This is my first one, so please let me know what you think.


Corbin Matthew Ellison
Chapter 1 - Of Mice and Mentats

The Rivet City brig smelled like human excrement, but the irradiated water which dripped down the walls and pooled in the middle of the floor at least keep it sterile. Probably. It wasn't the first time Corbin Matthew Ellison had been here, but through the fog of Mentat withdrawal crept the unavoidable conclusion that this time he had really screwed the pooch. The fact that he was a minor had gotten him off the hook for serious punishment in the past, like when he'd accidentally flooded Doctor Li's hydroponic vegetable lab.

He wasn't supposed to be in the lab in the first place, but the meddling was chalked up to the curiosity of a boy who had otherwise proven quite apt at fixing old electronics and decaying mechanical gear. A much more serious infraction had never been linked to him. Two years ago, Rivet City Security had gotten a hold of a box of AEP7 Laser Pistols which Lucky Harith had scabbed out of an old army depot. One of them overheated and blew up, leaving an officer with a hand crippled by third degree burns. Corbin, or Matty as he liked to be called, couldn't be sure his tinkering had caused the malfunction, but he knew his dad, who was on Security, would have tanned his hide had he ever found out.

Matty knew he'd always been a bit of a disappointment to his father, Corbin Ellison Senior. The first time Dad had brought Matty to fire his old hunting rifle off the upper deck of the rusted out battle carrier that was Rivet City had been an embarrassment for both of them. The recoil caused Matty to let out a yelp, and it was all he could do to not cry in front of his father. He refused to try it a second time and later found a dark bruise on his collarbone which confirmed to him that he would never, ever hold one of the slick, pvssyring submachine guns which Security carried around so confidently. He had his father's unruly black hair and blue eyes, but the final anolysis had been spelled out by Corbin Senior quite succinctly after this latest debacle: "You're no son of mine".

In retrospect, it was obvious what a poor decision it had been to meddle with the bridge which led into Rivet City. But who could have imagined that just that night something would have gotten the Ghouls stirred up down in Anacostia Crossing, sent them scrambling out of their hole and towards Rivet City? When the alarm went out, the control tower tried to retract the bridge, but instead of swinging back to the ship, the bridge gave a horrible groaning, snapping sound and just sagged down a few more inches. And in came the ghouls, their claws rasping horribly on the wrought iron. The two guards at the main entrance manage to mow down the first wave of irradiated monstrosities in a hail of 10 millimeter rounds, but before reinforcements could arrive another pack of the feral creatures were upon them. Matty could only watch in mute horror from his perch above the bridge as two men were torn to shreds before his eyes. The servo mechanism he'd been examining had been pinched in half when the control tower had tried to activate the bridge, and there was nothing Matty could have done to repair it in time.

Matty comes out of his miserable reverie as the radio outside his cell crackles. Officer Albertson leans forward in his chair to punch the reply button. "10-4. I'll let him know." Albertson stands and walks over to the cell. "You hear that, boy? They're well and truly dead now. Doc Preston gave it his best, but they've both bled out. Smythe was a bit of a [censored], though Pedro was an altogether decent fellow, and neither of them deserved to go like that. So perhaps you can tell me again just what in Oppenheimer's arsehole you think you were doing up there?"

Matty sighs as he sits up. Along with his reminiscing, he's been thinking about the future. They'll likely banish him from Rivet City for this one. He has only a few cards, and he'll have to play them wisely. "Bring Jimmy in here and I'll show you," says Matty.

"Or better yet, just tell me, ya wee git, and we won't have to be bothered by your clumsy robot tottering about," Albertson snaps.

"Come on, he's harmless," Matty replies. "His mini-flamer hasn't even got any fuel." He'd lied to the bullies about that, of course, warning them that if they messed with him again he'd have his Mr. Handy fry them to a crisp.

"And why should I do any favors for you after what you've done?" comes the angry retort.

"Do you think I don't know what I've done?" Matty cries. "I saw them... I saw them tear up Smythe and Pedro with my own eyes. I know it doesn't matter I never meant for something like this, two people are dead because of me! This whole city hates me now, and... sure, that's the least I deserve, but Jimmy's the only friend I've got in the world right now." Albertson scowls, but Matty notes him drumming his fingers pensively on his armor. "I've got twenty caps for you, too, okay? Please, I just need someone on my side."

