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welcome to the waste
Wisterias live in the Wasteland
Permalink Mark Unread

A radio crackles to life in a burnt out bus. Lights flicker on and off, and then a red line switches across.

A soft melody starts playing:

I don't want to set the world on fire...

I just want to start a flame in your heart...

Permalink Mark Unread

Elsewhere...

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Amy whistles under her breath while she reassembles her pistols. She'd been told over and over that it was overkill to have one in each hand, but she couldn't explain why it felt...right, to have both. Checking her work one more time, flicking the safeties on and off, looking down the sights, she nods, satisfied. She holstered both, swung her pack back on, and walks up to the concealed entrance to Vault 87.

Her (overpaid) informant told her this place was a wealth of Vault-tec leftovers, and in the Wasteland, those were worth more than caps could ever be. Especially to the Brotherhood, and once she had an in with them, well. Thus would begin her revenge. 

She plugs her Pip-boy into the receptacle once she was on the other side of the door, keying in the code to open it up. "Vault-tec, your secrets will be mine," she mutters to herself.

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Once the Vault door groans to life, pulls away, and Amy has a way in, there is the sound of scuttling.

Not of anything an insect would make, more like the slapping of flesh on ground.

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Amy unholsters one weapon. Damn it, there wasn't supposed to be anything in here! She was told it was empty!

She switches on the Pip-boy's torch and immediately gags. A man leans against the wall opposite the door, ripped to shreds. Blood is splayed around him. It doesn't look like it was done that long ago...

...which means her contact set her up. Well. Fuck.

Amy keeps heading in, still wanting to get something out of this, but she keeps quiet and cautious.

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The slick slapping noise echoes in front of her again, and the sound of something fleshy and wet scraping across the ground.

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"Fuck. Fuck!" Amy says under her breath, hoping the coarse language would calm her rocketing heart-rate. Super Mutants. Has to be. 

She spies a computer terminal in a barred room close to her. Good. Maybe she can steal some information and have that be it. She's not going toe-to-toe with Super Mutants. She likes being alive, deformed as she is. 

She slinks next to the door, tugging a bobby pin from her pocket as she does. She points her light at the keyhole and gets to work. The lock clicks in seconds and Amy steals inside quickly, shutting and locking the door behind her.

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There is a nasal whimper, and the same slick, wet sound she heard out in the hall.

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Amy turns her gun immediately around to the noise, heart thumping. She has approximately two seconds to land a shot to the brain before the Super Mutant kills her. 

But when her light falls on the creature, she stops.

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A Centaur, not a Super Mutant, cowers in the corner. The nasal whimpering continues. The hands the creature has instead of feet scramble to get it closer to the wall. Its eyes are terrified. 

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Amy knows Centaurs are often just precursors to a Super Mutant attack...but there is nothing else in the room besides the two of them and the creature isn't attacking. Which... is very unusual for a non-sentient creature. 

Amy holsters her gun cautiously and keeps her eyes on the Centaur.

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It noticeably relaxes, but is still jammed into the corner, whimpering and shaking.

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"Hey, hey, it's okay. I won't...hurt you. Surprisingly."

Amy isn't sure her raspy voice is actually calming, but she is curious enough about this creature to get closer to figure it out. She keeps one hand up, the other stretching out to it.

"It's okay little... big guy. I'm just gonna come a little closer. Just coming to say hi."

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The creature snuffles sadly, but extends one mouth-tentacle to slather over Amy's hand.

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Eugh. Gross.

Amy keeps a straight face, though, and continues coaxing the centaur from the wall.

"Did the others bully you, big guy? You're smarter than them. You should be running this Vault."

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It snuffles in agreement. Or, at least, seems to.

It pulls away from the wall, shuffling closer. It's disturbing to see how the legs move.

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Amy quickly schools her face back into something less... shocked. She's seen Centaurs move before, but never up close or so slowly.

"God, the things they did to you," Amy says sadly, stretching her hand up to cup the Centaur's head.

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It thuds it's head into Amy's stomach, mouth-tentacles fluttering sadly. It's making more soft, nasal noises-

It almost sounds like it's crying?

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Amy rubs it's head soothingly. Or, at least, she hopes it is.

"There, there, big guy. It's all right. It's all right. Let it out." She catches sight of her own reflection in the darkened window. No skin, no hair, craggy scars stretching over her exposed, hardened muscle. "We're all monsters here."

