghoul, Marcus
returned with the welding supplies.
He held them up to her, and she reached down and snatched them.
“Thanks!”
“No problem.”
Trill strapped the welding mask onto her face securely and lit the torch, immersing herself in her work. Marcus waited around a few minutes, and then headed back to his house when it was obvious there would be no further discussion. When she had her mind set on a task, there was no deterring her until it was done.
He had to finish up those holodisks, anyway, he reasoned. Otherwise he wouldn’t know who got how much uranium and when they needed it. That might cause a problem.
Goris looked up from his book as Marcus waked in, but the mutant didn’t even acknowledge him. He simply sat down, and picked up where he left off with his holodisks.
The Deathclaw studied him closely. Ever since Trill had returned, even before she had, he had been acting strangely.
Goris himself was very fond of Trill...he would gladly give his life for hers. But Trill really wasn’t...well, his species for starters, so it wasn’t hard for him to be satisfied with being nothing more than a good friend. Mutants, on the other hand...they were all too human when it came to matters of the heart.
Was Marcus in love? Goris was unsure. Complex issues like love had no place in the Deathclaw societal infrastructure. He would’ve loved to discuss it with Marcus, but he had a feeling it was a touchy subject.
“Why are you staring at me?”
Goris blinked and shook his head. He hadn’t realized he had been staring at his friend the whole time.
“My apologies! I was lost in thought.”
Marcus nodded and went back to his holodisks, casting
Goris a suspicious sidelong glace before returning his full attention to his
task at hand.
**
Marcus finished up with the holodisks in the late afternoon and informed Zauis how much uranium would be needed by the end of the week. On his way back from Zauis’ office, Trill bounded up to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Come on and see! I finished up!” she said, jogging back towards her house mid-sentence.
Marcus plodded after her, amused by her excitement. Of course, it was a rare moment she wasn’t excited by something. When he finally caught up, Trill was standing proudly in front of her new home. Marcus was impressed. It looked 100 times better, and it appeared all she had really done was hose it down.
“Nice, huh? Later, I’m going to stop by Navarro and grab some furniture.”
The Sheriff nodded, and suppressed a shudder. She had almost single handedly eliminated everyone at the Enclave Vertibird base. For a while, it was their base of operations, but he had a feeling she was sick of the Enclave for the time being.
He silently marveled at her diverse in personality. One minute she was a cute little tribal, and the next, a rifle-wielding bad ass.
Finally, Marcus replied.
“Yeah, nice,” he said simply. She rolled her eyes at him.
“Quite the conversationalist today, huh?” she teased.
Marcus shrugged and gave her a half smile. Trill shook her head at him, and went back to admiring her house.
“So, uh, need any company for your trip?” he asked, feeling strangely awkward. Since when had he had trouble talking to her?
Since you started thinking of her as more than your friend, a voice in the back of his said. He pushed the thought away.
She shook her head.
“Nah, I’ll be alright. Thanks, though.”
“Sure,” he shrugged, heading towards the Caravan Master’s to check and see when he’d be available to transport the uranium shipments. No sooner had he reached the office when the Highwayman roared by at top speed.
Trill didn’t return until nightfall.
Marcus watched her pull in through his window and laughed out loud. Trill had packed the poor old car to the bursting point. Things stuck out of the windows, the trunk wouldn’t close, and the car seemed to be hanging lower on its chassis. There was even a plush looking couch strapped to the top.
“Did you pack the whole base, Trill?” he called to her. She just waved, showing off a new suit of power armor. Marcus followed after her, and she parked crookedly next to her new home. Trill exited the car and took of her helmet.
“Hope I didn’t forget anything!” she said with a grin, which quickly turned into a yawn.
“I don’t feel like unpacking. Mind if I freeload at your place one last night?” she asked.
“Not at all!” he answered, a little too quickly for his taste. Trill didn’t seem to notice, and just smiled. They headed back to his house, Trill chattering about what she had brought back.
Goris was curled up on the floor when they entered. Marcus bid her goodnight and entered his room. He stretched, and began to remove his shoulder gear, shirt, and boots, which he promptly tossed on the floor and flopped onto his bed.
There was a quiet knock on his door.
“Yeah?”
Trill crept in, still in her power armor.
“I don’t want to wake Goris up when I take this stuff off...mind if I take the suit off in here?” she said, entering before he could reply.
