#riddik

Chapter 21: No-Cool-Ghoul!

---

A thin veil of fog covered the ruins of Boston, dew dotting the ruined and twisted metal of once grand buildings and streamlined cars. Diamond City’s great green walls glistened in the morning sun, dyed a bright orange and warmed only by the glow of winter light. It was rare to see such a morning in the Commonwealth, the air mostly still -- if the occasional watcher or seagull could be excused -- and the chill of the morn was none too uncomfortable.

There was a dull groan as a metal beam shifted after nearly two hundred years of inactivity, and then nothing but silence. But just as the metal lay still once more, the heavy crunch of boot on concrete echoed down the thoroughfare.

Riddik didn’t care for quiet mornings on most days. Typically, they woke, trained, ordered recruits, and all in the span of a few short hours. There was no time to be wasted on watching the sun rise or contemplating the beauty of the ruined wasteland. There were no moments of silence save the times Elder Maxson requested the Paladin, and even those had become too few and far between.

The quiet meant there was nothing, no progress, in Riddik’s warped perspective -- no movement, no change, no explosive reactions, and no advancements.

Nothing at all.

With that dour thought, Riddik adjusted their powered sledge and continued on down the empty street toward Diamond City’s entrance, the hum of turrets not far in the distance and the dim light of dying fire barrels dotting the road. Nine and Eleven followed not far behind their Paladin, the former of the two slipping slightly on a loose pile of rubble as he idly watched a flock of birds fly overhead.

Riddik, however, paid him no mind as they continued on, Eleven smacking the back of Nine’s helmet when he straightened himself. It wouldn’t do well for the knights to embarrass one another in front of their commanding officer.

There was no way the Paladin would allow the Railroad to escape their grasp once more. They would stamp out what remained of their reclusive little group, and finally catch Turner unawares. When she would be at her most broken. There was a part of Riddik that relished in the thought; to see the face Turner wore when they killed that synth beau of hers over a year ago again. And in front of Maxson no less. Only then would the deserter know how far she had fallen.

It would not be a repeat of Old North Church -- Turner would not escape. Not this time.

Taking long, even strides, Riddik commanded a presence as they approached the main gates of the city, their footfalls heavy and shoulders held square. Their pomp and flair, Brotherhood emblazoned cape fluttered about in the wind, and that was more than enough to quickly draw the attention of the guards positioned outside. They were all too suspicious of the gigantesque figure that approached them, their guns immediately at the ready -- as futile as the display might have been.

Riddik made no attempt to stop as one of the guards hailed them, and in a blur the Paladin’s sledge knocked through the decaying support of a storefront and sent the guard pirouetting. He landed with a dull thud, his gun flying from his hands to clank loudly on the floor several feet away. The sound nearly covered the rattle that left the guard’s lungs, but only nearly.

Nine and Eleven appeared from around the gate’s cover just as the remaining guard fired a single shotgun round at the Paladin’s chest, the scattershot of bullets bouncing off uselessly.

Riddik slowly rounded on the guard, the gold of their lenses flickering in the morning light, and quirked their head to the side curiously. It wasn’t often one stood so brazenly against them when they were so obviously outmatched, and the second shot that hit their cuirass almost made them laugh if it weren’t so futile.

Giving the guard the benefit of the doubt, Riddik paused before they strode toward him agonizingly slow. One precise footfall after another until the Brotherhood Paladin had the guard pinned in the corner, the barrel of the shotgun rammed against the thick plating of Riddik’s chest plate. Towering over him, Riddik remained silent and observed as the guard’s eyes widened and darted from one point to the other.

If one listened enough in the silence that followed, Riddik’s slow, relaxed breaths could be heard -- though that hardly meant they were human.

But just as the tension reached a head, Riddik took a step away and turned their back to the guard. And with the flourish of their cape, the Paladin strode forward to an awaiting elevator on the opposite side of the entrance hall, the dim light of the panel above beckoning them. Without a word as they entered the cramped quarters of the elevator, Riddik merely pointed at the guard. A second later, the very same finger pointed downwards, and Nine and Eleven burst forward.

Riddik watched through the closing doors as their knights took hold of the guard rather unceremoniously, and dragged him through the main gate.

The Paladin was greeted with the dread that seemed to meet all who stepped into an elevator at one point in their lives: terrible, broken music that sounded like it was being played underwater, and dying with age through a half destroyed speaker. This was only exaggerated by the slow ascent of the elevator car itself, the weight of Riddik’s X-01 armour not helping matters much.

However, when Riddik finally did arrive on the top floor of Diamond City’s stands, and because a stunning entrance was certainly key in that situation, they waited for a few seconds as the doors chimed before they stepped out into the open.