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It takes a while to stop sobbing. When it does, it looks up at Amy like it's assessing her. Then it draws itself to its full height (taller than Amy), and shuffles over to the desk in the room. There, it tries several times to open a drawer, but neither it's feet-hands or mouth-tentacles have any finesse. 

The noises it makes become more distressed.

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"Hey! Hey, it's okay. I'll get that," Amy says quickly, stepping between it and the drawer.

It steps away, and Amy pulls it open. Inside is a file, a little gore-stained, but still readable. The first page is a file of information, like on any form Amy filled out Before, with a picture of a young man attached. He looks... familiar.

She turns around and holds the picture up next to the Centaur's face.

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The eyes are the exact same shade of deep brown, though the Centaur's have a shining bit of hope in them. 

The face shape is almost the same, though the bones are... wrong on the Centaur. 

The nose, yes. The brows, yes. 

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Amy reads the file. 

"...Edward?" She asks the Centaur.

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He nods his head vigorously, tentacles flapping with wet slapping sounds, and his eyes spill with relieved tears.

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"Nice to meet you, Edward. I'm Amy," she says, holding out a hand for him to shake.

He wraps a tentacle around it. 

Amy isn't sure what else she expected.

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"All right, Edward. I'm getting you out of here, away from those bullies. But first-" She taps the computer's keyboard. It springs to life. "Bless nuclear batteries."

She starts going through files, downloading ones that might be interesting to her Pip-Boy.

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Edward watches over her shoulder, confused. He shuffles a bit closer, his gurgling breathing right next to her ear.

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Well. That's unnerving. 

Her job done, she disconnects her Pip-Boy and turns around to Edward.

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He scuttles back, bouncing almost eagerly. He nods at the door several times.

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"You got it, big guy. But quietly. We want to make a stealthy exit."

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He cocks his head like he's curious, but his excited snuffling stops and he even tries to lower into a crouch.

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Amy smiles. Yeah, she's keeping this one. 

"Okay. Follow me. Quietly."

She heads to the door, unlocks it and opens it quietly.

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Seems to be all quiet out there. The creatures filling the Vault don't seem to be curious at all about the outside world beyond the open Vault door.

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That's...a little concerning, and makes Amy wonder if there's better treasures to be found further below. But, she thinks as she looks back over her shoulder, she's got something better to take care of right now.

"Let's go, Edward," she whispers, leading the way out of the vault.

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Edward makes a nasal sigh that sounds almost happy and follows her out.

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Amy shuts the vault door behind them.

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Elsewhere...

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Rake frowns at the shaking walls again.

"Boss, for real, they're gonna break through."

His fellows behind him nod their heads in agreement. Three days of this was enough to make the whole crew nervous.

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"Rake, have a little faith. I know more about destroying walls than these pathetic excuses for soldiers ever will."

Nathlee has her feet up on her desk, mirror in hand, reapplying lipstick. Where she got it is one mystery she will never tell. She snaps the mirror closed when she's done.

"Besides, these walls withstood nuclear fallout. What on earth could they do that hundreds of nukes couldn't?"

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"Boss's got a point!" Someone calls.

Rake glares in their direction. 

"We're gonna run out of food at some point. We're trapped in here. What're they gonna do, give up and slink back home?" Rake says with a scoff.

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Nathlee shrugs. "Or blow themselves up. That would be preferable."

Another explosion shakes the cave. Nathlee tuts at it.

"Please. They sound like tiny demo charges. We're not even worth a satchel."

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Rake groans. "Nath, that one sounded a lot closer than the others. We need to try and send a message out. Surrender. People are going to be killed needlessly if-"

His words are cut off as a bullet rips through his skull. His corpse topples over and falls.

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"Anyone else feel like telling me to surrender?"

She keeps the gun up. 

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Her raiders are silent. 

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"Good boys." She stows the pistol away. "Now, we wait patiently for the Enclave to give up or blow up."

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After another hour, the shaking indeed stops.

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The raiders wait, but then breathe a collective sigh of relief, which turns to laughter, congratulations, and a round of cheering for the boss.

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Nathlee grins smugly.