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
The Chosen One began the lengthy process of removing her power armor. Enclave power armor was definitely made for zealots who would rarely remove it...taking off the armor took a very long time.
Marcus did his best to stare at the ceiling for a while, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he chanced a glimpse. She had removed most of the armor below her torso, revealing her soft curves. The Vault suits were certainly form fitting, and he found himself enjoying more than just a glimpse. Nothing he hadn’t seen before, of course, but up close she was intoxicating.
“Didn’t you get enough action in New Reno?” she said suddenly, a lopsided smile on her face. He turned away guiltily.
“Well, uh,” Marcus stammered. He couldn’t believe what an idiot he was making of himself. Finally, she removed the rest of the armor and piled it sloppily on the floor.
“Goodnight,” she said, favoring him with a smile and a
wink. Trill closed the door quietly behind her. When it seemed that she was out
of earshot, Marcus made a helpless noise and held his face in his hands, rubbing
his temples, exasperated. What was happening to him? He was Marcus, Super Mutant
Sheriff of Broken Hills, and Veteran of the Master’s army. Why was he acting
like such an idiot?
***
The next morning, Trill got up bright and early to arrange the interior of her new living quarters. She considered retrieving her power armor, but decided against it. Marcus had been acting strange of late, and she wasn’t in the mood to figure him out presently.
Trill crept past Goris and stepped outside. It was early, and as such it was still a mite brisk out. Of course, as soon as the sun rose, that would all change quickly. Such was the way of things in the wastelands. For the moment, she enjoyed the cool air and walked to her new home, deep in thought.
What was making Marcus act so strangely? Trill wished she knew. He was one of her best friends, and they had been through a lot together. Even so, she realized she didn’t know that much about him. If only she knew what was bothering him…then maybe she could help him.
You know, something seemed to whisper in the back of her mind, You know why he’s acting strangely.
Trill frowned and ignored the stray thought. She had arrived at her house. Her home.
Home.
She liked the sound of the word. Trill supposed that even if the Enclave hadn’t razed Arroyo, she wouldn’t of been able to return. She had experienced far too much to be content with village life. Perhaps, one day, she would check on her recently freed tribe. For now, she would focus on Broken Hills.
Grunting at the effort, Trill yanked a locker from the back of the Highwayman and hauled it inside. She had become quite a packrat, and she preferred to keep things in containers. Leaving it in piles, or even worse, carrying it all, did not appeal to her. Soon, she had a neat row of lockers for storage.
As she regarded her handiwork, she considered her next move. Perhaps furniture would be next. The local residents had given her some broken down shelves, hooked up the plumbing and the stove, and even managed to rig up a refrigerator. The shelves had to go…especially since she had taken such nice ones from Navarro.
Navarro. Trill frowned at the memories the name stirred up. Her unbridled hatred for the Enclave had nearly cost her, and those she was traveling with, her life. She had ran into the base, guns blazing, not giving a second though to their defenses, or how many soldiers opposed her. The soldiers at the base represented everything she detested and reviled.
The aftermath had been horrific. She couldn’t remember what exactly had happened, but when she was aware of her surrounding again, the sight that greeted her made her nauseous.
Bodies…everywhere. Broken, maimed, singed, bleeding bodies, strewn about the base carelessly, as if someone had tossed them over the landscape randomly. Trill herself wasn’t in good shape, and neither were her spooked companions. Overwhelmed by the slaughter, her stomach up heaved and she retched, as if she could purge the horrific vision from her body.
Blinking away the vision, and fighting back another wave
of nausea, Trill returned to the present and focused on her task, doing her best
to forget the terrible memory. For a while afterwards, she could still smell
charred flesh in her nostrils.
She worked well into the afternoon, and managed to unload and unpack a great
deal of her things into her new home. All that was left was some miscellaneous
gear and the prize of her trip - a damn fine couch. Trill had precariously
strapped it to the Highwayman, and barely managed to get it onto the ground
before she was overcome with exhaustion.
Trill plopped onto the plush couch and let out a sigh of satisfaction.
“Well ain’t that sumthin’!” exclaimed Lenny. Trill turned to see the old ghoul approached, marveling at how much she had accomplished in just a few days.
“Hey, Lenny!” she greeted, “Have a seat! This couch is the best,” she invited, patting a spot next to her. Lenny took her offer and carefully lowered his ancient body onto the couch, groaning with pleasure.