This last remark was obviously not taken well. "Well, if you've smuggled twenty caps past me, maybe I'll just come in there and confiscate them after givin you a quick kickin for trying to bribe an officer to boot. What do you think about that?" Albertson snarls, grabbing hold of one of the cell bars.

Matty flinches back against the wall. "I d-don't have it on me," he stammers. "Jimmy's got my caps in his storage module."

"Forty caps and you can have your robo wet nurse, kid," Albertson says, "but you'd better be going somewhere with this." Albertson heads back over to his desk and has a quick radio conversation. Half an hour passes and then the metal bulkhead to the brig slides open to reveal another security officer with James the Robobutler in tow.

"Ah, Master Ellison, so good to see you," the robot pipes cheerfully, floating over to the cell door.

"Hey, Jimmy, good to see you too," says Matty with a grim smile. Albertson coughs and Matty continues,"I've got to access your storage module, Jimmy, hold on a sec, okay?" Matty punches in the code and a flap in Jimmy's spherical body pops open. Careful not to reveal the other contents of the module to the guards, Jimmy counts out forty caps and quickly shuts the flap. Albertson dismisses the other guard and Matty hands over the caps.

"Alright, Ellison, now spill the beans."

"Look, it's simple," Matty says. "Show him your busted arm, Jimmy." The robot's repulsion system flares momentarily as it spins to present one of it's three arms to the security officer. Unlike the other two spindly but nimble appendages, this one is locked in place like it's ready to give someone a high-five. "I haven't been able to get that one working ever since I attached it," Matty explains. "I hooked him up and ran a circuit diagnostic, which came back fine, and everything seems mechanically correct, but for some reason the thing's just frozen up, Jimmy can't budge it."

"And you thought you could scab the parts off the bridge pulley, is that it?" Albertson asks.

"No, I wasn't going to take anything, I swear!" Matty insists. "But take a look at that round servo mechanism right near the body there... it's exactly the same as the one the bridge pulley uses, just about ten times smaller. So I thought if I could just get a good look at the insides of the big one, I might be able to figure out what I'm doing wrong with Jimmy."

"And you didn't think to ask anyone before you started prying about Rivet City's main mechanism of defense?" Albertson demands incredulously.

"I..." Matty falters. "The idea just came to me in a flash. I got excited and didn't think things through. I was just working on Jimmy, and suddenly I remembered where I'd seen a servo like his before..." He trails off lamely and looks away.

"Oh, but there's one part you've leaving out, isn't there?" sneers Albertson. "This flash of genius came to you while you were munching down some of those Mentats you've gotten so fond of, didn't it? That's why you had less sense than a brahmin's left head." Albertson makes a dismissive noise. "You know, you actually used to be a pretty clever kid, Ellison. You made enough caps repairing electronics to buy the brain box for your Mr. Handy off Crazy Wolfgang, plus the other parts it took to get him running. Not many kids your age would have had the patience for that, I'll hand it to you. But don't act like this whole thing was an act of God. I don't know why, but you're the one who chose to start taking Mentats in the first place. You chose to get your wits scrambled so bad that you got two men killed. So enjoy that cot while you can, because I'd be highly surprised if your [censored] isn't sleeping under an overpass within a week, with nothing for fun but playing rub'n'tug with your robo buddy. Your daddy isn't going to stand up to the council for you this time."

Matty didn't reply. Had had none. Albertson grunts. "Well, sweet dreams, kid. I'll be out in the main office. If you need anything, feel free to not bother me."

The door clangs shut behind Albertson and Matty squinches up his eyes and presses his palms against his throbbing temples. There's one last pack of Mentats in the pocket on his right leg that will ease the suffering, but he knows he has to save them. "You seem to be sick, sir," notes Jimmy. "Is there anything I can do to assist you?"

"Heard any new jokes lately?"