"See, I told you. Everything will be fine. The Enclave know when they're beaten." She swings her legs back onto the ground, heading over to her personal armory. "Now, the question is, do we let them scamper off home or do we head out there and show them just the mistake they made?"

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A ripple of saucy laughter echoes around the cave. A few raiders are already pulling on scrap metal armour, holstering weapons.

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"Yes, you know just what mummy likes." Nathlee selects a laser musket, licking up the barrel to raucous cheers. She flashes a predatory grin. "Now, who's ready to show the Enclave the real power in the Wa-"

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There is a roar, and then the walls burst open in a flash of blinding light, force ripping through the hideout.

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Raiders closest to it don't even have time to scream before they are vaporised, leaving only piles of ash. The ones further back are ripped apart by the force, or slammed against walls, or fall to their knees, clutching bleeding eyes, stumps where limbs were.

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Nathlee's scream is furious as she is blasted back further into the cave. Her head cracks against the wall and all she knows is black.

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The Enclave’s sweep through the now-irradiated cave is quick. They collect weapons, armour, strip the Pip-boy from Nathlee's arm, and are gone, leaving bodies to rot.

Or mutate.

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Nathlee wakes a day later. Her head is throbbing, and there's a strange tingle to her skin. She struggles to sit, hand cupping the back of her head. Her hair feels...matted. Sticky. Disgusting. A wash is definitely in order. She won't have herself looking anything less than perfect in front of-

Wait. Why is it so quiet? And where is her- She opens her eyes to inspect her left wrist. Her Pip-boy is no longer sitting there. Nathlee snarls. One of those...jackals, they must've taken it while she was knocked out. She'll deal with them slowly. 

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She struggles to stand, pressing heavily on the cave wall to remain upright, cursing the whole way. How dare they? The Enclave had gone, Nathlee was their victorious saviour, and they turn on her and steal her belongings? She will hunt down every last one of those...creatures, and see them pay. Not the first time she's had to kill a group of raiders. Perhaps the ones that beg her she will allow to live. Maybe missing a few limbs but-

Her thoughts stop as she reaches the main cave section.

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Bodies, limbs, piles of ashes, all litter the floor. No one is alive. No one is left.

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Except Nathlee.

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She stalks around the room, trying to contain her mounting terror. How? How did this happen? There was nothing that could've broken through the cave wall that Nathlee did not prepare for...that she hadn't chosen this specific cave system for. What could they have possibly used?

Nathlee would run through it on her terminal, but that and her entire desk have been reduced to splinters. Her armoury raided, no doubt by the Enclave, picking at the corpse of her headquarters. Her home. They no doubt took her Pip-Boy too, the bastards. Oh, she will teach them the true meaning of fear, of that she has no doubt.

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While Nathlee ponders her revenge, a smell starts to become more noticeable. 

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It is a familiar smell. Something she knows. Something usually associated with closing lungs and blood-

No. 

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Nathlee doesn't do afraid. She gets angry. She gets cold. Mean. She's never afraid

But she cannot deny that the emotion that sends her fleeing to the site of the explosion, out into the dull light of day, to search for the blown apart bomb casing, was something very close to fear. 

There's quite a few casings out there, testament to the amount of tries it took to destroy the wall, but lying on top of the pile is a small green remnant. She picks it up, studying it. On the very edge is a small chip of yellow paint. She doesn't need the rest to know what it was. 

Mini-nuke.

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She stumbles back inside the cave, feet brushing through piles of ash, tripping over bodies, and each time Nathlee holds in a gasp, a scream. Nukes were the Brotherhood's weapons. Nukes were closely guarded...hell, if she'd known there was a supplier out there, she would've taken them all! How did the Enclave get their hands on one? And why use it on her? Either she pissed them off more than she thought possible, or they had a stockpile they didn't mind wasting. Either way, it confirmed for Nathlee that she would track the bastards to their hole and burn them out, one by one if necessary. 

She-

Permalink Mark Unread

Radiation. It was a nuke, and they fired it into a cave, the idiots, and hopefully a few of their own soldiers went down with them.

But that explained the smell, and the tingle on her skin. Why no one who didn't seem too injured wasn't getting back up. It didn't explain why Nathlee wasn't gasping for air, bleeding out of everything and rotting from the inside out. Who survives radiation? Who survives a blow to the back of the head, for that matter. Who-

Nathlee stopped dead in the middle of the cave. Her hands started shaking as she lifted them to eye level. They looked no different, but she knew what they could look like.

