I promised I'd start posting it once I had 5k words, so here it is!

This is my NaNoWriMo '09 entry. This means that there may not be some proofreading done, though I'll try to at least spell things correctly and give everything a once-over before I post it.

The story is based on the small town I've been building for my Equipment mod. Yeah, it sounds like a bizarre basis for a novel-length story, but this is more about how that town came to be what it is. This will be the history of the town from many different perspectives. I got the idea for this when, after realizing I was three days late in starting my NaNo and had nothing at all prepared, I started casting about all of my current projects for inspiration. I've yet to add all the NPCs to my town and so I thought it would be intreesting to write their stories.

As I post bits, I'm going to be giving word-counts for each part I post. It'll make it easier for me to keep track of it. I'll be editing this post to give my total word count.

So now with all that out of the way, onto the story!

~

Finding Sanctuary
(28,366 words)

~

Prologue

Finding Sanctuary wasn't all that difficult. The small settlement occupied the edge of one of the many cliffs in the area around Vault 87 and was easily seen from a distance. From the far-seeing crows nests to the old buildings, it stood out among the rocky outcroppings that marked the area.

Sometimes, Sanctuary found you. The small population that made that cliff their home would send out what they called Search Parties. These small groups, usually only two to three people who were good at stealth to minimize detection, would scour the rocky area around the irradiated entrance to the old Vault and the nearby child-city of Lamplight Caverns. They looked for those who needed Sanctuary the most.

Sanctuary itself wasn't terribly remarkable. It consisted of a couple pre-war buildings, a small industrial area, and several metal shacks that perched among the rocky land. Like most small settlements, it had jury-rigged solutions to make up for space constraints. There were also many sniper nests dotted about the small town, sentries usually keeping watch from them to protect their Sanctuary from harm.

The settlement itself, makeup and structure, wasn't what made Sanctuary what it was. It was the people, those who made it their home, who had found it or it found them. Those who lived in Sanctuary were the heart and soul of the settlement. Without them, there would be no Sanctuary. No need for the town itself or for the purpose it existed for.

It was a place one rarely saw humans. To date, only two lived within the settlement, and they were unusual in and of themselves. In a way, Sanctuary was much like Underworld, the city of Ghouls, but only because it was a home for those cast away by society, those who couldn't live with the humans. Indeed, a small portion of the population was made up of Ghouls.

The real need for Sanctuary, for its very reason, its very existence, was that larger portion of its population. There was no mere coincidence that the small settlement perched on a cliff top near Vault 87 and there was a very important reason the Search Parties went out into the barren, rocky land, looking for those who needed Sanctuary the most.

It was always thought that those who were unfortunate enough to end up in the vats of Vault 87 very rarely survived with their minds intact. For the most part, this was true, but there was that small number, much larger than anyone except those living in Sanctuary knew. For them, the settlement was their very own Sanctuary. The first of those who founded Sanctuary named it such because that's what its purpose was, the reason why it was. It was their very own safe haven, the one place they were greeted with open arms.

That large part of the population, neither human nor Ghoul, were these survivors, the ones who kept their humanity, kept a small scrap of their old selves. Some kept more than others, but all those who found Sanctuary did not fight amongst each other. They did not fight outsiders. The only time they participated in any form of violence was to protect their Sanctuary. Thus, despite its occupants, despite what the Wasteland would think of such a place, it was a place of peace and understanding.

This beacon of hope was sometimes the only saving grace for those who finally found their way to Sanctuary. Sometimes, the Search Parties brought them in, confused and afraid after escaping the dark, rusted-out old Vault. Others found their own way to Sanctuary through rumor, through passing mentions of such a place existing. There were those who found Sanctuary only to leave, to find their brothers and sisters throughout the Wasteland and help them, guide them towards that which they needed most--a place to belong.

Every last inhabitant of Sanctuary had their own story, their own tale to tell and sometimes, either in the confines of the local bar, or in the small tea room, where people went to find some relief from the blazing sun during the day, you could listen to their stories, hear their tales. Sanctuary was a place full of stories, full of tales of wild adventures, full of great exaggerations told by older citizens of how they were heros in their own minds. Many were happy to share their own story, how they found Sanctuary, and during those hot days when there was nothing better to do, you could sit back, share a cool drink, and listen to their stories.

Finding Sanctuary was a journey, was an origin, was a destination, was a home, and was a safe haven. Everyone who found Sanctuary had their story to tell if one was willing to listen. These are their stories.

(796 words)

Chapter 1: A Long, Hard Road

Dante had been complaining for days and Razor was about an eye-twitch from just leaving the Ghoul behind. At least, that's what he kept threatening that's what he was going to do. The truth of the matter was he could no more leave his friend behind than he could kill him.

The strange pair had been friends for what seemed like forever to Razor, but then, some days his memory wasn't so great. It wasn't that he forgot things, but anything past twenty years back started getting a little fuzzy. At least he was able to remember that far into the past. He knew that some barely could remember their own names for even a month. The thought always made him shudder a little in both horror and revulsion.

Now, it wasn't that he found the others revolting themselves so much as it was their condition that made his skin crawl. It was like how Dante thought of the Ferals. It always lingered there in the back of his mind, a fear that if he ever let go of his control too far, he'd never be able to return.

Heavy footsteps finally ceased as the lighter ones following them caught up and Dante rested a hand against one thick, burly arm to hold himself up, panting from the exertion. Ghouls tended not to sweat--most didn't have enough epidermis for that--so overheating could be a problem. Razor always forgot this and had to be reminded that his smaller companion wasn't as heat-resistant as he was.

"Sorry," he told the Ghoul, his voice loud and rough as always, lacking much in the way of inflection, but Dante had known him long enough that he could hear the apologetic undercurrent to it that meant Razor really was sorry. "It's just.. we're almost there!" It was plainly obvious that he was absolutely elated that they neared the end of their long journey.

"Yeah, yeah, kid. I know," Dante finally replied, waving his friend off as he balanced himself on his own feet again. He always called Razor "kid" which, if one didn't know the pair, would seem very odd since that "kid" was nearly twice as tall as the Ghoul. The fact of the matter was, Dante had been alive since before the war, when the world wasn't so screwed up and broken. He was one of the lucky ones that never aged. The super mutant was simply younger than he was, by at least a hundred and fifty years, they guessed. Even at the ripe old age of.. around fifty, Dante still called him "kid" and probably would keep doing so even when he was a hundred years old.

By now, Razor was used to it and made no comment. When they first started traveling together, he would complain about the endearing term Dante always used when speaking to him, but the Ghoul was extremely stubborn. There was also the fact that he was likely three-times the mutant's age. He earned the right to call other people "kid" when they were so much younger than he.

Most people would still probably be put out, but for a super mutant, Razor was incredibly easy-going and had a laid-back attitude about most things. Sure, he got excited about some things, like he was at the present, and he'd get mad sometimes, like if anyone tried to hurt his friend, but it was hard to not get along with him. In point of fact, this expedition had been Razor's plan to begin with.

At first, his Ghoul friend didn't understand why this was all so important to the mutant. It had taken months of coaxing and explanation for him to make Dante understand. "Ghouls have a home, always," he'd said, "We don't got no home." By "we" he'd meant that incredibly small portion of his kind that weren't mindless killers. They had met a scant few in their travels, but the fact was they did exist and none of them really had a place that they were welcome. Even Underworld wasn't quite that forgiving.

Now here they were, on some blasted dirty, dusty road somewhere in the godforsaken hellhole that was the desert of the western DC Wasteland. Barely anything lived out here and it was for that reason alone that it was a good place to start.The dry, arid, hot climate didn't bother mutants much at all and they could stand out in the hot sun for hours on end without any discomfort whatsoever.

Of course, Dante wasn't nearly as robust--he was still human, after all, a point that Razor often made which irritated the Ghoul to no end--and so it was a very uncomfortable place for him to be, but once they got to their destination, then things should be better. At least, that's what they were hoping. Truth of the matter was, they didn't have all that much of a grand plan and were going off some rather dubious memories Razor had of the place they were heading.

Finally finding a good place to stop in the shade of a massive boulder, Razor set their travel supplies down and Dante immediately dug out the water and drank greedily. That was one of the benefits to having a mutant travel companion: they could carry all of the stuff and not be the least bit bothered by the extra weight. Even with his minigun, both their travel supplies, the food rations (for when things got bad with hunting), and a small tent, Razor didn't really act like he was carrying anything at all.

Minigun out and held in both hands (more to stabilize it for better aiming than actually needing both hands to carry its weight), Razor took first watch as his friend collapsed a little dramatically into the very welcomed shade. Razor stood outside the shade, because the heat didn't bother him, but also because he didn't want to have his eyes get used to the shade and make it harder to see out into the sun's glare. There were very few things out here that might attack the pair, but it was better safe than sorry.

Granted, he always took first watch. Super mutants don't need all that much sleep and he usually went many days before he'd finally give up on it and get a few hours of shut-eye. Razor probably slept more than he really needed, but Dante tended to get uneasy if it had been a week or more.

"Here," the Ghoul's scratchy voice said as he handed his friend a bottle of water. Razor let go of the minigun with one hand and took the proffered water with a small thanks. Drinking, as much the same as eating, was usually done all in one go for him, but in this heat, he could see the good sense in drinking more water than he normally would. It wasn't like they'd run out. Both of them were resistant to radiation and disease so they could drink whatever nasty, infested water they came across. It wasn't the most tasty of things, but it was better than dying of thirst.

The water was cloudy with dirt and no doubt read in the double digits of CPM considering they'd gotten it from a "hot spot", but water is water and Razor gulped it down, not wasting a drop. The empty bottle was passed back and Dante went about setting up the small tent, which really, only he used. Razor was perfectly fine with sleeping on the ground. He always said it didn't matter all that much because it was just as comfortable as sleeping on anything else. It wasn't like there were any beds that came in his size.

Crawling into the small enclosure once it was erected, Dante told his friend, "Wake me in a few hours. We can leave once the sun sets. Be nice to get out of this blasted heat for a while." Not that the incredibly cold nights were any better, but it was easier to stay warm than stay cool, even for Dante. Razor was his own portable blast-furnace anyway, the mutant always radiating far too much heat than the Ghoul thought was actually healthy.

Traveling at night was usually much more dangerous than during the day, but things that would attack even a small group of humans tended to steer clear of even a lone super mutant, and this was added to the fact that he was with a Ghoul. Most critters that would come after two people decided it wasn't worth the danger. They weren't close enough to Deathclaw territory to warrant much fear of encountering any of those.

Normally the dark was also a contributing factor to the dangers of the night, but Razor had excellent night vision due to his enhanced senses. Dante's night vision wasn't all that bad, but nowhere near as good as his friend's. His much larger companion was perfectly comfortable with traveling at night, which said something, because he was always over-protective of Dante.

Laying in his tent, sleep wasn't coming easily to the Ghoul, his mind occupied with their current journey. If it was too dangerous, Razor wouldn't have proposed it in the first place and so while he tended to complain about it, he knew that his friend wasn't going to get them into a situation they couldn't handle. He was still a bit wary on just where they were going, however, because this was a memory that, for Razor, was sort of vague and blurry. Then again, if the mutant trusted the half-remembered memory enough that he thought this was a good idea, it was probably fine.

Dante always used this reasoning when he thought Razor was finally going to lead them into something awful with his crazy, grand ideas. They always came out fine, though. Sure, sometimes things could get a little hairy, but it was never anything the duo couldn't handle and they'd been doing this for years.

Staring at the roof of the tent, Dante could still remember, still see the first time he'd met Razor all those years ago. The super mutant had been trying to get into Underworld at the time and was very pointedly being told to get lost by Willow. It had been happenstance that Dante had been walking out of Museum Station at that precise moment. Despite not even knowing the guy, he decided to vouch for him and together they'd went into Underworld. It wasn't much longer after that that they became friends and decided to stick together.

They were both drifters by nature, unable to stay in any one place too long. They had forged an almost instant and easy friendship on this point alone and after time realized they worked well as a team. Over the years though, they'd both begun getting weary of all the travel, having no real place to go home to. Dante had Underworld, but despite vouching for Razor that day, and the mutant behaving himself the entire time, he wasn't allowed back and Dante wasn't about to give him the slip just for comfort's sake.

That's why they were out in the middle of nowhere now. Razor remembered a small clutch of buildings nestled on a cliff overlooking the expanse of land around Vault 87. By his recollection, they were deserted, not even inhabited by Raiders. He'd said that it was where he had hidden after getting out of the vault. Razor had been smart enough and a good enough faker to play along and so escaping, for him, hadn't been all that difficult. Sometimes the smarter ones had trouble getting away, and sometimes they never did get away, but every now and then one would get out.