"Well, yes, actually," Jimmy says. "I was in the marketplace the other day when I overheard this one from Ms. Staley... Two Tenpenny residents were taking a stroll just outside Tenpenny Tower when all of a sudden a raider jumps out from behind a rock and points a pistol at them. 'Alright, fancypants,' says the raider. 'Fork over all your money and nobody gets hurt.' As they're getting out their money, one of the Tenpenny residents turns to the other and says, 'Oh, by the way, here's that twenty caps I owe you'."

Matty manages a faint smile. The joke isn't hilarious, but the way Jimmy tells it with the light English accent Americans favored in their robobutlers before the Great War always adds a little amusemant. "Good one, Jimmy. Hey, do me a favor. Let me know when it's about half past midnight, okay?" That's when the graveyard shift will have just started. That's when Matty is going to have to make his move.

Next - Escape from Rivet City!

Outstanding work. The writing is upbeat overall, but able to slow down to match the seriousness of a situation when needed. The humor was present, though subtle enough to be muted when the plot demanded, but not so hidden as to be a rare find. Not to mention the characters were mostly believable and not too out there. Dialogue was a little stiff, but still felt quite alive.

I'd say this one is real close to the money. 9.75/10

:thumbsup:

Same, the print makes it long, and thats good too

Very nice. Very, very nice. No major complaints from me, and all things considered, that's quite the accomplishment.

:tops: Good job.

Wow much better than FuzzyDoom. (But I r still <3 him)

Thanks for the support! Here's the second installment...


Chapter 2 - Escape from Rivet City

If Corbin Matthew Ellison was going to be banished from Rivet City, he figured he might as well at least leave on his own terms. The first thing he had to do, before he got out of his jail cell, was to clear his head, so Matty fished the last of his Mentats of out his pants pocket and munched them down. He could practically feel the blood vessels in his skull dilating as his senses sharpened and the fog of withdrawal evaporated. He took a deep breath, savoring the swift ride up.

"Okay, Jimmy, let me in your storage module again," he said to his Mr. Handy, who was hovering attentively just outside the bars. Popping open the flap, he paused for just a moment before withdrawing one of his most prized possessions, a RobCo Stealth Boy 3001 wrist-mounted personal cloaking device. His father had given it to him just over two years ago for his fourteenth birthday, and although it Matty cherished the device, it had been a somewhat bittersweet present. Corbin Senior had told Matty to use it if Rivet City were ever overrun by raiders or the super mutants who patrolled the D.C. ruins. While it must have cost a pile of caps, and acknowledged Matty's love of electronic gadgets, there was also the tacit nod to how useless Matty would be in a real fight, with his skinny frame and squeamishness around guns.

"Thanks, Jimmy," Matty said, slipping on the device. "Now, when I give you the signal, go and tell the security guard I've sent you to try and help with the bridge repairs. Whether he lets you go that way or tells you to get lost, what I want you to actually do is go and wait for me up on the top deck near the broken end, okay?"

"As you command, Master Ellison," replied Jimmy congenially.

Matty reached into his boot to produce a gadget which he had slipped past the guards who brought him in. It was an automatic pick gun he had created himself, out of an old paint gun and some slivers of scrap metal he had filed down. Matty was good enough to pick a simple lock with a bobby pin and a screwdriver for torque, but when speed was key, this little gadget would rake the tumblers as quickly as he could squeeze the handle. He was out of the cell in a moment, and quickly pressed himself up against the bulkhead leading out into the main room of the security office. He activated the Stealth Boy, watching in excitement as his hands vanished before his eyes. "Okay, Jimmy," he whispered, "Go!"

The door swung open and Jimmy drifted out into the other room. Matty could hear the robot's polite tenor voice, and a grumbling reply from the guard. He peeked around the door frame and saw the guard waving Jimmy out of the room before putting his feet up on his desk and tilting down his helmet to shade his eyes. Had the guard been more alert, he might have noticed Matty despite the Stealth Boy, but as it was the boy passed by like a ripple of heat in the air.

Matty's first stop was his own room on the midship deck. His greatest fear was finding his father there, brooding over his screw-up of a son, but his luck held and the room was empty. Matty selected some of the rarer components from his electronics collection and put them into his old aluminum-framed hiking pack, padding them with his few pieces of clothes to keep them from rattling. He gathered up what little was lying around in the way of caps and food and meds and left with a mutter of "Good riddance".