What they will look like.

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She was a ghoul. She was turning into a ghoul, becoming a monster-

Becoming one of the doomed creatures. 

Tears began to form on her lashes, but before she could cry, fury bubbled up inside her.

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Nathlee screams. 

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Elsewhere...

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A flash of blue light, and a woman in a black coat steps out into the Wasteland. She frowns, looking around, as if searching for something.

She settles on a direction and moves swiftly in it, crushing anything in her path.

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In the distance is her destination, a small settlement. Nothing much more than a few ramshackle homes, farms and brahmin. Nothing suspicious about it.

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Except the Courser knows what's inside the house in the middle. She's been on a long search that started back in the remains of Boston, but now is finally coming to an end. She is looking forward to returning home with the runaway. 

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A few settlers hail as she approaches, hands hovering over worn-looking weapons.

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The Courser doesn't stray from her path one bit. She barely even notices the weapons. 

These simple fools have nothing to fear from her, anyway. Her target is not some gullible settler, believing an ill-kept pistol will protect them from a trained, perfected Institute Courser. 

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The settlers fall back from her, seemingly moving out of her way. They seemed concerned, though one person dressed as the woman does not seem like a raider attack.

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The house is run down, leaning against the houses either side of it somehow, and there are hundreds of cables spilling out of it.

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The Courser studies the building intently, then smirks. If the runaway was trying to hide, she was doing a terrible job. Makes the Courser's job easier, anyway.

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She walks up to the door, lifts her foot, pulls it back, and then kicks out. 

The door flies off the frame, shattering on something beyond. The Courser does not wait for that, but charges inside, looking around for the synth.

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Thek hears the door shatter upstairs. "No! I'm not done!" She whispers to herself. 

She analyses the broken synth in front of her. Still so much left to be put back together, and no one around knew how to do it right. She couldn't just...leave him!

The man takes her hand between his skeletal ones. "If you have to run, run. I'll be here when you get back." His half-finished mouth curls into a comforting smile. Thek shakes her head. "Thek, you don't know if you can stop a Courser." 

"We'll find out, won't we?" Thek says stubbornly and gets back to reattaching his leg.

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The Courser can hear voices. Coming from below. They knew she was here, so the basement wasn't soundproofed. Means there is no need to attempt secrecy.

The Courser lifts her foot once more, this time aiming for the floor above the voices.

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"Eep!" Thek yelps when a foot comes through her ceiling.

"Go, Thek!" Fredrick says, pushing her away, but Thek just clambers onto the table to shield his body with her own, just in time for debris to start falling.

The Courser is kicking its way through the floor. Rude.

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Once the hole was sufficiently wide enough, the Courser simply falls through, landing easily on her feet.

"T6-59," she says.

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Thek looks up but remains crouched over Fredrick.

"You can wait there, I've got to fix his leg."

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"This is not a negotiation."

The Courser takes out a gun, already set to paralyze, and levels it at the runaway.

She goes to fire but-

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Thek throws her hand out, desperately hoping this works.

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It does.

The Courser can't move.

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Thek peeks out of one eye, then both eyes open hugely.  "Oh. Well."

Fredrick laughs, sounding mostly relieved. "Well then!"

Thek doesn't laugh, but she does grin.

"Apparently my super-hacking covers all synths. You'd think the Institute would make sure their secret police were protected," she says.

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The Courser glares furiously at her.

In all the Courser's time hunting synths, she had never been defeated. Never.

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Thek hops off the table, squinting at the Courser. "Would you mind waiting a few minutes, Fred? I wanna investigate her."

Fredrick waves his hand. "Go right ahead. I'm not going anywhere."

Thek gets a bit closer, wiggling her fingers. It may not actually do anything, but it makes her feel like she's hacking quicker.

"K9-56, huh? Do you think they knew they were giving you a number that sounds like a dog?"

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The Courser continues to glare.

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"K9? Kay-nine? Canine? No?" Thek pouts. "No sense of humour in this one."

Information flies through Thek's brain, but she sees every scrap of it.

"You've taken some time trying to find me. I did my job pretty well, then."

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A slight flinch, like the Courser is fighting back.

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Thek redoubles her control, focusing on keeping K9 rooted to the spot.