Over the years, Dante had learned far more about super mutants than he'd ever really wanted to know and yet it was fascinating to hear his friend talk about it. There were the ones who kept their minds mostly intact, but lost their long-term memory. Razor was one of these, though he was far from a genius. He was just average by Wasteland standards, but for a mutant, he could be considered a genius. Then there were the ones who lost most of their minds, but weren't violent despite the genetic disposition towards violent behavior. They'd met a few of these over the years. Those could usually blend in with groups long enough to rest and eat, but had to move on fairly quickly before they were found out.

Ones like Razor were the most rare of the two. Though he did know of others like himself, all of them travelers, wanderers without a home. That was why he got this whole idea in the first place. They'd been talking about finding somewhere safe to dig in for a while and take a break from the adventuring lifestyle for years now and Razor had cooked up this whole idea. A town for mutant mutants. A home for those who had none, who could never find somewhere that would accept them.

It was an awfully noble thing, Dante had thought at the time, for someone like Razor to do. Usually, his friend only thought of big schemes in the sense that the two of them would have a grand adventure, not big schemes that included many other people, especially nothing of this sort. After a while, he'd began to understand why, though.

Razor was a nice guy, easy to like, and got along with anyone who gave him the chance. He was also good at pitching ideas to people, getting them interested in things. The same talents that had gotten him out of Vault 87 alive were those that would make him a decent leader. If not a leader, at least someone who could convince others like him that this was a good idea.

First, though, they needed to check the site. Dante had been very firm about this point. Generally he would follow Razor's schemes with little apprehension, but this time he wanted to be sure of things. He didn't want his friend to get everyone excited about this and it turn out to just be a pipe dream. If the group of buildings was still there, and still in the condition Razor remembered, then they'd continue with the plan.

~

Hours later, the sun finally tumbled off the edge of the world into its slumber and Dante was being woken by the sound of his own name. It felt like he'd only just fallen asleep and he very nearly told Razor to let him have a couple more hours, but now that he was awake, he knew sleep wouldn't be easy to regain. Especially not when Razor was practically vibrating with nervous excitement and all but actually dragging him out of the tent.

A meal was had in relative silence--and Dante could never figure out how his friend managed to find and kill wild animals on his watch without waking the Ghoul up--and they packed up camp fairly quickly. setting off once more. Neither of them were much into talking for the sake of talking, only speaking when things need said. That wasn't to say they weren't companionable, but on the road, you needed to stay alert to your surroundings.

The going was much easier now and Dante was thankful for the break. Now he didn't feel like he was being baked and if a cold draft went up his spine to make him shiver, he just walked a little closer to his companion which sorted the warmth issues pretty fast. Usually, keeping warm was the hard part for Ghouls, especially those who didn't have a whole lot of skin left, but Dante didn't mind the cold too much. He had plenty of clothing to layer on and peel off as needed, plus he had his very own portable, walking space heater.

Both men had their weapons out, though they were both obviously relaxed. Razor was leisurely carrying his minigun in one hand, letting it dangle at his side as he walked along. Dante's scoped assault rifle was held ready, but at rest, pointing at the ground. Either of them could be ready for combat in the blink of an eye, but holding your weapon at the alert constantly made your arms tired after a while. Or, at least it made Dante's arms tired. He wasn't sure why his friend seemed to indulge in a little relaxation, but then, why wouldn't he? He was just as entitled to relax as anybody else.

It had always been Razor's idea that he would carry all of their gear so that Dante could be quicker and more agile if they got into combat with anything. Miniguns and running around tended to not mix all that well anyway, plus the weight never seemed to bother him. All he'd allowed Dante to carry was his rucksack full of his personal items. Otherwise, it went into the larger packs that hung from the minigun's backpack. Food and water were put in lower-hanging packs so Dante could get to them and distribute as needed.

Though he hated being reminded of just what he was, Razor was willing to admit to the advantages of his form. He didn't mind being loaded down like a pack Brahmin, because it was easy for him to carry all of that weight and it would tire Dante out too fast if he had to carry much of it. The simple fact of the matter was that they could travel faster and for longer distances if the mutant carried everything.

Of course, in the beginning this had been a point of some argument between the two until Dante understood the reasoning behind it. At first, he'd felt Razor was being that way because he didn't think Dante could do it. It took a while to get into his stubborn head that the mutant did it because it was the most economical solution, and not that he considered Dante weak. If there was one thing Razor was really good at, it was facing the facts, accepting the fact that he was a mutant and could carry everything without much issue and accepting the fact that he was a bit slow moving anyway and that Dante would be better off unencumbered.

Now they both knew their roles in their little team. The Ghoul would take point, scout ahead, keep watch of their back trail, and make sure their front trail was clear of both hostiles and threats, either to their safety, or to their continued journey, keeping watch for obstacles that needed circumvented, or uneven terrain. He did all the busy work while Razor did all the heavy lifting.

That wasn't to say that Razor couldn't do the things that Dante did. He was the one who planned out their journey and their supply stock, kept track of the map and navigation. This was especially the case when they were in hostile territory, where they knew that something might actually come after them and Dante needed to be more alert. Razor wasn't stupid, far from it, but he had to face the facts and do what he was best at. They both used their personal strengths to add to their little team. Dante was an excellent tracker and Razor was good at navigation and lifting heavy things.

Though at night, this was slightly off-balance. Razor had the superior night vision, and so he had to keep lookout more than he usually did. Since they were in fairly safe and even territory though, this wasn't as big a deal. The worst they'd come across would be the odd Raider group off their own track, or super mutants which left the two of them alone anyway.

Pulling out the map, Razor's green, slit-pupiled gaze went over the paper. Hopefully, they'd reach their destination by the following day. His stomach was doing nervous, yet excited little flip flops and he was chomping at the bit to get there faster, but didn't push it too hard. He could easily out-pace Dante if he was really in a hurry, his long stride capable of moving him along fast enough that his friend would have to jog to keep up.

He was so used to taking small steps for having traveled with a human so long that it no-longer bothered him as it once did, but sometimes, like at the present moment, he really wanted to get a move on. Once, and only once, did he convince Dante to let him carry the Ghoul so they could travel a well-known route faster. That was the first and last time because it made Dante feel absolutely ridiculous and it was slightly embarrassing, especially if they came upon anyone else.

~

As the sun slowly woke up, bathing the dusty land in the first rays of morning, they could see the cliffs off in the distance. They'd just passed Little Lamplight (and had taken a route around the child-city if only to save themselves from coming across a scav team) and were getting closer to the Vault. They had to make a hard left, off the road, becuse there was no easy way up the cliffs once you were down in the basin where Vault 87 rested, The cliffs overlooked that entire area.

From this distance, they couldn't really see their destination. Razor had said the standing buildings were back from the cliff side a ways and the only building close to the cliff wasn't very tall. Despite this, Dante thought he might have seen a flash of reflection from the general area Razor had pointed to, but it could just be a trick of the morning light.

Once they reached the area where the land began sloping upward atop the cliffs, they made camp in another rock-made shadow that was by a sad little irradiated pool of water. This was good because they could fill their bottles and drink as much as they liked. Plus they could both bathe, or at least make an attempt at bathing. Some of the water could get you dirtier than you went in, but if you were willing to get muddy and lay in the sun, you could get the worst of it off when you dried. Having actual dirt on you was sometimes preferable than the stink of an unwashed body. You got dirty out in the Wasteland anyway, the least you could do for yourself and your travel companions was not stink.

Neither of them were put off too much if the other started getting a bit ripe, though. When you traveled with someone as long as they had, you'd get used to it, especially when there was little soap to be found anyway. As a Ghoul, Dante was going to have his own special aroma anyway and sometimes he felt bad for it because Razor had a very keen sense of smell, but it never came up. At least they'd bought some actual soap to wash with from Crazy Wolfgang the last time they'd seen the eccentric caravaner.

They took turns, one keeping watch while the other scrubbed as best they could. This little spring was a little clearer than most puddles though, so it wasn't as bad and a mud-bath wouldn't be required. Dante washed off a bit of his leathery skin--sometimes it just came off and there was little you could do about it--but wasn't bad off for it. Not only did he not age, but he was also lucky in that he didn't ooze either. If he washed some skin off, it'd just be raw and sore for a few days in that area and he was so used to his condition that he barely noticed.

After bathing, they both set about doing the best they could in washing their clothing. This process was also a luxury as most of the time, you just went by without washing everything, but both men had made enough caps over the years that they could afford the extra soap and Abraxo to keep relatively clean. It wasn't like the extra burden mattered much.

Both opted for the sun-dry method, though. Dante was feeling much better and since they were close to water and precious shade, he didn't mind basking in the sun for a while to let himself dry off. It was almost a luxury. When you practically live in someone else's pockets for as long as they'd been working together, you pretty much lost all concept of modesty and so wandering around naked, waiting to dry, wasn't even something either thought about. Neither of them were modest enough to worry about passerby seeing them either: it wasn't like either were much to be looking at in the first place.

Dante wasn't too bad for a Ghoul. He had more skin than most and was mostly in the red-to-yellow range as far as color goes. Still, he was a Ghoul and only other Ghouls weren't totally put off by that. It wasn't something he thought much about anymore.

As far as super mutants go, Razor was utterly average. In a crowd of mutants, you'd never be able to pick him out unless you knew him personally. Thus, he was stocky, muscular, and downright ugly. His face had the typical fixed grimace most had, though he'd been working over the years to get more flexibility into his facial muscles and so he could get a general idea across expression-wise.

As two naked, ugly guys laying out on a rock, sun-bathing, they certainly weren't afraid of anyone oogling. To be quite honest, either of them would have welcomed oogling, because of the simple fact they didn't get it. Dante could remember when he was still a normal smoothskinned human and so he could remember a time when he had modesty and when girls would wink at him. His friend, however, had no such recollections. His long-term memory had been destroyed completely; he didn't even have vague flashbacks of his previous life, no matter how hard he tried to remember. It had been so long ago for Dante and Razor simply couldn't remember, so neither of them missed it.

On the rocks beside them and nearby they had draqed their clothing to likewise dry in the hot sun. Clothing just wasn't comfortable when put on wet or even damp. Dante decided to get a few hours of sleep while they waited and if there were few things that would attack a super mutant and a Ghoul, there were even fewer that would attack a naked super mutant with a minigun.

~

The small cluster of buildings was only a couple hours walk from where they'd made camp and so along with the time spent bathing, waiting for clothing to dry, and Dante getting some sleep, they arrived a few hours before dusk.This was a good thing because coming upon the site while able to actually properly see it had a much greater impact.

"Well, would you look at that," Dante said, stopping to admire the buildings from afar. "Just how you remembered?"

Doing his level best to grin, Razor nodded, "Yes, pretty much exactly." He was extremely happy to see that his memory wasn't a total write-off. The small, almost neighborhood-like group of buildings was just what he'd been picturing in his mind.

There were two row-type houses, others than likely stood beside them long since gone, both in decent condition with only a few minor holes and busted windows. At the end of the little lane was a very small industrial complex that seemed to snake around behind the other two buildings. The little industrial area seemed to have a closed-in parking lot from what they could see from afar. More importantly, there was light coming from inside the second building, meaning there was working electricity. This begged the question: who was already here.

The last Razor remembered of this place, it had been completely deserted, though there had been a few lights on inside the buildings, but he didn't remember the small glow coming from the storefront. "Someone's here," he warned his friend and Dante tensed up beside him. Looking at each other they both had the same thought. Together, they started towards the lit-up windows.

They needn't have worried, for what they found was something that they'd thought of before setting out to find the place again: someone besides Razor had sought refuge here. The light ended up coming from a small desk lamp and there was a mutant sitting on the floor right inside the building, looking confused and dazed. He looked up at the duo as they came into the room and worked his mouth silently for a moment before finally managing to spit the words out, "Who are you?"

(4831 words)

Wow, I actually read that. Excellent job, I hope to read more.

Picturing a ghoul and a Super Mutant bathing together gave me the most disgusting image, and the best idea for a fanfic ever.

Thank you I'll be writing, hopefully, all of chapter 2 tonight. If I can get another 5k words, I'll be 1/5th of the way done and that's a nice place to be by the 5th.

Fiiiiiives...




Hey, I never said they were pretty! I'm really curious about your fanfic idea, though. I'd love to hear it, or hell, read it.

Chapter 2: Awake

There was steady drip drip drip from somewhere in the near distance, but the sound echoed oddly off the metal walls, making it difficult to tell its source. It also wasn't immediately clear if the dripping was that of water or of something more unsavory. The air stank of rust and chemicals, of the stink of human mortality and many unwashed persons crowded into a small space. It was cold, dank, dark, and desolate.