His time was limited; Stealth Boys only had enough juice for about an hour, but Matty forced himself to move slowly and carefully in the shadows of girders and doorways to his next stop. He passed two security guards along the way. He didn't know if they were looking for him, but there was no doubt everyone was on edge after what just happened.

Finally he reached the door to the market area. He pulled out his pick gun again and set to work on the lock then eased his way inside. There was no one in sight, but the lights were still on, and his footsteps echoed in the large hangar where the various shop stalls were arrayed. He paused for a moment to pull of his shoes, which ended up being more difficult than expected since both his hands and feet were nothing but shimmering outlines. He managed to tie the shoes to the frame of his pack and made his way over to the weapons stall. The two guys who ran the place were a couple of pricks, and there were even rumors that one of them had been a slaver at one point, so Matty didn't feel bad about robbing them. They had ended up with with the Lucky Harith's box of laser pistols after the accident had led security to think the things were more trouble than they were worth.

Regular guns were loud, crude beasts of machines, but lasers didn't kick and Matty figured with his sharp eyes and steady hands he might actually be a decent shot with one. He selected the best-looking one and holstered it to his hip. After a moment's thought he selected another and strapped it on as well. He had no illusions about being good enough to go cowboy-style, both barrels blazing, but he was sure to need replacement parts eventually. After that he scooped up all the energy cells he could find along with some fuel for Jimmy's little flamer.

Next he made his way over to Gary's Galley, picked the lock on the fridge, and loaded up as much food and clean water as he could. Gary had always been decent to Matty, and his daughter Angela was a looker and a sweetie, so Matty left a pile of caps behind on the refrigerator shelf. There wasn't time for an apologetic note, but hopefully they'd get the idea.

Last but not least, there was A Quick Fix. Matty had been hoping he'd be able to resist this temptation, but he also knew he'd been kidding himself. The chem-dealer's stall was right across the lane from Gary's, and Matty found himself pawing through the supply crates before he even put any thought into it. He had practically cleaned her out of Mentats in the last months, but he found a few boxes remaining, and as an afterthought he pilfered some radiation meds and Stimpaks as well. He considered leaving her some caps as well but decided against it. "Serves her right for letting a kid get hooked on this junk," he muttered, not quite convincing himself.

Now he was really running short on time, so he hurried into the main stairwell and upwards, hoping his socks would sufficiently muffle his steps. At last fresh air greeted him as Matty stepped out onto the flight deck. The waning moon illuminated the husks of a handful of haphazardly parked fighter jets, resting askew like crippled birds. Trotting over to the edge of the flight deck where the aft section of the ship had broken clean off, he met up with Jimmy just as the Stealth Boy crackled and ran out of charge.

"Master Ellison, so good to see you. How may I serve you?"

"We're getting out of here, Jimmy. The people here don't like me anymore, so we're heading out into the wasteland."

"Very good, sir," replies the robot. "How shall we proceed?"

Matty gives a sardonic chuckle. "No, not so good, really. But at least I'm taking charge of my own life now. First thing, you're going to winch me down to the ledge just above the water. Next lower down my pack and then loop the winch around the railing there back onto itself so you can belay yourself down."

"I must point out, sir, that that last task may be a bit difficult considering my non-functional appendage. I'm not entirely sure I can do it."

"Sure you can, Jimmy," Matty says with a reassuring pat on his companion's metallic hull. "I've got faith in you."

So Matty grabs onto the hook of the custom winch he's installed beneath Jimmy's storage compartment and slowly rappels his way down the jagged side of the makeshift fortress which has been home his entire life. He has to kick his legs and swing in to safely avoid the contaminated river water at the bottom of the line, but he makes it and his pack follows without a snag.

Just as the winch hook disappears up over the edge of the deck again, Matty hears a familiar voice. "What are you doing out here, James?" It's his father. Matty presses himself up against the hull of the ship to remain out of sight.

There is a pause then Jimmy replies, "Master Ellison ordered me to assist in the bridge repair operations".