Mayor McDonough stood at the railing overlooking the great green jewel of the Commonwealth, unawares to the danger that now lay behind him. If the mayor assumed the one entering his abode to be one of his confidants, then he was sorely mistaken.

“I take it morning rounds were uneventful?” McDonough questioned without turning to face his visitor, obviously assuming them to be one of his city guards or his assistant. His large stomach bounced as he laughed heartily, “The traders recently have been demanding too much, wouldn’t you think? I believe a small entrance fee should be enacted for all those who wish to enter the city. Not too much to ask,” McDonough turned on his heel with a great, twisted grin on his round cheeks, “isn’t that… right?”

His eyes suddenly went wide at the sight of Riddik, and he sent himself clambering back against his desk, his hands grasping for his radio.

Far faster than anything McDonough could hope to achieve, Riddik, with only a few long strides, met the mayor face-to-face, knocking away the radio with one simple swipe of their hand. Pulling the mayor forth by the collar, far from what remained of the radio, the Paladin led McDonough into the center of the room. Down onto the daisy rug he was thrown, his hat knocked cleanly from his head.

“Who do you think you are coming into my office? What do you want?” McDonough’s eyes trailed from Riddik’s emotionless helmet down to the Brotherhood flag pinned under their right pauldron, all the while quite aware of the shimmering blood splatter on the Paladin’s hammer. “You’re from that airship, aren’t you? I’ll tell you all again, you’ve no business in my city!”

Riddik circled around him leisurely, lenses trained intently on the prone man at their feet, the head of the powered sledge leaving a line of red across the dingy carpet. So quietly did Riddik creep, like a buzzard over soon to be dead carrion, not at all offering McDonough the decency of a reply.

It was easy to see the Mayor would receive nothing but the continued stare of the Paladin, and he swallowed hard the lump that formed in his throat. His messages with the Institute hadn’t mentioned a word of the Brotherhood honing in on Diamond City, but after the sudden disappearance of his corresponding Courser he should have known something was amiss.

Whether it was merely coincidence or the events coincided, McDonough hardly knew where to turn for an answer. “What. Do. You. Want?” he tried again through gritted teeth.

Riddik came to a standstill before the bewildered Mayor, and continued to stare for several more agonizing moments before they raised a hand to sit under their chin. Bending low, they took McDonough’s ankle in hand and pulled him forward. Dragging him with as much grace as a lion does a grounded wildebeest, Riddik led him through the entryway and into the lobby, forcing the two double doors open with a kick.

McDonough’s assistant, Geneva, jumped back from the door, obviously listening in to what was happening inside, and remained behind the safety of her desk as the colossal Paladin dragged Diamond City’s mayor toward the edge of the balcony.

“What are you doing?!” McDonough screamed at her, his fingers clawing at the paneling of the floor, “Help me, damn it!”

The rickety elevator hanging over the Stands groaned under their combined weight at Riddik dragged the mayor along for the ride. And as they made their descent, the Paladin was sure to leave McDonough’s head hanging just over the edge, too close for comfort to the shifting wires and supports that kept the lift in place.

Just nearly getting his head caught under the car and landing deck, McDonough attempted to slow his unwilling walk about town by gripping at the metal railing of the nearby walkway. Sadly for him, Riddik didn’t slow in the slightest and merely yanked the mayor forward, ripping him away from the rail with ease.

Dragged through an array of icy puddles and onto the plywood that served as a walkway throughout the city, the mayor was plopped down before the early going citizens of the great green jewel. Before him, Riddik stood tall and raised their hands, banging two metal-clad palms together to garner the attention of the nearby guards, vendors, and the like. Eleven stepped forward next, nearly crushing McDonough’s hand under his metal boot and joined the Paladin at their side. Nine came about next, dropping an unconscious guard to the ground without a second thought.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the great, green jewel, allow us a moment of your time.” Eleven began evenly. Riddik watched as their knight strode forward and brought in the crowd of wary stares and expected apprehension, and noticed quickly the way the guards raised their guns at the sight of their fallen mayor.

“We ask but one favour:” Eleven spied about the curious faces in the crowd, “Tell us where the Railroad resides, and we’ll allow your mayor or return to his…” the knight looked back to McDonough situated in front of Riddik, and smiled beneath his helmet as the Paladin kept the man pinned with the head of their powered sledge, “… Duties. Yes, I believe that’s the correct word.”

“What the hell you talkin’ about?” One of the members of the growing crowd dared to ask, “Railroad ain’t got nothin’ to do with Diamond City. Go bother Goodneighbor.”

One of the guards shifted nervously, their finger trained on the trigger of their gun, but made no move to fire.