Neither the sound, nor the smell, nor the climate, nor anything really penetrated the searing agony and crippling terror of his own personal Hell. All he knew was the pain, the roar of unheard sounds in his ears, the horrific chaos that seemed to close around him and was absolute. It had no beginning and it seemed as if it would have no end. Yet, despite this, he hung on, clung to what was left of his ever-shrinking mind. There was something important he had to do, some reason why he forced himself beyond it all, but he couldn't remember what it was. All he knew was the pain and that he had to hang on.. just a bit longer.

It was always just a bit longer. As he slipped further and further into the shock of it all, that repeated inside what made up his world, echoing off the chaos around him: Just a little longer. A mantra that seemed to be the only thing solid, the only thing he knew to be true: I can do this. I just need to hang on a bit longer. Everything that was left behind in the storm of his mind anchored itself to those words.

What went on outside his mind became distant, a far off echo of a memory that he might have once had. There was the knowledge of what was happening, feeling as if he was being ripped apart from the inside out, feeling as if his own skin was closing in around him tightly, but it didn't pierce him anymore and it couldn't hurt him. It had already taken so much from him, but now he was safe; he had a barrier against it, walled off inside his own head, in his own little safe haven.

He didn't have much left and he knew this, somehow. What he did have, though, he protected, built walls around it, saved it from the agony and terror that was the chaos outside that eye of the storm. It couldn't last forever and he knew this, that eventually.. it would cease and he could be free of it.

Just a little bit longer...

The end of it came and went, time passed by without him knowing it, so completely had he walled himself off from the world. Things happened outside that little garden of peace, but they never breached the high, foreboding walls. Days came and went, but it felt like both an eternity and a sliver of a second to him. He was just happy that the storm had passed, that there was no longer the creak and groan of those protective barriers holding back the torture.

It couldn't last, though, and he knew that he had to leave. Something out there was waiting for him; whatever was left of him wanted him back, and he knew he had to return. His little haven of peace couldn't go on forever or it would eventually crumble from disuse. What little he'd managed to save would fade with time without the lifeblood of his mind, without the outside world to feed and nurture it. Flowers cannot bloom without the sun.

Waking up was extremely hard. Those very walls that had protected him now stood in his way, fighting against him as hard as they'd fought the storm to save him. It was second, days, years, eons, before he felt the tiniest crack in the well-fortified barriers. The tiniest of rays of sunlight filtered in and now he could see that something on the other side fought back as hard as he did, both trying to come to some sort of resolution. They both fed the walls without realizing it.

As soon as they knew what it was they were doing to each other, the battle ceased, the game of tug-of-war ended at a stalemate. Now both sides sought each other out, tearing down the walls of their own making and embracing each other in the space between, reuniting themselves and becoming a whole being once more. This reconstitution was in the blink of an eye, a flash of light, and yet seemed to take forever. Inside the mind, time was a very relative thing.

He didn't fully awaken until three days later.

Though little time had passed, much had changed. That part of him that he'd left behind was almost alien to him and things were all out of sorts. He felt confusion and fear then, unable to cope with what had changed. Still, he managed to go on. This war wasn't over yet and there were still battles to fight, foes to face and conquer. Defeat was not an option.

The Hell outside of him was bad, but it was nowhere near what the maelstrom had been. This, he could handle. He felt as if he shouldn't be capable of dealing with it, but for some reason all the blood, the stink of decay and suffering, it all didn't bother him as he thought it should. His body, the rest of his mind, had gone on without him, after all, and had already became acclimated to this morbid climate.

It felt like days as he walked the rusty, metal hallways. He eventually found the dripping and realized it was blood. Every corner he turned seemed to present him with more and more gruesome sights. Still he continued on, knowing deep inside of him that there was more than this, that the sunlight he sought was still waiting for him.

It took him a week. A week of confusion. A week of fear. A week of working hard at not being caught, playing dumb and acting as if he simply had no idea what he was doing and needed guidance. Somehow he knew this to be the only way to freedom. That which was left behind had already grown complacent, but now that he was whole, it was time to leave, and he had the key to that door, if only he could find it.

That made the sunlight all the more beautiful once he found it. The stark contrast between the rusty, disgusting underground and the bright, dusty and breezy outside, was nearly a shock in itself. It was a searing, blinding white.. it reminded him of the agony and yet this felt good and he embraced it happily.

His mind still needed time to heal though, and he knew this. He'd not had time to let it work itself out while he sought the sunlight. Now that he'd found it, he needed to find a safe place within it so that the internal reconstruction could begin. Around these others who had lost their minds it wasn't safe, it would never be safe, not for him. He had to run away.

It would have been easier had he simply gone around the cliffs, knowing somewhere in the jumble of his mind that the basin spilled out into the wasteland beyond, but there was an urgency crawling up on him. Something inside him knew that he needed to find safety sooner rather than later, and so he climbed.

It wasn't easy, nor was it any fun, and he'd fallen more than a few times, but finally he reached the top of the cliff. Taking a moment to rest in relief, he looked back over the basin, back to where he'd come from. He was tired and hungry, incredibly thirsty, but never could he remember feeling so good as he did right then, looking back at the prison he'd escaped, knowing he was free.

There were several buildings and within, he sought water first and foremost, finding working sinks in a derelict bathroom in one of the standing buildings up on the cliff top. There wasn't much light inside and when he found a small lamp, he took it with him to plug in wherever he decided to rest.

The smoky, permanently fogged up windows let the glow of daylight in while his lamp fought off the darkness indoors. It was a nice compromise, even when the sun went down, because he could still see the moonlight. Resting against a wall, his back to the windows, he finally sought blissful sleep. The danger was over, but the journey had only just begun.

Sometime later he woke, hungry and alone. For a brief moment, this startled him, because the day before he'd been anything but alone. Then everything came trickling back to him, memories of the search, memories of the pain. He was whole again and now he needed to figure out just what that meant.

First though, he needed food. This wasn't much of a worry since a small family of Molerats had taken up refuge in the little tangle of buildings back behind the one he'd slept in where there was a small, dead-ended alleyway. He only took one of them and left the others. They weren't smart enough creatures to move their nests if they were disturbed, so he was sure they'd be there the next time he was hungry again.

Since part of him had already became used to it, he was able to eat the dead animal raw, blood, organs, and all. It didn't really bother him and he felt much better after he completed his gory meal. It didn't keep him from cleaning up the scraps and burying them nearby, then seeking out a little pool not to far off behind the buildings to wash up in, things that a week ago he probably wouldn't have done.

The little storefront with its smokey windows became his temporary home. It kept him safe from the outside and the building still had doors, so he could lock himself inside and be safe from enemies as well, not that there was much out here that could harm him. He'd made it out wearing a good, sturdy set of scrap-made armor, a super-sledge, a hunting rifle along with some ammo, and a combat knife which he'd used to butcher the Molerat. Even what had been left of him knew to get decent gear at least.

Little things were trickling back to him now, some like memories, other things he just seemed to know somehow. His mind was settling now that he was safe, that the danger had passed and he had time to let everything truly heal. It was sort of like learning, except the new information came from somewhere within instead of the outside world.

He knew what he was now and what had happened to him. Once, he'd been human, and now he was this. It bothered him as the pieces fit together and he realized more and more what had actually happened to him, but there was one small mercy: he couldn't remember himself from before. He felt sure that if he could remember that, if he knew who he had been, that he'd miss it and it would hurt him. As it was, from his own point of view, he'd not actually lost anything. Not anything he could remember, at least.

The next few days were spent thinking, mostly. Long moments of introspection lasted well into the night and then he'd sleep, only to begin anew the next day. Inside himself, he was starting to feel better and better, but now a new problem was presenting itself: He was lonely.

As he recalled more of the knowledge that was hidden away in the corners of his mind, he knew that before, he must have been around other humans, because he couldn't recall ever feeling the crushing loneliness he was feeling now. There wasn't any specific memories that he could come up with, but the feeling wasn't one that he immediately recognized, not the same as fear, anger, happiness, relief. All of those had been easy to identify. The loneliness had taken longer for him to pick out just what it was that he felt.

For that, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Things he did know told him that he shouldn't seek out humans, that he'd just end up dead if he tried. He also knew he couldn't go back to the others because they'd know something was different about him, they'd know there was something "wrong" with him. There was also the simple fact that he had no idea how he was going to relate to anyone if he did find someone to talk to. His own name was a mystery to him.

Thus when a few days later two others found him in his safe hideaway, he had no clue what he was supposed to do at first. He'd just stared at them and they'd stared right back, the silence going of for a few seconds between the three of them. Finally, he decided to say something which had taken a few abortive tries for him to actually manage to do. "Who are you?" he asked, clear confusion and almost fear in his voice.

Honestly, he was afraid of them. Despite knowing he wanted contact, that he didn't want to be alone, now that there were others, he was afraid because he hadn't planned on what he would do. He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing now that there were others around. Also, one of them was like him and just looking, he couldn't tell if this other was like those he'd escaped from or if they were like he was.

"I'm Dante," the Ghoul answered, "And this is my friend, Razor." Nodding towards him, the raspy voice asked, "Who are you?" The very same question he asked was now repeated back at him and he realized he had no clue how to answer it.

"Don't know," he came up with after mouthing the words a few times, his voice rough and slightly raspy from both disuse and just because that's how it sounded. Talking would slowly get easier, he knew this, but that didn't make the process any less nerve-wracking.

Looking at him questioningly, the other asked, "Do you mean, you don't know your name, or you don't know at all?"

This seemed a valid question to him and he thought about it for a moment. He was just figuring out who he was and it would take time, but he was sure the answer to that would come eventually. "I don't know.. my name," he finally replied, then added, "Don't really know who, either." The talking was getting easier much quicker than he thought it would. "But that'll come."

The other knelt down to be more on level with him, his Ghoul friend hanging back as the two mutants conversed. Dante knew he was likely out of his league here because he simply didn't know this whole process. Razor had gone through this before they'd ever met and he was sure his friend would know more about what to do than he would.

"Yeah," Razor agreed, nodding. "But you're awake, so that's a good start."

"Awake?" he asked, confused. Of course he was awake, if he were asleep, they wouldn't be talking, right?

"I mean.. you've found yourself, at least, the part of yourself that's left anyway. You came here, away from all the others," Razor replied, his words almost sagely. This was all too familiar to him. He was happy though because when he went through the confusion and fear, he'd not had anyone to help him. It looked like they'd gotten to this one in time to give him aid. "So you know being around them isn't good."

Realization dawned on him, "Yeah, they'd not like it, me, like this." He wasn't entirely sure his words would make any sense. The talking itself was getting easier, but the more he had to do it, the more he noticed he was missing words that should be there and he didn't know how to fill in the blank spaces. "I'm wrong."

"Nah, not wrong. You're different. It's not bad. I'm different too."

"You know you," he said, sounding almost sad. "I dunno me. Don't remember."

Finally Razor forwent the kneeling, sensing that Dante had backed off anyway and simply sat down on the ground in front of the other mutant. It made it easier to talk. "I don't remember, either. Not who I was. I had to figure out who I am. There's a difference."

He supposed that made sense, but it was all still so confusing to him. "How I ..do that?"

"Takes time," was the answer. "But, I've done it, I can help you do it."

"Why?" The question was almost plaintive. Here he was, not moments before thinking about how lonely he was, and now someone was wanting to help him. It seemed so very odd to him and he wondered that maybe he really was asleep and it was some kind of odd dream.

Sighing, Razor rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward a little as he sat with his legs crossed in front of him. "Nobody was there to help me. It's hard, figuring it all out. Least I can do is help you. Those like us, we gotta' stick together."

Now that made perfect sense to him. "Be safe from others?" he asked. "Not be alone?"

Razor smiled (as much as he was capable of, anyway) and nodded. "That's why we're here, we came to make this place safe." With his words, he waved his hand around, meaning the area around them. "We want others to come here, too. Do you want to stay here?"

"Others?" he asked, shocked that not only was there one other like him, but more than that. "There's others.. like us?" Getting around his shock, he answered, "Yes, stay here."

"Many others, many like us, some different than us, but they're not like the ones you came away from. We don't have a home, but now.. now we'll make one." Standing up, Razor offered a hand up to the other mutant and he took it, letting Razor haul him onto his feet. Still holding his hand, he squeezed reassuringly before letting go.

He felt happy, almost blissfully happy. It was so odd to him to switch mental gears so fast, but this felt right. "I'll help!" he exclaimed, already becoming excited about the whole deal. Sobering a little, he said, "But.. I need name first." They had names, he felt out of place not having one.