“This’ th’best seat I’ve sat in fer a long time!” he exclaimed, nestling into the luxurious couch. Trill beamed, proud of her newest treasure.
Lenny lingered for a few moments, and then reluctantly rose from the couch.
“Well, I best b’ goin. Headin’ up t’ Gecko for a spell.”
Trill nodded.
“Be careful, Lenny. Radio if there’s any trouble!”
He grinned and nodded, then shuffled off, waving to her.
The Chosen One sat for a few moments, then got up and stretched a bit, eyeing the couch. Better now than never. Then she had a terrible thought. She looked at the doorway, then the couch. Then the doorway again.
“God Dammit!” she cursed. Thrilled that she had managed to strap the couch to the Highwayman in the first place, she hadn’t stopped to think about something as obvious as whether or not she would be able to maneuver it through the doorway. As she saw it, the only way to fit the couch through the doorway would be to pick it up and tilt it at an angle…something she was sure she was incapable of.
Suddenly the couch became a devious, malignant evil, and she glared at it.
“Greetings, Trill,” Goris said cheerfully. Trill
grunted in acknowledgement and continued to glare menacingly at the couch.
“Need help?” Marcus asked, wandering up to her with Goris. Trill scrutinized
him a moment, and a grin spread across her sun-tanned face. He shifted
uncomfortably in her gaze.
“Uh, what?”
“Perfect!” she exclaimed. In that moment, her couches foul transgression had been redeemed.
“You need help?” he repeated, although his query was tripping the border of being a statement.
“Yes, I need help. Can you get this couch inside?” she asked hopefully, looking up at him with bright eyes. How could he say no?
“Sure, no problem,” Marcus said evenly, approaching the couch, which he seemed to have not noticed until he was asked to move it, “Hey! Nice couch!”
“Thanks! Courtesy of the Base Commander,” she said wickedly. Marcus smiled wryly and hefted the couch. He quickly grimaced.
“Oof! What’s this couch made of?” the mutant complained, straining to keep the couch aloft. It hadn’t looked very heavy, so he was a bit thrown off by its weight.
“Dunno…be CAREFUL!” she chided as he barked the couch on the doorjam. Marucs just grunted and angled the couch into the doorway. With some help from Goris, they managed to get the couch indoors.
“I’m tired from just watching you guys! Thanks,” Trill said happily, arranging the couch against a wall. They both started to leave, but she stopped them.
“Hey, wait! Before you go, I picked you up some presents.”
Trill bounced out to the Highwayman and began to rummage around in the Trunk. Goris and Marcus shared a confused glance. Presents?
She crowed triumphantly and produced a stack of thick, old books. The Deathclaw scholar perked up.
“Here you are, Goris! I guess those dirty bastards at the Enclave appreciated good literature, at least,” she grinned. Goris thanked her profusely and buried himself in one of the lengthy novels, wandering back to the home he shared with Marcus.
“Hold on just a second, Marcus,” she said with a smile, heading back towards the car. Trill dug around in the back seat, paused as if she was hoisting something, and whirled to face Marcus. Alarmed by what Trill was pointing at him, he backed up and put up his hands defensively.
“Trill!” he managed to exclaim. She laughed, and pointed the weapon, a supped up mini-gun, at the ground.
“Nice, huh?” she urged. He eyed the wicked artillery and nodded.
“I’ll say.”
Grinning, she approached him and transferred the mini-gun to him, which he hefted easily. It wasn’t unlike his own mini-gun, although it was perhaps a bit heavier. Marcus spun the chambers of the gun, and they spun fluidly. He nodded again in approval.
“Up for a drink?” Trill said suddenly, breaking Marcus out of his reverie. He blinked and looked up at her. Had she just invited him to have a drink? That was certainly unlike her. She watched him, obviously waiting for his reply.
“Uh, sure!” he finally said. She smiled at him, and motioned him indoors. He followed her, and sat on the couch, enjoying the luxury for a few moments while she went to get the drinks. Trill returned with two beers, and sat on the couch next to Marcus, close enough to make him uncomfortable. She sighed as she eased onto the couch, and took a swig of her beer. Marcus followed suit, although his swig nearly drained the bottle.
“Do you know why Lenny was going to Gecko?” she queried, turning her body so she was sitting cross-legged on the couch. Marcus shrugged, and finished off his drink.
“Nope. Probably to check up on Harold,” he said evenly. The whole scene seemed strange. They were talking to each other like strangers…or was it just his imagination?