"So why are you up here instead of at the bridge?" Corbin Senior presses.

Another pause, then Jimmy says, "Well, sir, it occurred to me that the view from up here might be advantageous, and also give me the chance to use my winch to help support the bridge while the necessary parts are switched out."

Matty's mouth drops open and he forgets for a moment that he's afraid. Jimmy has just shown that not only can he think creatively, he can also lie. Unfortunately, Matty's father seems to have come to the same conclusion. "You know, I didn't think robots could lie, but it hardly surprises me that Junior's the one who taught you." He raises his voice. "I know you're out here somewhere, Corbin. Come on out!" Matty presses himself against the hull once again, keeping his breathing shallow. "Corbin Matthew Ellison Junior, I am absolutely done playing games with you," Corbin Senior shouts into the night. Come out this second." Matty remains motionless, his heart racing. He can feel the clarity of the Mentats slipping away, robbing him of the certainty and decisiveness with which he enacted his earlier escape.

Matty hears a familiar click-clack, his father racking the slide on his submachine gun. "Corbin, this is your last warning. You get out here front and center before I turn this robot of yours into a scrap heap, you hear me?"

Matty springs forward to the edge of his little ledge over the water and shouts, "Don't you touch him!" His father's head and broad shoulders appear over the edge of the flight deck, silhouetted against the sliver of moon.

"What in the blazes are you doing down there, Corbin? Have you completely lost your mind?" bellows Matty's dad.

"My name is Matty, can't you get it right?" he shouts back. "I'll never live up to your name, remember? And I'm getting out of here!"

"Don't be stupid... Matty. Get back up here." His father sighs. "Look, I know I've been hard on you, and things haven't been easy without your mother. But getting yourself eaten by muties isn't going to change anything. What you're going to do is get back up here and get to your cell. And that's where you're going to stay for a good long while till you've got that brain-burning chem out of your system."

"Forget it, Dad," Matty shouts back. "It's too late for that and you know it. I've ruined my chances at Rivet City. I'll find somewhere else to live, and you'll never have to be embarrassed by me again."

"I'm not having this debate!" Corbin Senior roars back. "Now, do you want to get back up here or do you want to see your precious robot get ventilated?"

"Don't you dare!" Matty shouts, his voice cracking. "Jimmy... get out of there! Run!"

"I'm coming, master!" cries the robobutler, and time seems to slow as Matty watches Jimmy sail off the edge of the flight deck past the astonished face of his father. The robot makes a graceful arc, but as it nears the water its two good limbs start flailing desperately, and then with a great crashing geyser it disappears beneath the surface of the irradiated water.

"Jimmy!" Matty drops to his knees and strains to see into the murky depths.

A minute of stunned silence stretches into the night. Then, with a gurgling roar, Jimmy's silvery hull and three luminous eyes appear and then the robot clears the river altogether, his repulsor unit creating a frothing crater in the surface of the water. A goofy grin breaks out on Matty's face. "Here, catch!" he shouts, and tosses his pack. Jimmy manages to dip down and catch a loop over his arm that's locked up. "That's it, Dad! I'm out of here. Give my regards to Angela Staley!" Matty dives into the water, is momentarily shocked by its frigid cold, but starts paddling for shore. He can hear his father shouting, but between the hiss of Jimmy's repulsor and the slap of his own hands on the water, his father's words are lost to the wasteland winds.

Next- Into the Wastes!

As before, any comments are welcome.

Here's my comment... Very well done, I like it.

Chapter 3 - Into the Wastes

Dawn finds Matty holed up in the remains of some sort of bait and tackle shop a few miles down the bay from Rivet City. Despite the dramatic farewell he'd gotten to give his father, the rest of Matty's great escape hadn't been quite as polished as he'd hoped. For starters, swimming was a lot more challenging than he had expected, and during his desperate and flailing journey to the shore, he'd ended up accidentally gulping down a fair amount of contaminated river water. He hadn't meant to get into the water at all without consuming a few tablets of Rad-X first, but in the excitement of the moment and the haze following his Mentat high, he'd forgotten that entirely.