Putting his head on one side, Razor thought about this for a moment. "Is there a name you want?" he asked. He'd been named by the first person he'd met that hadn't tried to kill him: All he'd been defending himself with had been a long, sharp knife, so he'd been dubbed "Razor". It was an odd name to have, but he'd kept it throughout all his years since then.

"You helping," he answered firmly. "You pick." This seemed fair to him. He didn't want to go naming himself because he wasn't sure enough of himself just yet. Razor was very sure of who he was and would be better at choosing. At least, that's how it made sense in his head.

Scratching his chin, the older mutant thought about it a moment, looking at him critically. Finally, he decided, "Vanguard. You're the first."

"Vanguard," he tried the word out and liked how it sounded. For a name, he figured it worked pretty well. "I'm Vanguard," he announced happily, sticking his right hand out.

Razor let out a bark of laughter, seeing that the newly dubbed Vanguard was grinning hard enough that it was noticeable. He reached out and shook the other mutant's hand. "Pleased to meet you!" Dante came back towards them then, standing beside his friend. He shook Vanguard's hand as well.

"I pleased.. to meet both you, too," he replied, smiling at the two, happy he wasn't alone now and already feeling better about who he might be.

(3412 words)

I am enjoying reading this immensely, not a writer by any stretch so I shall leave the knit picking to others. I do know though, that a well fed Ego can make for easier writing so please do make more. I loved the humor in the first post and using Super Mutants as a basis for the story makes it far more interesting then another lone wanderer.

I always like a good ego boostin' Thank you. I don't want to read just another Lone Wanderer story, so I wont write one, either! Well, okay, that's not entirely true. I've been writing Kane's story for a while now, but that's more of a private project that I only share with a few friends.

Anyway, on to ch3!

~

Chapter 3: Not for lack of trying.

She was mad. Well, not too mad, because she could never get too mad at him, but she was still simmering a bit as she stomped along, kicking up dirt and small rocks. She'd been kicking a rusted, bent tin can for a while, but she'd kicked it too hard once and it tumbled down a gully. Now she just kicked rocks along for a while and generally stormed along trying to at least walk mad.

Oh, when she found him, she was going to... Actually, she probably wasn't going to do anything except possibly lecture him. It wasn't like he'd not told her that he'd be gone a while and to not worry about him. The problem was, she did worry about him. Every time he and that Ghoul friend of his disappeared off into the Wasteland for months on end, she guessed she wouldn't ever see him, either of them, again.

Granted, it wasn't like they saw all that much of each other in the first place. When you lived on the go, it was hard to meet up with people. They usually kept to a schedule of heading to the Jury Street Metro Station every two months, but sometimes that didn't always go as planned.

It had only been a couple weeks since they'd left on another of his wild adventures. Usually she just rolled her eyes at the two of them and wished them luck. This time though, she was coming after them, because the more she'd thought about it, the more worried she got and when she was worried, it made her angry. Anything else would have been fine with her.

Deathclaw hunt? Sure, make sure you don't get bit. Scavving old military bases? Fine, just watch out for those completely off their nut Sentry 'bots. Going anywhere even remotely close to Vault 87? Hell, no.

It had been useless to try and talk him out of it; he tended to, once an idea was in his head, be very stubborn about changing his mind. Hell, she'd even begged them both to rethink it. He said they'd be fine like they always were. They probably were fine, but she most definitely was not fine.

She had been after them for a few days now, tracking their trail and using her own knowledge of the land to try and, if not catch up with them, meet them where they had finally stopped. Most of them knew the way to Vault 87. There were those luckier ones who hadn't came from there, but even most of them knew where it was. She'd come from somewhere downtown; the details were still a little sketchy for which she was glad since she really didn't want to remember, but even she had that location burned into her head. None of them liked going near there, so why the Hell had he gone?

Oh he had explained his idea to her. He'd told her they were going to check it out first, but he'd confided in her as to where they were going. She was pretty good at getting him to talk, even when he really didn't want to say anything. She felt a little bad for that, because she knew why he'd eventually cave and tell her things, but she always did it because she worried about him.

The truth of the matter was, he'd been after her for years now. Ever since they met about six years ago, he'd tried his best to impress her. He was a god awful flirt, mostly because he just wasn't any good at it, but she still thought it was cute. Generally, she'd flirt right back. There wasn't any harm in that.

At least, there hadn't been any harm in it at first. As time went on, they got closer. Usually when she saw the two of them, his friend would give them both some privacy and they'd just spend time together. She was flattered and loved the attention, but there was one simple problem with it all that made her feel bad no matter how much he said that he understood.

There wasn't any possibility of her ever liking him in that way. It wasn't for lack of trying on her part, either. She really did like him and would have loved to come along with him and his friend, but she felt bad for it. The reason she didn't though, was because of that little problem. It wouldn't be fair to him if she was always around, tempting him, and both of them unable to do anything about it.

He was lucky he could still think like that, while she just couldn't and couldn't really remember a time when she could. It had absolutely no place in her mind, try as she might to find one. There was simply nothing there.

Everything else was fine. She enjoyed being around him; she was always both flattered and amused at all the attention he paid her. Flirting was its own brand of fun that she was more than happy to participate in. Up to a point, intimacy was fine and she liked that, too. Then there was that stopping point, that place she simply couldn't go.

Most of the time, when they underwent the change, went from human to mutant, it took a lot from them. Some lost more than others, but almost always they lost that drive, that desire to be with someone else intimately. It simply wasn't there. They were asixual and that was all; nothing could be done about it.

Sure, over the years, those that hadn't lost their minds completely, worked on it, tried different things to get that part of their humanity back, but it just never worked out. It was gone for good and they had to accept that fact.

For years, she'd been fine with it. If you've never had something, you just don't miss it. Life went on, you fought to stay alive, you did what you could for your fellows, and you just kept going. It had never been any kind of an issue until she'd met him.

Suddenly, she had a reason for wanting something she'd never had. That in and of itself should have been enough, she thought, that she did want it back, but things didn't work that way. Try as she might, there just wasn't anything there.

Everything else was fine, worked how it should, felt how it should. She was fairly sure she liked him as more than just a friend, more than just someone she got to see every now and then. His time and attention was always precious to her and she'd never taken any of it for granted; she was happy he seemed to feel the same way.

Then that issue would rear its ugly little head.

He'd never once actively pressured her and she never felt as if he was trying to coerce her into anything like that. The fact of the matter was that he was perfectly happy with things as they were. It was she that took issue with it and it was extremely frustrating to her. It was especially annoying because it wasn't like she didn't try to think that way about him, it's just it never really worked how she assumed it was supposed to.

There was simply something missing, something that she'd lost and would never get back. It made her feel bad and he always tried to cheer her up, but his very presence sometimes reminded her of it. He was a constant reminder of one of her shortcomings that she could do absolutely nothing about.

Life went on, though. The march of time could never be stopped. They'd meet at the old Metro Station and Dante would clear his throat like he was uncomfortable and excuse himself, usually to just go pick through the already combed over rubble in the nearby buildings. She'd always thought that was funny. Hell, they both thought it was funny, which just embarrassed the Ghoul and made it even funnier.

It sure as Hell wasn't like he didn't do the same damn thing with the few lady Ghouls he'd charmed over the years. Granted, embarrassing Razor was like trying to play chess with a Behemoth. The only winning move was not to play.

They did all that other stuff and he'd try his best to convince her to come with them (nevermind the embarrassment this would cause Dante on a near-constant basis). Things worked themselves out eventually and after a while, it just failed to come up at all, but it was always lurking there in the back of her mind, a little dark shadow that, when she was alone and had time to look at it, pissed her the Hell off.

She'd always had a temper over things in her life that she couldn't understand or do. Elizabeth hated being reminded of what she was, they all did really, and all the shortcomings that came along with it. There were some good points, just like there were a few good points to being a Ghoul, but they very rarely outweighed all the really bad points.

When it came right down to it, Elizabeth absolutely hated being in love and unable to do everything that came along with that. She never wished for the feeling itself to go away. It was one of the few things in her life that was could always make her happy, could always make life seem not quite so bad. It was that lack of ability on her part that made her mad.

That was why she was mad now, to be quite honest. Sure, she worried, and worrying made her mad, but she also pumped that other anger in different directions, away from herself. It was far too easy to hate herself for it, to hate that it was her fault, and so she diverted that anger into other avenues.

It was also way too easy to be jealous of Dante because he could spend all the time in the world with him and never have any issues with it. Being jealous of their friendship was something she did and hated herself for. That anger too she pushed away into other things.

Now she let herself be angry that she'd let him convince her to let them go. She'd been very near to tagging along if only to make sure they wouldn't get to where they were going. She was more than happy to sabotage their plans if it kept him safe, if it kept both of them safe. Often she wondered if she should just go with them, bedamned the problems it caused her, if only to make sure he was safe so she could stop worrying herself sick over him all the damn time.

It felt like ages before she came upon the road that led into Vault 87's basin. That's when she realized that they weren't really going that close to that awful, blasted vault, but she'd come too far to turn back now and besides, despite all of the issues and sadness and anger.. she wanted to see him. She always wanted to see him.

Traveling alone meant she stopped for camp far less than they did and so she'd passed by both of their camps, knowing she was on the right track. Unlike the pair she followed, Elizabeth traveled fairly light. If one didn't know any better, they'd think she was just a regular super mutant wandering the Wasteland because there wasn't much about her that stood out.

Elizabeth was utterly unremarkable as far as looks go. She looked just like all the others for the most part, though she had a slight bit more in the lips department, and her brow wasn't quite so heavy, but these differences were really only apparent if you actually knew her. A casual observer would likely miss them.

The only things she carried with her were a rucksack full of mostly personal items, keepsakes, a couple books. She had the seemingly omnipresent super-sledge and the only other weapon she carried was an assault rifle of Chinese origin. Otherwise, she was "outfitted" pretty much like any other mutant would be: junk armor, massive pants with boots to go with them, and one of those dorky pilot's caps that some of the others wore.

She'd taken it off a dead Commander, the first of her own kind she'd ever killed, with her bare hands no less, and had kept it as a kind of trophy. Razor always pointed out that the thing looked absolutely ridiculous, to which she agreed, but it kept the sun off her head and while sun didn't really bother her, it felt nice to not be toasted constantly. She didn't care that it looked stupid as Hell.

About the only thing she had that marked her as different was the small travel pack with her assortment of possessions in it, but it was such a little thing that it was hard to really notice, not when she had a bandoleer and pouches hanging from her belt with ammo and various other items as well.

She let herself be disappointed that she'd missed them at the cliff camp because she could tell they'd bathed. That would have embarrassed the Hell out of Dante too, she knew, which would have been hilarious. Maybe she couldn't think that way and couldn't have those feelings, but that didn't mean she wasn't apt to look away either.

It only took her a few hours to find the little clutch of buildings Razor had told her about. She thought back to the grand plan he'd laid out and she'd been impressed (not just because she liked him, either, but because she liked the idea). It'd be nice to have a home, she thought a little wistfully as she made her way down the small slope that fell into "town".

Immediately she could see markers of recent activity. There was a large pile of rubble on the opposite side of the street across from the two row-houses and it looked like it'd probably came from inside them. That meant that they'd already started work. An excited flip took her stomach for a ride at the thought. This might actually happen.

She found the pair, plus another super mutant she'd never met, in the second story of the second house, "outside" where most of the second floor had caved in. They were all slinging rubble out onto the street, likely to pile it with the already sizable pile they had going already. This activity ceased at her interruption, of course.

If one had blinked at that specific moment, it would have almost seemed that Razor went from standing near the outer wall to standing right beside Elizabeth without actually traversing the space between, as if he'd simply teleported there. "Liz!" he exclaimed happily, sweeping the other mutant right off her feet and staggering slightly--she wasn't a lightweight by any means and was more or less the same size as he was--before carrying her back indoors, the both of them laughing at his antics.

This left dead silence in their wake as Dante shook his head and Vanguard wondered what the Hell had just happened. After a couple moments of silence, the mutant spoke up,"Who that?"

"Elizabeth," he answered, laughter evident in his voice. "She's his girlfriend." This last word was drawn out in an odd little, almost mocking, sing-song. It was childish, sure, but Dante didn't care. They always liked embarrassing him, so he felt fully in his rights to give them crap.

Tilting his head slightly, Vanguard turned to fully face Dante. "What that?" he asked, confused.

"Nevermind. Razor will explain it to you later." He wasn't about to even try to explain any of that to the younger mutant. That crap was Razor's job.