"Okay, maaaaaaybe I underestimated how much the Institute programs into you lot."

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Then, through her digging, Thek finds a tiny line of code. Like a glitch in the system, but it feels like-

It feels like warmth?

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K9-56 can't find anyway to get out of T6-59's control. How did the synth become so powerful?

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"Practice," Thek replies.

She ignores the look of scorn the Courser sends her, focused on the tiny line of code. She pulls it gently up through the vicious Institute firewalls, cradling it like a baby bird.

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tiredtiredtiredtiredtiredtiredtired

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"Why?"

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mustbemorethanthismorethanmurdermorethancold

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"They don't like that you question their orders, do they?"

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iwanttobe-

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"Want to be what?"

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"Alive."

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"You are. All of that junk in your head? That's what's keeping you dead. Keeping you pliant. You are alive."

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The Courser's limbs are shaking. Part of her believes she's breaking through the synth's control. 

The other part, growing louder, is sure that it means she's becoming free.

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"You are gonna be amazing. Not just a freed Courser, but a person. A living, whirring person."

Thek tugs the first little bit of light through.

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The Courser's eyes roll into the back of her head.

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"Ah...Thek?" Fredrick's voice is uneasy.

"It's okay, Fred, I got this." Thek pulls out the next little bit.

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The Courser starts seizing violently, her gun clattering to the floor.

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"Thek-" Fred says warningly.

"I can do this!" Thek yells. She tugs through the last little bit, then duplicates it, and shoves it into every dark recess, clearing out violent Institute code with K9's heart.

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K9 stops seizing immediately. She stands stock still. If she were lying down, she would look dead.

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If Thek had breath, she would hold it.

"You've never done that before, how do you know it will work?" Fred whispers.

"...I just knew. Synths aren't born willing slaves. There's always a part of us that wants to be ourselves. That's what the Institute crushes."

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The Courser blinks once, and then one by one, begins testing her limbs. Everything works the same, nothing feels...broken. 

The only thing that's different is- her. She can feel herself, her own thoughts and feelings...

She looks at T6. "You freed me."

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"You were on your way there yourself, I just sped things up." Thek raises a hand, checking through the Courser's systems. "You've lost a few Institute-only bits and bobs, but for the most part you're intact. How do you feel?"

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The Courser checks through her own systems.

"You're right. I can't access the teleport system anymore." Inconvenient. Walking takes far too much time. "I feel the same, but I have no desire to detain you."

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"Do you feel...cold?"

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"I'm a synth. I don't need a regulated body temperature."

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"No, I mean, what you felt before. Feeling cold. Do you feel like that still?"

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K9 thinks. "No. I don't feel cold, or empty."

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Empty. That's a new thought. Perhaps the Coursers feel like husks without that chance to be themselves.

"That's good! We can work on warm later. For now, welcome to life!" Thek grins, and holds out a hand, this time to shake. "I'm Thek."

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K9-56 takes the hand, but frowns. "You already know my name."

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"No, I know your designation. What's your name?"

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"I...do not have one."

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"Nonsense. Every one has a name. I'm Thek, he's Fred-" Fred waves from the table. "-and out in the main street are Bug, Emily, Jason and Frogleg. We didn't ask why Frogleg, we just went with it." 

Thek grimaces. "That reminds me, better tell them to back down." 

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"They were going to try and attack me?"

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"Try had nothing to do with it. They have EMP's."  Thek grabs a nearby radio. "It's okay guys, I hacked her!"

There's a flurry of noise, people jabbering over the top of each other, questions upon questions, but Thek shushes them.

"Later. Just letting you know it's all good."

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"EMP's would take you down too."

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"Mmmm, kinda. You'd be down for longer than me." Thek looks at their joined hands. "You're really hanging in there, huh?"

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"You didn't give me a name yet."

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"Kin usually pick their own names."

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"Kin?"

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"Synths! Kin. My kin. Everyone here picked their own names."

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An entire town of synths and the Institute only knew about Thek. Huh.

K9 ponders for a moment. "Kin."

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"...yeah?"

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"No, I like Kin. For a name. I like the word."

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"Ahhhh..." she looks over at Fred. He shrugs. She shrugs back. 

She turns a huge grin on K9- on Kin. "Okay! Kin it is. Welcome to the family, Kin."