Now he shivers naked on a grimy cot in the corner of the shop, an IV of RadAway dripping into his arm. He's had the treatment before; every resident of Rivet City typically went through it at least twice a year since nearly all the food and water was flavored with at least a few rads. His clothes slowly drip-dry in the far corner, and he can't bring himself to put on his spares as his skin has broken out into blotchy red hives. There was precious little to be salvaged in the shop, but he did manage to turn up a sealed bottle of brandy from before the war. The discovery did a little to perk him up, and slowly nursing it helps ease the pain of his brittle skin.

The sun climbs in the sky, and the tin roof of the shop transmits its warmth nicely. Matty finally stops shivering, and between the heat, brandy and exhaustion he finally nods off to the soothing hum of Jimmy's repulsor.

Matty wakes flailing in the darkness to the clatter of automatic gunfire. Rolling over to his hands and knees, he remembers where he is as his hands touch the cold concrete floor of the shop. "Jimmy, what's happening?" he hisses.

"I'm not sure, sir. Shall I go out and investigate?" More gunfire and men shouting can be heard.

"No, stay with me," Matty orders. "And keep your voice down." Still naked, Matty crawls on all fours over to his pack and grabs one of the laser pistols he's set down beside it, then makes his way into the back room. He'd barricaded the front door after they first came in, but if those were assault rifles he was hearing, a stray round could probably punch through the shop's thin walls without difficulty. Balling himself up, he crawls under a metal office desk with a sturdy wood top.

Sitting there, he notices a trickle of blood down his left arm and for a panicked moment wonders if he's already been hit before realizing that it's from where the IV was torn out of his arm when he woke up. That alerts him to another message from his body, an acute cramping in his abdomen. His body is ready to expel the radiation which the RadAway has absorbed from his system. There is a sink across the room from him, but that would mean leaving cover, so with a soft groan, Matty turns to the side to release a stinging flow of bright yellow, practically luminescent urine. "That's not because I was scared, Jimmy," he mumbles.

He remains balled up under the desk as the close-by battle continues, even as the foul-smelling piss starts to creep back under the desk with him. He tries to control his breathing as his eyes remain glued to the door and his palms locked on his weapon. Guttural cries of pain and rage mix with the deafening mechanical braying of guns for what seems like hours. Finally it stops, but Matty waits for what he figures is at least another thirty minutes before gingerly getting back on his feet. He looks over at his robot, who has been hovering nonchalantly in the corner the entire time.

"How are you, sir? Is everything alright?"

"I'm okay, Jimmy, thanks. And you don't have to call me sir or master anymore. We're partners in this out here," Matty says as he digs into his pack for his dry clothes and some food and water.

"As you wish. What shall we do next?" Jimmy asks.

"Well, if the coast is clear, I'm hoping we can get out of D.C. tonight. Then I figure we'll head west to Tenpenny Tower. You're my ticket in. I figure they've gotta have work for someone with mechanical skills like mine. We'll travel by night and rest during the day."

Outside the shop, the source of the chaos is ultimately only half-revealed. In the midst of brass casings and pooled blood, Matty finds the bullet-ridden carcasses of two massive greenish-yellow humanoids. He's never seen a so-called super mutant before, but caution overcomes curiosity and he keeps his distance. So little is known about the bloated monstrosities. For all he knows, their very blood is radioactive or contagious. And besides, they appear to have been stripped of any weapons or gear they might have had. Whoever killed them is long gone, or so he would hope. With a bit of a shiver, he hoists his pack and calls for Jimmy to fall in behind him.

Used to the cramped hallways of the old battle carrier he's lived in all his life, the broad, open streets between the decaying high-rise skeletons fill Matty with a mild sense of vertigo. He walks slowly, his pistol at the ready. Every so often, a rustle in the shadows causes him to whip around and raise the pistol to fire. It's nothing more than rad roaches scuttling through the debris, and the giant insects which sometimes slip into Rivet City generally don't attack unless provoked. After maybe an hour of this stop-and-go progress, he stops with a sigh and slips off his pack. Looking at Jimmy, he says, "You know, if I can't distinguish between a rad roach and a super mutant, we're not getting anywhere." Jimmy bobs in the air, apparently waiting for him to elaborate. "I'm just saying," Matty continues, "it wouldn't hurt to sharpen my senses a bit. At least until we get out into the suburbs."