Inside the building, he finally let her back on her own feet. "Why are you here? You said you didn't want to come with us." Not that he wasn't happy to have her there, not one bit. He was positively elated that she'd been worried enough to come after them. Sure, she always said she cared, but it was always nice to be reminded just how much.

Elizabeth faced him and tried to look as stern as possible, hands on her hips and her brows pulled down into a frown (well, more so than usual). "You know damn good and well why I'm here. I decided to come after the two of you before you finally got into trouble you couldn't get back out of." She sighed and relaxed. "But now I see it's not nearly as close to the vault as it sounded when you were talking about it."

"You were worried about me?" he asked, sounding almost hopeful.

Rolling her eyes, she sighed loudly. "Of course I was, you dollop." Her breath suddenly came out in a small oof as she was bear-hugged. Finally, she laughed at him. "Yeah, yeah." Hugging him in return,she patted his back, then said, humor in her voice, "You're absolutely hopeless. Obviously, you need me around to take care of you." Which, if they were settling down, didn't sound like too bad of a prospect. Maybe she couldn't do everything she wanted to do, but she could at least allow herself to be happy.

(2970 words)

About the only thing she had that marked her as different was the small travel pack with her assortment of possessions in it, but it was such a little thing that it was hard to really notice, not when she had a bandoleer and pouches hanging from her belt with ammo and various other items as well.

about the only thing that stuck out to me was this sentence, after the other descriptions it seemed... tacked on? I understand that the point for NaNoWriMo is to to write 50k words then edit after but this poked the back of my brain until I relented. Past that I enjoyed the reactions Dante has about Razor and his Significant Other ,yes it deserves capital letters.

You caught me I needed to add a few paragraphs and that was one of them. At least that's the only one that was obvious to you!

Dante is going all Argyle on him. "Ehh.. it's always about the dames."

He just doesn't like being a sidecar eh?

Oh he gets the Ghoul dames, he just doesn't like that they take sick pleasure out of embarrassing the hell out of him

Chapter 4: Pilgrimage

Taking a deep drag off her cigarette, Willow paused a moment before speaking, "Yeah, I saw him. Him and that knuckle-dragger friend of his. Don't know what they were here for. He went inside, though."

Sighing, the petite Ghoul thanked Willow for the information before pushing open one of the heavy doors that led into the Museum of History. She headed straight for the entrance to Underworld, ignoring the displays in the large rotunda. They weren't of any interest to her; she'd seen them plenty of times before.

As she made her way to Carol's, she thought about what Willow had said. At least the other Ghoul had actually offered up the information without needing bribed. She still didn't like how rudely the other woman talked about Dante's friend, but it wasn't worth getting up in arms over.

Dianella had been looking for the traveling duo for over a month now, starting to get a slight bit worried. That is, until she'd, purely by chance, happened across Quinn. He'd told her that not only had he seen Dante and Razor not too long ago, but that they'd been trying to find her.

Presently, she ran a hand through what little hair she had left which was dyed a purple color. Obviously they'd not stuck around Underworld for very long. Quinn's information was almost a week old and she knew they'd never stay that long. Still, if they were trying to find her, then it must be somewhat important. Either that or Dante actually missed her. She was secretly hopeful of this, smiling to herself a little as she walked into Carol's Place.

A half hour later, she was standing on the steps of the Museum of History again, idly watching Willow patrol the area. Compared to Dianella, Willow was quite tall, but the truth of the matter was that the shorter Ghoul was really just short, even for a human. Willow was nearly a head taller. Everyone in Underworld towered over her and it always made her feel intimidated.

Not only was she short, but she was petite as well, slender and finely boned. As a human, she'd been somewhat exotic looking with black hair and unusual, violet eyes. Now she was just as ugly as the rest of them, her face peeling just a bit worse than others, something that non-Ghouls never really noticed. Well, her friends noticed, and they weren't Ghouls, but that was a different matter entirely. They were also way taller than her, but that didn't bother her, either.

Unlike most Ghouls, she was a younger one. Her height was as much evidence of this fact than anything else. She'd been in her early teens when the sloughing started and had never grown any taller. Though she never had it confirmed, she was sure that she would be forever, physically thirteen years old. As a Ghoul, she'd been around for nearly thirty years now and it sometimes irritated her that people treated her like she was a kid.

This included Underworld's sentry, Willow. Any nickname under the sun that she could think of, she'd called Dianella at one time or another. Shorty, short-stuff, squirt, kid, you name it, she'd been called it. Adding that to the fact that she never had been very nice to Razor just made her dislike the woman somewhat. Razor was a nice guy and he always got crap for coming here with Dante.

At least Carol was nice about it, though was sad she didn't get to see the mutant any. Dante would always tell her what they were up to lately, usually exaggerating by a large margin, but Carol knew that. She knew he was just playing it up to interest her in their adventures. Despite being an oppressed minority, Ghouls still weren't very forgiving when it came to any of the smarter mutants. Of any place, one would think they'd be welcome in Underworld, but it was definitely not the case.

Carol never got to see Razor save for the first time she'd met him when Dante had talked the others into letting him in all those years ago, but she was still polite when Dante talked about him. She still asked how he was doing and was always concerned for both their well-being. Sometimes, Carol could be too nice. It was why Greta was always so over-protective of the ancient Ghoul.

There was another thing Carol could be and that was trustworthy. Dante had left a note for her with the woman and it remained sealed. There were very few people in the Wasteland that would have left the letter alone. Granted, the "seal" was an entirely too cheerful sticker with a smiley-face on it (and she did wonder where he got that), but it was still intact. She wasn't entirely sure if he chose the bright, colorful and cheery stickers because that's all he had, or if it was for her benefit. Dianella liked to think it was the latter.

Without disrupting the sticker too much, she managed to prise the rough, hand-made envelope open and pulled the letter out. It wasn't really a letter. It was barely a note, but then, with the subject matter, as much discretion that could be taken was for the best.

Dianella,

Remember Razor's big idea? Bring your friends. Same place as always. Looking forward to seeing you again in two weeks from the tenth.

Love,
Dante

A snort escaped her. She thought the "Love" part was laying it on a bit thick, but that was almost always how he signed his letters. At least, that's how he always signed the ones that were for her.

This time the little quirk was quickly set aside for the more important matter at hand. Yes, she did remember Razor's idea. Hell, the super mutant had explained it to her in length with excruciating detail. The only thing he'd not told her was where it was. The whole thing was a big secret, and she was sworn to silence to not tell anybody else. The only reason he was willing to explain it all to her was because if things worked out, she would need to know.

Well, it looks like things had worked out after all. Dianella smiled as she tucked the envelope and letter into her pack and started down the stairs to Museum Station. Now she had a lot of work to do. At least he'd given her two weeks, well a little more than two weeks because it wasn't yet the tenth. She had missed them by a nearly a week. At least he knew she'd be by Underworld soon after they left. How he knew, she had no idea, but he knew. That wasn't entirely true. She was pretty sure she knew how he had known and that made her smile a bit wider.

Dianella's "friends" weren't quite friends in the sense one usually thought of. A more proper term might have been "charges". She took care of them and they were eternally grateful to her for it.

After meeting Dante and Razor the first time, it struck her just how much those like Razor needed all the help they could get. There wasn't really any place that was safe for them and on the rare occasion, there were others hunting for them. They also ended up imprisoned by their brethren, if caught, before they finally decided to just kill them. Sometimes, they even ended up as slaves of a sort.

Growing up as a Ghoul in Underworld naturally made her very curious about history, seeing as she was always close to a whole building full of it. She'd read many books and learned a lot about pre-war America. When she learned about the plight of those less fortunate mutants, she remembered something from all of the things she had read.

That had given her the idea to start this whole operation in the first place. Dianella was an excellent sneak. She was good enough that she could get past Dante without him none the wiser and he was a damned good tracker. Her and a few other like-minded Ghouls had started something like an Underground Railroad. She knew that there were similar movements in the Wasteland for slaves, and even one she'd heard of for androids, but none existed for this and so she decided to dedicate her life to it.

For all the hatred of bigotry Ghouls had, they could be just as guilty of it as smoothskins. Granted, they were within their right to be angry with most normal humans since a majority despised Ghouls, but they were generally forgiving when decent smoothskins came around. This wasn't the case for the mutants and Dianella and a few others thought this was damned hypocritical. They strove to make up for what the rest of their kind were failing at: Being forgiving and kind to everyone. It just so happened that this was a convenient empty niche they could fill and be joining in their own little part of the Good Fight.

It had started out as Dianella's idea after talking to and getting to know Razor over the years. She and Dante had a thing going, off and on, for the past years now and so she often saw the super mutant that was his partner (partner in crime, she liked to say). Hearing the man talk about it made her feel for him and the others. He was good at that, though. He had that effect on people, but despite knowing this, she still felt compelled to help.

The few Ghouls that she worked with had joined, one by one, over the years as she came into contact with those who felt the same way she did. They decided to join her cause. Not everyone she met wanted to, but those few that did she was grateful for.

Due to the very nature of their work, it wasn't often that they had a job, but when they got one, they took it very seriously. To date, they'd helped five people. It wasn't much, but considering those five were ones that needed helped, needed rescued and protected, it was a decent number. This was especially true considering that they never failed a job, not once. They never lost anyone and they never failed those that they helped.

It looked like they were finally going to get to take a step in the direction they'd been striving for this entire time. The one thing Dianella had always dreamed of, the ultimate way to really help those she worked with. She knew that she herself could never settle down, could never give up her cause, but now she would have a safe place to take her "friends" where they'd be welcome among others like them.

It was time to put out the call she'd been itching to make the moment Razor had finished telling her his big scheme. She wasn't so excited that she forgot where she was, but she certainly made her way back to their base of operations faster than she normally did. She only had a little over two weeks to collect five people that she only sort-of knew where they were. Only two lived in the base with them, the other three were elsewhere, but she knew how to get into contact with them in case of emergency. It wasn't an emergency, but it sure was important.

~

Their little base was a hive of activity for the next few days as preparations were made, routes planned, people contacted. Her colleagues would be staying behind, only she was going to go with the five, but that was fine by Dianella. There hadn't been any work for the past few months--more had been escaping on their own lately due to super mutant population numbers on the decline thanks in part to the Brotherhood's efforts --so she welcomed the break from the monotony of trudging through miles of subway tracks to check different places downtown for activity. Granted she'd just be trudging for miles in the blazing sun, but at least it was something a bit different.

Temporarily, they setup camp in the old Super-Duper Mart. She and the two mutants, names Natasha ("Call me 'Tasha'.") and Brick (which was appropriate because if there were ever any mutant who really was built like a brick wall, it was him), cleared out the Raiders that seemed to come out of the woodwork like Radroaches around that area and made a temporary base in the old 'Mart so they could wait for the others.

The first two showed up a couple days later together along with three pack Brahmin loaded down with everything the two of them owned. Two were even pulling a wagon that was loaded with even more stuff. Oddly enough, this surprised nobody at all. One of them was Zaine and Zaine had a fierce attachment to his stuff. Nobody else's stuff. His stuff. It was better to humor the oddly short, albino super mutant than argue with him over it because you just ended up frustrating yourself. The other was named Xan (his name was actually Xanatos, but Zaine had a lot of trouble getting past the first syllable, so he just made it easier on everyone and used the shortened version mostly).

The only way to describe the relationship between these two was that Xan was Zaine's keeper as he was the only person that could properly communicate with Zaine, both understand the smaller mutant and be able to talk in a way that was understood in turn. The other reason why this worked well was because Zaine was absolutely smitten with his friend. Forever mentally stuck at the age of around six or seven, Zaine looked up to him as an older brother despite Zaine being the much older of the two. He practically worshiped the ground Xanatos walked on.

A day later, the final mutant arrived, two little girls just showing the first signs of Ghoulification in tow as well as another pack Brahmin, bringing up the total to four of the beasts. This Brahmin was more for the girls to ride on than to carry all that much, though it was loaded down between the girls and everything they and their caretaker owned. Chase carried quite a bit on his back as well, but he wanted to make sure his girls didn't have to walk. Some would say he absolutely spoiled the two rotten and that person might get a fist the size of their head in the face. He was fiercely protective of them.

The slightly large group, which was more a caravan now, left the day after that once they were sure everyone was ready to go, nobody had left anything behind, and they had enough supplies to make the entire journey in one go. Stopping to restock simply wasn't an option. They might get lucky and come across one of the trade caravans, which Dianella could buy supplies from, but the chances of that were slim to none since their route took the long way around any settlements between there and their destination. They didn't want to take any chances of getting into a fight with innocent humans who were just afraid of a group this size of super mutants.