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"Thank you, Thek."

They shake hands.

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Elsewhere...

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“Hold her still,” the bandit orders, laughing.

His friends barely have to move. 

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The ghoul barely stirs, focused as she was on sucking every bit of air from the Jet inhaler. It hadn’t lasted very long, why is it Jet never lasts? Never enough in the capsule. 

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The leader laughs at her struggle. She wasn't a pretty thing, ghouls are horrible to look at, but she was pliable enough. Wasn't fighting back.

Made things easier.

He steps between her legs, her dress already hiked up around her waist.

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"There's none left!" Leena yells, throwing the Jet inhaler at his head.

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"Agh, fuck!" She manages to hit him directly in his eye. "Hold her still. Fuck!"

A little cut bleeds straight into his eye.

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Leena doesn't fight when the bandits pull her arms down, she just huffs grumpily.

"You said you had heaps," she pouts.

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"You're lucky I don't fucking kill you for that," the bandit says. He's wiping blood out of his eye, cursing the whole time.

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"I wouldn't have done it if you gave me the Jet you said you had."

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The bandit grabs her face and forces her to look at him. "What the fuck do you think this is? You think you get to tell us what to do? Look at your fucking situation, zombie. You don't have any power here."

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"I don wan powah, I wan Jeht," Leena says, muffledly.

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The bandit growls, and raises his hand to slap her when-

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There is a loud, terrifying roar.

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Leena giggles. "Oooooooh, that doesn't sound good."

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"What was that?" One of the bandits says, already loosening his grip on Leena.

The lead one scoffs. "Nothin' that can get to us here. S'probably hunting some ferals." 

He steps back between Leena's legs, tugging her closer.

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"You should probably worry about it," Leena says, dreamily.

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"Shut her up." The bandit starts undressing. 

Another puts his hand over her mouth.

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Leena giggles behind it.

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Another roar, and then a wall shatters - the shack they've dragged Leena into cracking apart as a Deathclaw rampages through, bellowing.

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"The fuck is-" is all the lead bandit has time to say before he is picked up and thrown into the wall. The deathclaw grabs the other bandits, ripping them apart, tearing off heads with its teeth.

A few try to escape, running past the creature, but it catches them every time, and blood begins to stain every wall.

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Leena laughs as blood splatters across her, and waves at the bandits as they are pulled apart. It's almost...pretty.

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The last bandit gurgles around a claw through his throat, and dies. The deathclaw huffs, and throws the man to the ground. 

It then turns to look at Leena, growling softly.

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Leena remains lying where she is, but waves cheerily at it. "Hi! Thank you! They lied about the Jet!"

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The deathclaw huffs.

It then picks up a bandit, and stalks off back the way it came, chewing on it like a snack.

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"No, where are you going!? I don't know where I am!" Leena calls after it, pouting. She struggles to sit up, watching as the deathclaw walks away, not even sparing her a backwards glance. 

She pouts. "Rude."

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She slides off the bed, her dress righting itself as she does, and starts going through the bandit's belongings and corpses. Guns, eh. Ammo, worse, food, whatever.

Caps? Okay, she can keep those. But her real goal-

"AHA! Yessssssss," she hisses victoriously, coming up with several inhalers of Jet. A shake of each proves they're all full. She uncaps one and takes a full breath in. The tingling is slight, she doesn't feel it much, but her brain immediately relaxes and her skin stops feeling so tight. "That's better. Okay. Time to get moving."

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She takes the least blood-stained bag and fills it with her new belongings. She swings it on and exits the shack.

"Hmmmm," she says, closing her eyes. She spins on the spot, fingers pointing out. A couple of seconds, and then she stops, and opens her eyes. Empty wasteland stretches out in front of her. "This way." 

She threads her thumbs through the straps of her bag, and sets off.

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Elsewhere...

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"No...no, fuck!" 

Hawke takes another last, desperate look around the room. Clearly a former Institute lab, abandoned when it was clear the Capital wasteland didn't fear them the way they were further up the coast. She'd been raiding them for months, searching them inside and out, tearing them apart for any clue, any sign-

They told her this was it. They'd found him. 

She picks up a terminal and throws it against the wall, howling in fury.

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Hawke takes several minutes to calm down, and once she is, most of the lab is destroyed. Which, she surmises, is fine. Less chance of the Institute finding anything if they return. 