"My sensors are performing a continual sweep, sir," Jimmy provides helpfully.

"Yes, good. Keep it up," Matty replies. He stands there fidgeting indecisively. Finally, swearing under his breath, he pulls open his pack, roots through it and yanks out a pack of Mentats. I'll make them last, he tells himself, popping a single tablet out of its plastic casing.

And so they go, the boy forcing himself to stretch out the high with occasional, measured bumps to his alertness. It occurs to him that they shouldn't be merrily parading down the middle of the streets, so they take to either side, Jimmy trailing about twenty feet back to help keep them from getting ambushed. The constant pressure to keep an eye out for danger stills wears on his nerves, and as the sky begins to lighten, Matty finds he has learned something very important about travel in the wasteland- walking hurts. Rivet City was pretty big, and you could probably clock a few miles crisscrossing it in the course of a day. But Matty has never had the opportunity to spend several hours on the march, and what he has found is that he doesn't like it one bit. His feet are on fire, his shins are made of glass, his lower back is rubbed raw, and the straps from his pack have his traqezius muscles about seized up.

Matty spies an office building that might be a decent place to crash for the day. He's already starting to ease off his pack when he spots the silhouette of a man inside the lobby. The boy freezes for a moment then quickly back pedals, grazing his leg on some exposed rebar as he ducks behind a toppled concrete pillar. Jimmy zips into place behind him. The sudden rush of adrenaline snaps him out of his lethargy, and he is momentarily pleased with himself to find that he's pulled out his laser weapon without even thinking about it.

Crouched in the shadows, he narrows his eyes and counts at least three figures in the lobby across the street. Are they raiders? He can make out a pistol on the hip of two of the men, and either a rifle or shotgun on the third. Or just fellow wasteland wanderers? Is this what it's always going to be like out here, never able to approach another human being for fear they'll gun you down or worse? He watches for another few minutes then whispers to Jimmy that it's time to go. He hurries around the next corner to get out of view then west again towards his goal.

In another hour, the sun has breached the horizon, but they've cleared the ruins of D.C. proper. The shell of a little diner has presented itself, and Matty can see from a distance that it's abandoned. The interior has been thoroughly ransacked, down to the foam cushions which have been torn out of every booth. But even without something to sleep on, it doesn't take Matty long to pull off his boots, down another third of his brandy, and abandon his aching body for dreamworld.

Matty.

"Matty."

"What?" Matty growls irritably, expecting to see his dad standing over his cot. But as he blinks his eyes, the realization that he is no longer surrounded by protective steel walls rushes in to give his heart a nasty squeeze. "What, what is it?" he asks urgently.

"An unknown individual is approaching our location," Jimmy informs him.

"Where?"

"From the east, sir."

Moving in a crouch, laser pistol in hand, Matty creeps over to the smashed diner window. "Get back, Jimmy, behind that refrigerator there," he whispers, and the robot complies. Matty can see a lone figure approaching, a long shadow stretching out behind him from the setting sun. It's a grizzled, middle-aged man in a brahmin-skin outfit with a pistol on his hip and a rifle on his back. His gaze flits about, but he is making purposeful strides towards the diner. Glancing around, Matty finds a position behind the wall of a booth so that the man won't be able to see him through the window, and so that Matty will also have the jump on him as he comes through the door. He can hear gravel crunching underfoot outside, and there is a pause just outside of the door. He steps inside the diner. The low sun accentuates the gaunt cheekbones and weathered lines of his face.

"Hey!" Matty shouts, pointing his pistol as he stands. The wastelander pivots, unholstering his long revolver with surprising speed, and Matty squeezes the trigger. An angry red bolt sears the air, doubling the man over as it strikes him in the stomach. "Stop, just stop!" Matty cries desperately, but the stranger straightens up and raises his pistol. Matty squeezes the trigger in rapid succession and more beams strike the man in the shoulder and chest. The stranger stumbles backward and Matty continues to squeeze the trigger in a blind panic.