Their current destination was the Jury Street Metro Station that many of the mutants used as a meeting spot and it was about half way between the 'Mart and Vault 87. They'd likely get there a few days ahead of schedule, but that could be in their favor as they might meet others that they could bring along with them if there were any other mutants meeting there at the same time. Sure, it was very unlikely, but there was a small chance.

Most of the trip was blissfully uneventful other than a sizable shoot out between their group and a bunch of Raiders, but nobody was hurt (save for the Raiders, of course) and they'd had a stash that was quickly looted to bolster their supplies. The chems would be kept for trade only as none of the lot had any use for them.

They made it to Jury Street ahead of schedule by a few days, but that gave them time to camp and rest, letting the pack animals free to roam and eat. There wasn't any danger of hunting animals going after the Brahmin because anything with even a whit of sense rattling around in their skull would stay far, far away from a group of five armed super mutants.

Late on the second day of their stay, waiting for Dante and Razor, Dianella was interrupted from her impromptu smoke by a voice, "Well, this is a nice surprise!" She stiffened and reached for her hunting rifle, but then relaxed when she saw who it was as they came into the light from the gloom surrounding the buildings and their broken up parking lot. Sometimes it could be hard to distinguish one mutant's voice from another, especially if it'd been a long time since you'd seen them.

This specific super mutant was about as much of a threat as a soggy bowl of Sugar Bombs. Only having met him a scant couple times, Dianella didn't recognize Uncle Leo right away until he'd come into the light. It could be down right impossible to tell one super mutant from the next, but he was the only one she'd ever seen that never carried a weapon and only wore some raggity old sack-cloth pants, nothing else. One could hardly imagine someone more peaceful and even-tempered.

"Hey, Leo," she greeted him in her scratchy voice with a genuine smile. "Care to join us?"

"I'm not much for the fuss, to be honest. I'm curious as to what this is all about, however." This answer hardly surprised the Ghoul. Uncle Leo was the very definition of a loner and tended to shy away from large groups of people, even if those people were all mutants like him.

Letting a puff of smoke out, Dianella explained, "We're heading West once Dante and Razor get here to actually show us exactly where we're going." She looked at Leo and smiled again. "Razor has finally done something that isn't completely crazy. He's found you guys a home."

"The world is my home," Uncle Leo replied, then went on, "But this is good for those who wish to no longer wander."

This likewise didn't surprise Dianella. "Somehow, I knew you'd say that." Inspiration struck and she stopped leaning against the side of the building, turning to fully address the mutant. "Uncle Leo, would you mind sticking around a bit? At least until Dante and Razor show up."

She got the impression he was grinning at her as he replied, "Of course I don't mind! After all, you need someone to spread the word, don't you?"

"You read my mind," she said, laughing lightly. "You don't have to camp with us if that's your preference, but it'd be nice to have someone out here who knows where to go and can guide others. I have no idea if Razor planned for anything like that, but I have a feeling he wont object."

~

Her feeling proved to be correct when the duo showed up that very morning. Razor spent at least an hour off in the distance having a private conversation with Uncle Leo until the both of them came back and Leo announced that he would be following them, but he didn't plan on staying. Razor wanted him to know exactly where they were going so if he saw any of the others, he could tell them how to get there.

The caravan was packed up and ready to go before noon. Dianella didn't mind traveling with the sleepless super mutants and wasn't against being carried like Dante was. Instead, he opted to be hauled by one of the Brahmin to get some sleep. They wanted to push and make the last half of the journey in one go as the first half had been. It was just safer that way, if they kept moving and didn't stop.

Razor lead the group, walking a short distance ahead of the caravan and Dante brought up the back, quite a ways back from the rest, Uncle Leo opting to walk with him and the two of them made very sure that the caravan wasn't being followed. That was another reason why they didn't want to stop: It was difficult for anything except super mutants to follow them if they never rested and if mutants were following them, none knew how to be stealthy enough to escape the attention of Dante and Leo.

They made sure to give Fort Bannister a wide berth and ended up in a firefight with a large group of Raiders at Charnel House. They could have probably bypassed it and followed the lip of the deep gully that housed Evergreen Mills, but that was taking far too large a risk of being detected by the Raiders there which could decimate a small group like this with sheer numbers. The group of a dozen or so Raiders they did make contact with didn't have any sort of strategy and weren't as much a danger to them. Only a couple of them got shot up, but the humans had been using mostly hunting rifles and small caliber handguns which were pretty much harmless. You just had to dig the bullets out. The Raiders who tried to charge them for melee never even got close and were simply mowed down.

After Charnel house was taken care of, searched thoroughly for anything of even the slightest value (and this included a sizable sheet of metal that they managed to perch precariously on Zaine's wagon), and cleaned up as best they could (they wanted to leave as little evidence of their passing in their wake as possible), the group moved on. Charnel House was very nearly equidistant from Jury Street and their final destination. They were half way there.

The rest of the trip was thankfully just as uneventful as it had been all the way up to Charnel House. Anything vaguely threatening steered very clear of a group this large, of humans or mutants. Due to the direction they were coming from, they didn't need to go anywhere near Little Lamplight and just barely grazed Yao Guai territory, but the beasts stayed away.

Coming over the rise at midday, the very same effect that had caught Razor and Dante when they first arrived took the entire group. This time, though, there was something even more grand to look at. They all gathered to look down into the little settlement.

The buildings had been completely cleared and repaired where possible. There were the foundations laid for several shacks to the right side of the little lane, overlooking the cliff the settlement perched upon. All of the rubble that they'd cleared from the buildings and from the surrounding area had been taken care of, reused where possible, and used as landfill where needed. The four that came here first had been very busy.

"Sanctuary," Razor said with pride in his voice. "Our home."

(3924 words)

This chapter is a bit shorter as will the next one be, more than likely, since they both are about members of the caravan.

Chapter 5: Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

The two little girls, names Lindsay and Jenny, giggled and ran around in circles, playing an impromptu game of tag. They seemed happy and, from a distance, completely normal. It was when you got up close that you knew all was not right.

They were twins, both obviously the same age with blond, curly hair and sky-blue eyes, both wearing little, pink dresses. Their hair was missing clumps here and there, though, and both of them had peeling skin. Not peeling like skin would after a bad sunburn, but they both were losing scary large patches of it. They were in the very early stages of becoming Ghouls.

Nobody knew were the twin girls had come from, not even their caretaker, Chase, who had all but adopted the pair. He treated them both as if they were his own children. They'd just come out of the rubble one day as the mutant was traveling North to catch a trade caravan heading to Canterbury Commons, and had latched onto him like a pair of very persistent limpets. He couldn't have been happier, to be quite honest.

Luckily for both him and the girls, the caravan they met was Crow's. Most merchants wouldn't deal with super mutants, even if they were perfectly civil, but over time, the caravaners had tentatively started an agreement with those smarter mutants who didn't just kill for the sake of killing. It turned out very profitable for them since the mutants could scavenge the ruins with very little threat to their own life and come out with some interesting goods to trade.

Now, the reason why it was lucky for them that it was Crow they met was because the ex-Tribal dealt in clothing and armor. Both girls had been wearing what one could barely classify as rags; whatever had destroyed their clothing also having burned their skin in some scary patches, though neither seemed to notice or be in any kind of pain. He'd done his business with the merchant and was happy to learn that Crow had some children's clothing which he promptly bought for the pair.

The burnt skin had long since peeled off and those patches started healing, but a few weeks after having found the girls, Chase began to notice that they were losing skin more than the burns could have accounted for. He'd taken them to Dianella then to have it confirmed if they were going Ghoul or not and the prognosis proved his suspicions.

As he watched the two play, he thought back to when he'd found out for sure what was happening to them. Dianella had seemed sad about it, but it didn't much matter to Chase and when the girls were told (via example in the form of Dianella since she was closer to their size anyway), they didn't seem upset. If anything, they'd been fascinated and curious.

They never had talked about their parents, or anything about their pasts really and it was the advlts' conclusion that whatever blast had burnt them and started the Ghoulification process might have done some damage to their memory. They certainly weren't afraid of Dianella or those she worked with (who were also Ghouls), and they had already grown attached to the super mutant, so it was obvious they weren't afraid of modified humans at all. They could only speculate that the girls had been in the care of a Ghoul previously.

Neither girl had known their names (which further proved the theory of them having lost their memory) and so Chase had named them himself. They'd taken to their names easily and without complaint. Chase was the world to the two of them and he absolutely adored the both of them. Up until he'd found them, he'd been rather lonely. They not only made him lonely no more, but gave him a very solid reason for pushing on, for not giving up like some did. He couldn't stew in self-pity when he had two energetic little girls to take care of.

The three of them had taken up residence in a little area that had once been a neighborhood just North of the city. The little ranch-style house they lived in was near a small playground. Currently, that's where they were, Chase sitting on a sturdy, metal bench watching the two of them play. Beside him on the bench sat a double-barreled shotgun and an assault rifle, both within reaching distance if anything with ill intent came upon them. This was very unlikely as Chase had cleared the area earlier that day, but it was always better safe than sorry and he would protect his girls with his very life if it came down to it.

Chase had been one of Dianella's rescues. The first one, to be exact. She'd found him beaten and abused by his fellow super mutants and had managed to lead him to safety when they weren't paying attention to him. It had taken only a few days of good food and water for him to recover and then he'd started scavving, working to make some caps for Dianella even though she'd told him he didn't owe her anything.

That's when he'd found Lindsay and Jenny and suddenly had something else to spend his caps on. Secretly, Dianella had always been relieved that Chase had found the girls. In the beginning, he'd been very depressed and she feared for his life, that he might try to end himself and his misery. The girls gave him a reason to keep living, not only because he had to take care of them, but because they made him happy.

That had been two years ago and all of them were relieved that the twins had been growing and didn't end up stunted like Dianella had. They'd been peeling the entire time, but also growing too fast for the sloughing to really dig in and take hold. Chances were high they'd still end up stunted, but at least they would be taller than four feet. Indeed, it seemed they were growing faster than what was usually normal, but the process always had an odd effect on young children. If it didn't kill them outright, it sometimes accelerated their growth or, like in Dianella's case, permanently stunted their growth.

Now Chase had two hyper-active, quickly growing little girls to occupy his time and he couldn't be happier. They'd formed an instant bond with him and after a while, simply referred to him as "daddy" which melted his heart every single time they said it. To the casual observer, it was plainly obvious the two had their "daddy" absolutely under their control. He spoiled them as much as possible and they usually could get him to agree to do anything, or let them do anything. He was wrapped around both their little fingers, absolutely charmed stupid

He'd always wished though, that the girls could have other children to play with. They were growing up with only each other and while there was at least that, they still had nobody else their age to interact with. Not that Chase himself was against playing with them, but there were only so many games he could participate in (hide-and-seek was a joke, really). It had also always been his dream to live around others, to live in a settlement so, even if there were no other children, they'd have more than just him to talk to, that they'd hopefully grow up with a good socialization.

Sometimes, they'd go to visit Dianella, especially when her little base became more populated. It gave the girls a chance to interact with other people. Still, he wished there could be more and Dianella had always confided in him that she wished the same thing, not just for the girls, but for Chase himself and others like him. That was why when the call finally came, he was happy beyond sense.

"Come on, you two," he told them, gathering up his guns and leading the two girls home. They obediently followed him like a pair of lost puppies. They might have had him under their thumb, but they'd listen to him as well. They didn't misbehave really, as they'd do what they were told and were very polite. It was just that they also got the best toys Chase could buy, they'd get rare candy, and anything else their caretaker could get them. They were spoiled, but in a good way.

The odd little family arrived at their small home and the girls went inside while Chase tended to their Brahmin. They only had one, specifically for the purpose of fresh milk even if the stuff was kind of revolting. It was good for the girls and they seemed to not mind the flavor of it. At least they were far enough along in becoming Ghouls that radiation was of little concern and by extension, so was disease.

He was interrupted by Jenny coming out on the porch; they knew to never go further than the fortified porch without explicit permission and supervision. "Daddy, the short-wave is talking. I think it's Dia."

Abandoning the Brahmin for the moment, he came inside, ushering the girl back indoors with him. They had a little short-wave radio that Chase had scavenged back when he used to go down town, before he had the girls. They used it to keep in contact with Dianella, or Dia as the girls called her.

Activating the ham radio, he spoke into the little microphone, "This is Chase. Was there a call?"

A moment passed and then Dianella's voice came on, raspy and hard to hear from the static. "Sure was," she answered. "GNR was playing Way Back Home again. Did you want to go shopping?" The code-speak was a little silly, but they used it out of necessity. Anyone could listen in and they didn't dare discuss anything openly over the radio.