Perhaps she should leave even less.

Half an hour later, she is walking back out into the wasteland, and an explosion rips apart the smelting factory behind her, destroying every last trace of the lab.

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That night finds Hawke in the bar of a nearby town, on her third glass.

A woman in a mismatch of knitted clothing approaches the bar, and sits next to her. Orders the same thing as Hawke, and another for her.

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Hawke catches sight of the lantern tattooed onto the woman's wrist. 

"He wasn't there," she mutters darkly, and throws back the rest of her glass, accepting the new one straight after.

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"I figured, since you're here throwing whisky back like water."

The woman nurses her own glass, looking at Hawke out of the corner of her eye. "We are sorry."

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"Sorry doesn't undo the last year."

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"We know. We are trying. We don't want anyone taken against their will, let alone someone with a life."

The woman takes a sip from her glass, pursing her lips afterwards, like the taste was wrong. Not a drinker, then. "We just seem to always be a few steps behind."

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"Please, by all means, give me more excuses. That will soothe the pain of hunting my husband's kidnappers for a whole fucking year."

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"Hawke, we are giving you every bit of information we get. We swear."

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"Every time I turn up to one of these places, it's been abandoned for months. Months. Nothing. No sign." Hawke drains the entire glass of whisky.

"You're right. They are a few steps ahead. So far ahead, you're not even in the same race anymore."

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"That's true. You're exactly right. We need more informants in places the Institute can't touch."

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Hawke scoffs. "No shit."

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The woman takes in a breath. What she's been told to ask will not be easy, and she's more than aware of Hawke's quick temper.

"The thing is, for us to remain hidden, to keep the others in our care safe, we can't recruit. Not without exposing ourselves. But, there are people out there who align with us, and we know they can be trusted. People with contacts in places with information we couldn't get otherwise."

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"And where are these magical people?"

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The woman swallows nervously, and drinks a little more of her whisky.

"Well, you are a former Paladin, are you not?"

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Hawke goes very still. 

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And then the glass in her hand shatters. 

She draws a knife, and holds it to the Railroader's neck, her other hand keeps her head still. 

"You want me, me, to go back to those soulless fucks, and beg for my position back? You want me to go crawling back on my belly to the people who murdered my sister and sent my brothers far enough away that I cannot reach them?"

She presses the knife into the woman's neck. Blood starts to bead along it. "The same people who would've killed my husband if they'd found out what he was?"

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The woman is trembling, her heart thumping. She's never been so scared for her life, but oddly enough it makes her mind clearer. 

"Yes. And you know we wouldn't if it wasn't necessary. We're falling too far behind. We don't get new intel from people who can track the Institute, we're sunk. You may as well say goodbye to Anders forever, because we lose his trail, he's gone."

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Hawke growls in the back of her throat, but takes the knife away, stowing it back in its sheathe.

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The bartender lowers his shotgun from Hawke's head. "You two wanna brawl, take it outside."

He replaces the shotgun below the bar. "You owe me for that glass, too."

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Hawke throws caps onto the bar, snarling. 

After a moment, her anger seems less like a wildfire, and more...simmering. She lets herself relax a little. The Railroader has a point. 

"I thought the only way I'd go back is with a Fatman."

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"Maybe not yet, but when the time comes, we'll happily help with that."

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"Huh." Hawke almost laughs. 

She stands, readjusts her armour, and prepares to head out the door.

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"Wait, where are you going?" The woman stands, half moving to follow her.

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"Long way to the Citadel from here. I'd better get started."

Hawke goes to leave, stops, looks back. "I'll send word once I know anything. We'll set up drops later. Thanks. For everything else. But fuck you for this."

And then she's out the door, heading into the waste.

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Days later, Hawke presses the intercom on the great doors of the Citadel, fighting down bile.

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"Yes?" A male voice sounds.

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"It's Paladin Hawke. I've come home."

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The voice chuckles. "Finally! You've come to your senses?"

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"Completely. You'll find me a changed woman."

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"Well, we won't deny we could use your help. Come on in, Elder Lyons will want to welcome you home."

The great doors open.

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Hawke swallows fury, bile, pain, fear, regret-

And walks in.

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In my heart I have but one desire,

And that one is you.

No other will do.