And then Matty is standing over the man, looking down at his smoldering shirt as the acrid smell of burnt flesh fills his nostrils. "No!" Matty yells. "I told you to stop, you idiot! Why didn't you stop?" He can taste this morning's brandy in the back of his throat and it feels like he can't get enough air. Matty has never been religious really, but looking down at the man's eyes is an epiphany. There is something in a person's eyes, and whatever that something is, is gone. Matty stumbles outside, hyperventilating and trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Are you alright, Matty?" Jimmy has floated out after him.

"Water," Matty gasps.

"Certainly, sir," Jimmy responds all too cheerfully, and spins around, popping open the storage compartment in his spherical body. Matty grabs a plastic bottle, tears it open, and chokes a little as he tries to take too much of it. He goes into a coughing fit but finally catches his breath.

"Okay, Jimmy," he says finally. "We've got to shore up the tactical situation here." It sounds like something he could picture his dad saying. "I'm loading as much as I can into your storage module. I've been carrying too much for a trip like this. Come on inside quick. Who knows who saw those laser shots." Back in the diner, Matty takes a look at the man's revolver lying on the floor, a .32. The man's belt has various pouches and satchels hanging off of it. Without bothering to inspect the contents, Matty unbuckles it, reholsters the gun, and stuff the mess of it into Jimmy's compartment. Upending his own sack, Matty picks out all the spare parts and electronics and adds those. The food and water he decides to keep on him, in case the two of them ever get separated. He pulls the old rifle off of the man's shoulder, avoiding looking into his face. He manages to stuff it into his pack so that just the end of the barrel sticks up out of the top. "Okay, let's move," he orders as he finishes lacing up his boots.

"Are you--" Jimmy begins, but Matty cuts him off.

"Save it partner. It's time to haul." He steps out the door, casts a quick look around and sets off at a fast march into the setting sun. "Yippie ki-yay," he mutters grimly.

He doesn't stop or even slow down for several hours. The splintered, dessicated suburbs have given way to an empty, cracked landscape. The last sliver of moon and the stars are mostly smogged out, giving Matty the illusion that he is simply charging away into infinity. "I killed a man today," he says quietly. He's been repeating it over and over for the past few miles, changing the tone and emphasis. There are so many connotations you can give those five words. But far from a state of manic rambling, the words, like a soothing mantra, have actually put him into an oddly peaceful mood.

Seeing a pair of blackened trees ahead in the gloom, he finally slows and turns back to Jimmy. "We'll stop for lunch up there, okay buddy?"

"Splendid," Jimmy replies candidly.

It's been been almost twenty four hours since Matty popped a Mentat, but the desire for more isn't particularly strong right now. If anything, the mental fog of withdrawal is welcome right now. Matty focuses himself on logistics as he prepares and eats his dinner. He's downing two liters of water a day, and Jimmy's condensation collector can produce a little less than one. Even with that losing ration, though, he'll have more than enough to reach Tenpenny. He wipes down his laser pistol and pulls off the outer casing to blow the wasteland dust out of its innards. A detailed cleaning can wait until he's safe behind some walls again. After a brief massage of his feet, Matty pulls his boots back on with a sigh and tells Jimmy it's time to get moving again.

The rest of the night passes without incident, but the hypnotic process of marching along in silence leads Matty's mind again and again to replay the scene in the diner. No matter how he spins it, he can't honestly convince himself that the man had hostile intentions. Grabbing his gun may have just been an instinct when Matty startled him. On the other hand, he could have been the advance scout for a slaver party from Paradise Falls for all Matty knew. Either way, his life had ended in a literal flash. That's how it was out here, Matty supposed. Two days in the wastes, and that's how it was. Death could come from anywhere, and it didn't have to make sense to anyone involved.

Next- Tenpenny's Shadow

Damn, very nice story! I want more!

I agree with Howitzer, more! It's excellent, wonderful story. I hope that when I write my story, it'll at least be half as good as this.

Thanks for the kind words. I am planning to write more, but I'm studying for a final right now, so it's not going to be until at least next weekend. Stay tuned...