Chase gaped a bit before he could answer, "Sure. Did you want anything?" That had been the code for: We've found you a real home, meet us at the Super-Duper Mart.

"All of it. Dianella out." The signal clicked out and he turned the old radio off. You heard right. Bring everything you want to keep.

If he were one to do so, he might have let out a whoop of joy. At least he did so in his mind. "Girls," he said, calling the twins over. "We're moving out. We've got a real home waiting for us out there. Help me get us packed up."

Now he had two very excited little girls running about the house, practically shrieking with elation as they gathered things up in the large, main room of the house. Chase laughed at them and started helping, getting the heavier items and then starting to pack everything away in burlap sacks that their Brahmin or Chase himself could load down with and carry.

The girls packed their own personal items, including clothing, toys, books, and anything else they wanted to keep, and these packs were added to the growing pile. Between the three of them, they didn't own all that much, really. Most of the things either belonged to the girls or were there for them. Chase himself didn't really have any possessions other than a few weapons and ammunition for them (like any smart Wastelander), a few pairs of pants that he got from Dianella (and he never did ask where she got them from. He really didn't want to know), and some kitchen items.

A lot of the packed goods were mostly food, jerky, canned foods, and pre-war boxed stuff that lasted a long time. They also filled up and packed every single water bottle in the house. Chase knew that they'd be mostly on their own for travel rations and wanted to make sure they were prepared just in case hunting didn't go so well.

Chase fitted their Brahmin (which was actually named May, after the month they'd gotten her) with a makeshift harness that had saddles for both of the girls so they wouldn't need to walk. The rest he filled with their belongings, loading the beast down as much as was safe. What May couldn't carry, he stuffed into an oversized backpack he'd made for just this reason in preparation and hope this would happen some day.

A few minutes were taken for the three of them to each take a run through the house, making sure they hadn't forgotten anything. With everything loaded and strapped into place, Chase hefted both girls up onto May's back into their custom-made saddles. He gathered up the last of the packs and then untethered the Brahmin to set out for the Super-Duper Mart. With the girls able to sleep in their saddles, they'd make it in a little over two days and Chase didn't want to waste any time whatsoever.

(2165 words)

Excellent! I am really looking forward to reading more.

Thanks I'll try to get the next chapter up sometime tonight. I haven't started yet, though, but I can knock out a chapter in an hour if I'm in my zone.

I'm probably going to reach the goal way before the 30th and end up going way over like I always do.

That's a bad Kikai! Giving 110%. What did we teach you here?

Whoops! Sorry about that!

Actually, it might be a bit longer.. I'm slightly.. inebriated. Husband bought me wine :wub:

I think he meant bad as in "Ah man, that's awesome!"

EDIT: nevermind, read it wrong.

"Drink this bottle of tequila and call me when you're ready".

You know what just because of all the positive feedback from the Fan Fic I am going to take the time to read it.

That's always nice.

Chapter 6: Exactly Exact

The small, rectangular maintenance room resided at the bottom of a set of stairs that led up into a building that was honestly more holes than building. The entire structure had been collapsing in on itself for a long time and the little basemant staircase was nearly invisible. You could only find it if you knew where to look or were actively looking for such a thing. A sheet of thick metal covered it to hide it from anything dangerous that might come along.

The room itself was part of a larger basemant area that stretched the entire footprint of the derelict building. Most of the sublevel had collapsed long ago and the hallway that led from the staircase only went on for about a hundred feet before the ceiling caving in completely blocked it off. It was possible there were other sections of the basemant still intact, but there wasn't any way to get to them. The only thing you could access was the maintenance room.

Walls made up of concrete were covered in pipes and cabling which also ran across the ceiling. The floor was a rusty grate that tended to make a clattering racket when you walked on it. Sometimes, it would creak and groan in protest of someone walking on it, but it held as it had done so for all the time it'd been there, over two hundred years.

Metal cabinets, some with shelves, others with doors, lined the walls, as well as rickety metal shelves and a long table against one wall. Against another wall was a workbench. Everywhere there were parts, scrap metal, tools, and a various assortment of other pieces of junk. Every last surface was covered in clutter, but all of the junk was neatly arranged for the most part, separated by type, category, and some other sorting methods that didn't immediately make sense. On the long table, a row of increasingly large tools were lined up, biggest to smallest.

Every surface also had hanging from one edge a neatly written note on a various assortment of different colors of paper. The notes were labels, and indicated whatever was on the shelf or table they were stuck to. In this way, every last item in the room, including the shelves and cabinets themselves, even the workbench, were neatly labeled.

One corner of the room was slightly walled off by using some of the cabinets as walls to give that corner a semblance of privacy. A tattered cloth hung over the only way in, serving as a curtain. Therein was a very large mattress that was made up of several smaller mattresses shoved together. A haphazard number of blankets and pillows rested on the makeshift bed. The bed was as neatly made as was possible, considering the way it was put together.

The overall effect was of a very cluttered workshop with a small bedroom attached. There was plenty of room to walk, but no section of wall was left unused. Even where there was the odd section where nothing rested against it, the wall was covered in posters, pictures, and other items.

Presiding over the slightly messy domicile were two super mutants, Xanatos and Zaine. Specifically, Xanatos, or Xan as he usually went by, was the one who tried to keep things organized in a way that both of them could understand. If Zaine had his way, everything would be a chaotic mess that only he understood. The labels had been Xanatos' idea as a way to make an attempt at teaching the other mutant the words for everything he owned. Usually, the words were what he forgot most, but he could still read.

For a mutant, Zaine was quite old and had been around for a long time. Before Dianella had come to his aid, he'd been enslaved by his fellow mutants, doing menial labor and things that the others simply didn't want to do. They made him do all the repairs of their gear as Zaine had a natural talent for it. In his little world, being free really only meant that he wasn't constantly being beaten and that he was allowed to keep things that he wanted to keep other than the clothes he wore.

Xanatos had been with the smaller mutant for a long time, though was younger than him by a large margin. They'd been rescued together and were inseparable. The reason why they'd been kept together before being rescued was due to the fact that Zaine couldn't communicate with the others. Only Xanatos knew how to effectively talk to the smaller mutant and was, incidentally, the only person that Zaine actually trusted.

Of the two, Xanatos was utterly unremarkable. There wasn't a thing about him that was out of the ordinary. Only when you talked to him could you tell he was actually different. He was extremely patient--one had to be to work with Zaine for any length of time--and was generally calm and level headed. It was Zaine who really stood out.

The older mutant was no taller than an average human, though was just as muscular and filled out as his brethren. His skin was very nearly white, lacking pigmentation, and his eyes reflected this, being a slight off pink to red color. Even from a distance, it was very obvious that Zaine was an albino. His facial structure was generally average for a mutant, but his odd coloration really set him apart.

Instead of junk armor, the only things Zaine wore were a raggy pair of jeans that were torn up at the bottoms, a little aviator's cap, and a strangely pristine scarf made of a silky, red fabric that glittered with golden threads woven throughout. No one knew where he'd got the scarf and Xanatos had only been able to get enough information out of him to know that he'd always had it and had probably had it before becoming a mutant.

There was something else that really set the small mutant apart from the others, though, and that was the oddity of his mind. There was very clearly something wrong with him, that had likely always been wrong with him and simply carried over from when he'd been human, as, more than likely, his albinism was as well. Though there were no real Psychologists to diagnose his mental disability, general consensus was that he had some form of Autism.

Zaine could barely talk, even less so than your average mutant. Xanatos had learned to interpret him over many years and was still really the only one who could communicate with the smaller mutant effectively. Zaine was generally shy and very wary of anyone new. He could only say a few very basic things that the average person would understand. Emotionally, he was about average with a child of six or seven years of age.

What made up for this and then some was his sheer talent with tools. He could build and repair pretty much anything you sat in front of him, up to and including advanced types of powered armor and even vehicles. He was a genius with machines, computers, weaponry, or anything else mechanical or electrical. These all made perfect sense to him and he seemed to innately know how something worked without having seen it before when you sat it in front of him. Also, it was insanely difficult to pry him away from his item of interest, even if it was for food or other necessities.

The only other thing he could focus on with any degree was Xanatos. The larger mutant was everything to him and he looked up to him with what was obviously a fierce fondness. Zaine worshiped the ground his friend walked on. This was also the reason why only Xanatos could deal with him to any degree: Zaine listened to him. The other side of this was that Zaine could barely function in any capacity if his friend wasn't nearby. If the two were separated, Zaine would become agitated and combative, a possible danger to himself or anyone else nearby. Xanatos was what kept him stable and on the good side of sane.

If Xan was eating, Zaeine would eat. When Xan would go outside, Zaine would follow. Xanatos could never be alone because Zaine had to always be right there with him, almost a permanent fixture in the larger mutant's life. They shared everything, including meals, drinks, living space, and sleeping arrangements. If Zaine slept without Xanatos with him, he tended to have horrific nightmares that would have him screaming bloody murder. For good or ill, Xanatos had to be by his side at all times. It was, however, an arrangement that suited him just fine. His thought was: After all, who else is going to look after him?

When the call came, Zaine had immediately perked his head up and exclaimed, "Dia!" happily. He'd heard one of the twins call the Ghoul woman that and it was certainly easier for him to say than Dianella, so he'd adopted the nickname for his own use as well. He'd always called Xanatos "Xan" because it was easier, so in his mind, it was perfectly acceptable to use shortened versions of people's names for everyone he met.

It had been difficult and more than a little trying, but Xanatos had managed to wrangle enough Brahmin that day to carry everything of Zaine's with "help" from the smaller mutant. He didn't want to run the risk of leaving anything behind because he knew Zaine would be absolutely inconsolable for weeks if he discovered something was missing. One of the Brahmin was loaded down with necessities: food, water, ammunition for weapons, etc. Two more were used to carry all of Zaine's belongings.

Xanatos had had to build a wagon for the two pack animals to pull in order to get all of it. He'd even had to load himself down to make sure they didn't miss anything. The small room that they'd made their home was nearly empty save for actual furniture (minus the workbench, which had been disassembled and put into the wagon). Even the blankets and pillows were packed up, but Xanatos had finally convinced Zaine that they could get new mattresses. Those would have been far more trouble than it was worth to haul them and would have necessitated acquiring two more Brahmin to carry it all. If they ended up needing to get some later, they could do it then and likely get some from somewhere closer instead of dragging them clear across the entire Wasteland.

Between rounding up the Brahmin and then loading them down, cleaning out the little maintenance room, it had taken the pair nearly two days to get ready for travel. What was odd about the whole affair was that throughout the entire two days it took them, not a word was spoken between them. Zaine didn't talk unless absolutely necessary and Xanatos was a quiet person by nature.

The time it had taken them hadn't surprised Xanatos, though. He knew it was going to take quite a bit of time for them to pack up. Luckily, they were fairly close to the Super-Duper Mart, so they wouldn't be lagging behind by too much. They might even get there slightly early which was doing very well for them.

(1903 words)

Kikai, I have been reading this from the beginning, but I've only just got around to commenting. Do forgive me.

There are so many things I'd like to comment on and compliment you on that I don't know if I can get all this into one post before Beth cuts me off, but here goes.

First, my congratulations for not only writing but writing well in this forum at all. This forum, as I pointed out in the Casualty thread, really NEEDS good writers to be the nucleus around which other good writers shall come in and grow.

Second, let me offer my congratulations on writing, and again writing well, about a subject that few or no other writers touch, namely Super Mutants. To create life in the sense of a living, feeling, emotionally complex being under the body that was designed to be an uber soldier is not an easy one, and the more kudos to you for having not only the guts but also the sensitivity of touch and range of imagination to write so.

But then, I could not expect anything else from the Fawkes Fanclub President and SM stories writer, could I ?

*BTW I know that Fawkes is a guy. It's just that Acky doesn't...*

What really struck me as deep and sensitive - and powerful and poignant as well - was your description of a female Super Mutant who has had the sixual drive erased from her physical, but not her emotional memories. This yearning of a soul who knows that part of itself has been amputated is achingly real, similar to the stories of amputees who still feel pain in the limbs that have been amputated. Perhaps only a female writer could do this sensitive subject so much justice as you did.

Please write on, Kikai. We are immersed into both the surroundings and souls of your unforgettable characters.

Thank you so much for the great review and comments on my story, D.Foxy. I really appreciate hearing what others think of what I'm doing. It's a unique subject and I always like writing about subject matter that sometimes, other people simply wont touch. I like to try and make my characters real in the sense of the story and this takes a lot of effort for this subject especially. I'm glad I'm getting across the things I've set myself to strive for. I hope you continue to enjoy reading this

Acky is just silly.