“That’s probably it,” she replied. Trill regarded Marcus’ profile intently, observing his obvious discomfort. She herself felt rather ill at ease, all though it wasn’t entirely due to the tension between her and her friend…the tribal could swear she was being watched.
The two sat in silence for a few moments, each tangled in their own line of thoughts. Trill polished off her drink and offered to take his empty bottle. He handed it to her, savoring the feeling of her soft skin against his as their hands touched. How did his skin feel to her? Repulsive? Marcus was suddenly self-conscious, and as Trill went to dispose of the bottles, he stood and leaned against the wall.
When she returned, she gave him a quizzical look.
“Was the couch to much for you?” she teased, patting the couch as she approached it. He smiled weakly.
“No I just…don’t feel like sitting, I guess.”
Again, silence enveloped the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Trill approach him, and trip on the edge of the couch. Acting quickly, with speed that seemed unnatural for a being of his size, he caught her and kept her from falling. It was unlikely that the dexterous tribal would’ve fallen, but he had acted more on instinct than anything else. When she looked up to thank him, their faces were barely inches apart.
Neither of them spoke, locked in a gaze.
Agent Kunshan watched the scene unfold, and he felt his stomach churn. Although it was easy to pretend that Trill wasn’t a mutant, the Sheriff was another story. How could she stand to be so near to the beast? Obviously she felt some sort of kin ship with her fellow mutant, but it was still disturbing. Of course, she had probably never seen a real human male.
Training the crosshairs on her head for a moment, so close to the monsters’, Kunshan’s finger tensed over the trigger. However, he did not fire. Instead, he grinned under his helmet. The bitch would have to suffer…a sniping would be too good for her. The demented Agent lowered his gun, and left his perch.
Trill stared into Marcus’ eyes, and he into hers, each searching the others
eyes for answers to the questions racing through their minds. Neither of them
moved for what seemed like an eternity.
Always the instigator, Trill leaned closer to the super mutant, her lips parting slightly. Marcus, dumbfounded by the situation, pulled back slightly, hesitant. Was this all really happening? As if to calm him, Trill put one hand on the side of his face and smiled softly.
“It’s all right,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his.
At first, it was an awkward kiss, merely two people who happened to be in close proximity. Trill snaked her arms around Marcus’ thick neck and grazed his lips with her tongue. Encouraged by the gesture, Marcus followed her lead and soon both of them were entangled passionately on the couch, inhibitions thrown to the wind.
An uproarious cheer interrupted their activities, however, and they both clumsily righted themselves, looking about in alarm.
Over at the old ghouls home, many of the ghouls were hanging around by their windows, passing money around, obviously used in some kind of bet.
Trill’s brow furrowed and she yelled obscenities at the lot of them, quickly sliding the tattered curtain over the window. Livid with rage, she moved to go after them, but a gentle hand on her shoulder stopped her. She looked up at Marcus, and felt her anger bleed away, and once again a smile graced her features.
“Well,” she said, regarding him with an amused - and pleased - look on her face, “That was interesting.”
“I’ll say,” Marcus said softly, mirroring her smile. Although he could not see himself, he was certain he was grinning like an idiot.
“I suppose this changes things a bit,” Trill observed. Marcus nodded, and brushed some stray hairs away from her face. She smiled at his action, and abruptly leaned against him, hugging him tightly. He reciprocated, amazed at how he felt. Moments earlier, he had been filled with the most horrible dread imaginable, and now…now he was practically giddy!
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Trill groaned, got up, and opened it, and was surprised to find Goris.
“Hi Goris!” she said, “I thought you’d be reading all night…what brings you here?”
Goris eyed Trill, who looked rather disheveled, and noted Marcus inside, with a broad grin plastered on his face.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he ventured.
“Oh no, not at all,” Trill lied, motioning for him to enter.
“I was just wondering what all the hollering was about earlier,” said the Deathclaw. At that, Trill and Marcus shared a glance, then turned back to Goris. She seemed to be at a loss for words. Before Goris could question further, Marcus got up off the couch and let out an exaggerated yawn.
“Whew! What a day…I think I’ll cash in for the night,” he said, walking by Trill. Goris watched as they shared yet another look, and then the both of them headed for Marcus’ house.
“Goodnight, Trill,” said Goris. Trill smiled and nodded absently, her eyes on Marcus.
It was the last peaceful night Broken Hills saw for some time.