Elizabeth has been something I've been wanting to do for a while. I had the idea for a long time before writing this and suddenly had the chance to put it to text. It makes me happy that I seemed to have got across what I was hoping to

I'll keep on writing! You guys will find it isn't that easy to get rid of me

And here you go, more writing! A new chapter!

~

Chapter 7: Scavenger

A bent tin can went flying as she tossed it away in disgust. It was always the cans, the goddamned cans, that she was finding. Sure, if you found enough of them, they could be broken down into scrap and used for things, but the whole process was a pain in the butt and really not worth the time unless you had hundreds of the stupid things. Now some actual metal scraps, good quality stuff, spare parts, or anything even remotely better than tin cans would have made her happy. They were worth it enough to carry around.

She almost looked like a turtle, a huge pack on her back which had many pockets and smaller packs hanging from it. The thing reached above her head by a foot or so and hung down almost to her knees. She had to walk hunched over slightly so it wouldn't throw her off balance too much. It made scrambling over the ruins of old buildings a bit more interesting, but it was something that she honestly didn't mind. You had to make a living somehow.

Her current line of work, so to speak, was hardly interesting or worth even a mention. Scavengers were a cap a dozen and usually spent up just as easily. Scavving in the downtown area tended to be bad for one's health. If it wasn't the bands of Raiders that got you, it was the super mutants. That's where she had an advantage over others who lived off the gathering of junk: super mutants rarely attacked other super mutants without a damn good reason.

The group she had escaped several years ago was outside the city in a rusty, dark cave that called itself a vault. She thought it was more like a prison, truth be told, since that's what it had been like for her until she'd managed to slip out and get away from that awful place. Even at that, she highly doubted they'd recognize her and certainly those down town wouldn't know her at all. Super mutants tended to not have the most far-reaching long term memory. As long as she kept her head down and her mouth shut, they didn't bother her much at all.

All her life that she could remember, she'd been different. She could vaguely remember the horrible pain of changing from human into mutant, but anything beyond that was either gone or very vague and fuzzy. When she'd woken up, it had been different from all the others. She'd spoken to them and then they knew that she wasn't like them. They'd tried to lock her up at first, but hadn't chosen the best place nor accounted for the fact that she might be capable of picking conventional locks. Then, they'd tried to kill her and that's when she finally found her way out and gave them the slip.

Since then, she's kept her distance from the others. Those first few months when she was out, alive and terrified and utterly alone had been the most difficult of all, even more so than leaving the vault had been. Her mind had been fuzzy and she didn't even know who she was. Dodging around settlements, keeping herself away from other mutants or any humans she came across, it had been a near-constant job just keeping alive.

Eventually, she had found her way into the D.C. ruins where it was dog eat dog and nobody gave a [censored] who you were; they'd shoot you anyway unless you were on their side. That's when she had discovered that the super mutants there simply didn't notice her. To them, she was unremarkable and just another mutant. They didn't care beyond the odd one that would try to engage her in conversation, though it was always very basic conversation and she usually played along for the sake of keeping herself from being noticed.

Over the years, she'd became a very good fake. If needed, she could blend herself into a group of super mutants and be mostly safe for extended periods of time. Not a violent person, she would never kill anybody, but then if they did come across someone, which was very rare deep in the downtown area, she would just play stupid and miss every shot on purpose. It wasn't like there weren't other super mutants who were really trying their best and doing just as poorly at actually hitting anything.

Really, it was simple to infiltrate any of the downtown groups, save for those in the Mall who were always actively fighting people, if you were good at playing dumb and could keep it up for long periods of time. If it took that to survive some days, then she did it. She ate what they ate and tried to not think about what it'd likely been while alive--there wasn't anything she could do to help them now anyway--and she gladly took refuge in their camps where it was safe to sleep and not need to be hyper aware, always on the verge of waking up for fear that something might attack you in the night.

These days, she rarely, if ever, joined other groups. When she had first arrived downtown, it had been a necessary thing. Before she could scraqe out a living by herself, she simply had to face the facts, grit her teeth, and bear being in the company of her lesser-minded brethren. Some days it hadn't been easy, other days it had been a downright struggle, but she'd survived somehow and made it through alive and with her sanity intact. Sometimes, that was the hardest part of all: Keeping sane. Rages could come with all the fury of a hurricane and destroy just as easily. Losing yourself to the rage and bloodlust was easy, too easy, and fighting back against it, not letting yourself become lost to it, was the most difficult thing of all.

Now she had a much better grip on herself, her emotions, and even her situation. Sure, it was an awful, bleak existence, but she couldn't let herself wallow in misery. She had to keep pushing on, make it through each challenge set before her. There had been useful things she had come out with from living with the others and she couldn't deny that. She had been given a name, Izzy, and was given weapons and ammunition. Sure, sometimes the stuff was in pretty poor condition, but you take what you can get and over time, she was able to repair her things with other scraps and pieces until she had decent gear. If she was ever hard up for ammo, she would just blend into a group, get what she needed, then be gone again, almost like a ghost passing through, and nobody would be none the wiser.

Izzy was very good at it.

What she wasn't so great at was the business of being a scavenger. Purely by accident, she had discovered that a few of the merchant caravans would actually trade with her and that was how she had found out about the others. Hell, she learned that there were others because up until that point, she thought she was the only one like this. After a while, picking through the ruins for useful things to trade the caravans with for food, ammunition, and other supplies she needed, she would meet one or two of the others as they came out for the same reason.

Eventually, she had met Crazy Wolfgang who, as his name implies, is completely off his nut, but in a good way. To be honest, Izzy thought he was cute and wished the circumstances were different. That was just a pipe-dream, though. No human would ever be that forgiving or willing to look past the physical. It was a nice dream to have, at any rate.

Thus, when he'd asked her if she could help him out, she had been all over the opportunity. She hadn't cared what he wanted done, she simply wanted to do it. It turned out to be something that, for her, would be fairly easy. Scavenge the ruins for useful junk, unique junk, or just junk junk, and he would give her special discounts and payments for the extra work. To hell with pipe dreams; she could at least make his life a little easier and was more than willing to pitch in.

At the time, it had sounded dead simple, but as time went on, she realized why he'd asked her to do it, because it was far from easy. The super mutants weren't the problem as she could already deal with them without any violence whatsoever. It was the Raiders that gave her a rough time.

In the ruins, the Raiders are even worse. They congregate into larger groups and use the jungle of wreckage to their advantage. This was what made the job a challenge for her, but then, it wasn't like Raiders were smart, hell some days she thought they might be on par with the other mutants. As long as she kept herself well equipped, she could deal with them and this was part of the reason why she went back to blending in with super mutants for any length of time: Free ammunition and weaponry to scavenge for parts.

Over the course of a couple years, she got better and better at it and was able to bring Wolfgang a nice amount of stuff, from leg braces, to toy Nuka trucks, to scrap metal and spare parts. She also burned his caravan route into her memory so she could always catch him on his trip nearby to Rivet City. Anything, even tin cans, he would take. He paid well and was always extremely happy to get the loads of stuff she brought him. It was the simple pleasures in life.

That was why she was currently loaded down like a pack Brahmin, digging through the wreckage of what she thought might have been an old apartment building. She was finding a lot of busted up sinks and broken refrigerators, splintered bed frames and other furniture. This was almost a treasure trove, though. Sure, there were more than enough tin cans to frustrate her, but buried in the worthless stuff were goodies to be had, things she could trade for a good sack of caps. Granted, most of this was just scavenged parts from broken machinery and electronics, but it was the better junk. She was also finding a lot of pre-war packaged food which would earn its own nice chunk of change.

Crazy Wolfgang was, needless to say, ecstatic when she brought him her haul a few days later. This alone was enough to make Izzy happy and even more, he danced around a little bit with her, the both of them laughing and Wolfgang's guard just staring at them both like they were completely mad. Maybe they were. He gave her the caps for the nice haul, including her normal payment and a bonus on top of that.

"A very kind entrepreneur has taken a casual glance at my cornucopia of crap and decided to cash in on such a collection. That is to say, I have an investor backing me. It gives me a few extra caps for expenditures and with this dross of detritus, you have earned a little extra!"

As they did business, Izzy trading the caps she'd just gotten for things she needed, such as pre-war packaged meats and jerky, anything with meat that would keep, and other supplies, Wolfgang spoke up. "Ah, I nearly forgot to mention! I've heard tell of your fellow mindful mutants getting together for something. I know not what, but perhaps if you run across any, you may query them."

Goodbyes were exchanged and Izzy remained, watching the caravan until it was completely out of sight, then she began to think. It wasn't like the scattered mutants like her to all gather in one spot for anything, it was too dangerous for them, but if Wolfgang trusted the information enough to tell her, then there must be some grain of truth to it. At least she knew a good place to find out.

The mutant rescue's base of operations was situated in the downtown area under a derelict row house in a basemant area. The house itself was completely normal, with boarded up windows and doors. The secret was the back door wasn't actually boarded up--the boards were part of the door--and if you knew where to look, there was a release catch to open the door. Izzy had found it purely by accident while scavving in the area. She'd meant to rip the boards off entirely until she found the small latch and saw that the door opened quite well on its own.

Both Izzy and everyone living inside the hidden base were surprised, and very lucky, at the sight of a super mutant who was intelligent. What had happened was those inside had heard someone fiddling with the door and had sent Brick up to investigate, so he was the first thing she saw when finally getting the door to open. They were lucky in that it had been Izzy and not someone who might become inconvenient.

Brick was a wall of a mutant and lived up to his name, so she had definitely been intimidated when she saw him, but when he spoke to her, she realized who, and what, he must be, completely relieved. Then she had met Dianella and all the others working there. It was a very noble cause, but there just wasn't room in the already cramped space for another mutant, or Meta-human as some liked to be referred to as. Izzy did take up the cause in her own way and would give them intel when they needed it since she had become so good at mingling with other super mutants.

Now she sought out that inconspicuous little house with another thing in mind entirely. Izzy was surprised to find the place much less cramped than it had been--both Brick and Natasha were gone--which was explained right away to her. Dianella was there and told her she was lucky because Dianella herself had just returned from a long journey.

That's when she found out what was going on. It had stunned her into silence as she listened to Dianella talk about it, explain what the little town was like and that they were still working on it, that there would be more homes soon. She also gave Izzy detailed verbal instructions on how to find the place. For now, while the place was still being built up, they didn't want word getting out; they wanted to keep it as secret as possible until the place was properly fortified.

Dianella had at least used a map to explain it to her and asked if she would spread the word to anyone she knew or came across. Izzy wasn't really a sociable sort; she didn't keep contact with the others, but would sometimes come across them in the course of her work and be friendly enough. They were all friendly to each other since they were all in it together. Now, it seemed, they could be in it together in a way that had previously been impossible.

Though she liked scavenging and seeing Wolfgang every couple weeks, there was no where to go in either of those avenues and she knew that. Izzy had never lied to herself over any of it. She knew that she had no chances and that scavenging simply wasn't a way of life, not for her, at least. She only did it out of necessity, but now it sounded like she could go somewhere and possibly make an honest living. She could help out her fellows and live with them in such a way nobody had ever dreamed of.

Thus, Izzy ramped up her scavenging. She spent days searching through the ruins, getting every last scrap she could and starting a collection of supplies for her upcoming trip. Dianella and the other Ghouls living in the base were very gracious in letting her stay there while she prepared, giving her a safe place to stash her supplies. Izzy was very thankful to them and did everything she could for them over the course of the next month.

Even Crazy Wolfgang could tell that she was up to something important and with the amount of stuff she was bringing in, he was more than happy to keep paying her bonuses, especially because she said that soon, he might not be seeing much of her anymore and so he wanted to get as much stuff as he could from her before she disappeared. He never did ask her why, but even he could tell she was planning for a big trip by the amount of travel supplies she had been trading her scavenging efforts to him for.

"This is probably goodbye for a long time, Wolfgang," she told him several weeks later. She was trading in the last of her findings and spending every last cap she had on supplies, which he'd began carrying just to trade with her. Then he surprised her by giving her what, for him, was a big hug. The thought was there anyway and she had to fight to not turn on the waterworks. She'd had to kneel down to return it, but it was obvious he'd miss her, simply because she was good at what she did and she was always very pleasant company. It was difficult to find people who were genuinely nice.

That next day, she packed up her things, said goodbye to Dianella and the others, and headed out towards a little clutch of buildings overlooking the Vault 87 basin. Izzy was both hopeful and sad now that she was going, but she kept reminding herself that perhaps, for the first time in her life, she could stay somewhere for the long term and not have to put up an act. She could stay and be herself. She could stay and, ultimately, be happy.

(3043 words)