“Is that so? See, now that’s rather curious, because we have it on good authority a transmission was received from here. A broadcast from the Railroad, as it were. As clear as a revelation.” Eleven placed his hands together and gave a deep sigh, “The Brotherhood means no harm to those who assist us. Adequate remuneration will be given for any information. Failure to comply, however, and your dazzling mayor will meet a rather abrupt end.”

Things were taking far too long for Riddik’s liking and Eleven’s constant dallying and flowery language was only aggravating their ire further. The Paladin lifted their sledge from McDonough’s chest and grabbed him firmly by the lapels of his coat. The back of his suit ripped at the seams as he was thrown forward across the dirt, landing not far from the seats of the noodle stand, rolling until he came to a stop upon his stomach.

“It would seem my Paladin’s patience has worn thin. Answer quickly, please.” Eleven prodded, and yet no one seemed to take the bait, “Oh, come now.”

---

From atop Home Plate, seated on the remains of what looked to be a lawn chair (or detritus cobbled together to give them appearance of something chair-like), Deacon watched the scene unfold in the center of town. The Brotherhood had found them again, led by that Paladin that ruined North End Church in search of Turner. The sly agent wrung his hands in the cold and could only continue to spy as the mayor let out a loud yell as his forearm was caught under Riddik’s powered boot.

“Not good, not good, not good.” Deacon repeated like a mantra as he turned tail and raced inside Home Plate, the trap door leading down nearly hitting the top of his head as he raced on. He passed Hancock, who sat on the landing of the second floor, accidentally knocking the tricorn off the top of the ghoul’s head.

“Hey, what gives?” Hancock questioned as Deacon made no move to stop, turning the corner to find Desdemona and the others posthaste.

The ghoul grumbled and stood, cursing under his breath as his knees creaked despite his newer boots, and grabbed his hat from the bottom of the stairs. Leisurely he followed after Deacon, the weight of a few jet canisters in his breast pocket too tempting given the thoughts that still ran through his head, and yet he kept his hand from reaching for them.

It had been a few days since Nick had disappeared through the teleporter, and the only reason anyone believed him to be alive was from the readings feeding back from the Institute’s mainframe. There was no other word that followed, though, if he found Turner alright, or… well, if he had found Turner at all.

Hancock ran a hand down his scarred face as he knew whatever hit he’d taken earlier that morning had worn off, and left in its place a familiar anxiety.

As he took the corner, he found Deacon and the others gathered in a tight circle, the sunglass-clad agent feverishly waving his hands around as he spoke. The ghoul couldn’t help but notice as some of the other Railroad agents broke off from the group in a dash and began collecting various things throughout the room before disappearing down below through the hidden hatch in the floor -- something big was happening, and Hancock didn’t like being left out of the loop. Not one bit.

Keeping a relaxed air about him, Hancock joined in, “What’s got you all in a tizzy? Someone take one of your costumes?” He gave Deacon a light slap on the arm.

“I wish.” Deacon replied quickly, but kept his gaze on the other members of the Railroad, “Guys, we gotta move now. C’mon.”

Desdemona was next to interject, her face stern and features contorted into an unpleasant grimace. “You’re saying the same Brotherhood Paladin who took North End is right on our doorstep? What has to happen to get it through your head that Turner’s the one who-- ”

“Don’t say it, sister. Last warning.” Hancock was awake in a flash, the anxiety that once sat in the pit of his stomach now gone in an instant. He narrowed his ebon eyes dangerously, and if he still had nostrils they’d be flared as a battle of glares erupted between him and Desdemona.

What the ghoul mayor wouldn’t give to have his knife back in his hand at that moment. Though his shotgun was looking rather attractive, as well.  

“Nuh-uh, not right now. Someone out there is gonna squeal, and we have to get hiding if there’s a chance we’ll get out of here.” Deacon stood in front of Hancock, putting Desdemona out of the ghoul’s sight for a moment, and begged for reason. There wasn’t any time for infighting, not with the Brotherhood so close to catching them again.

Knowing Deacon was right, Hancock backed down, but his anger hadn’t dissipated in the slightest. All the talk Desdemona made over Turner ruining the Railroad, leaking their secrets, allowing the Brotherhood to track her down -- it was bullshit and they all knew it. The Railroad leader just wanted an out, an excuse for her shortcomings, and Turner was the perfect scapegoat.

“Then get your people down below.” Hancock added when Desdemona broke away, her hands furiously grabbing for any and all supplies she could carry. “Brotherhood boogieman comes a-knocking, they’ll think you caught wind and skipped town.”

Deacon neither agreed nor disagreed with Hancock, and without a word he threw open the hatch into the newly added basement to usher in a few of the other agents -- taking care to warn those already below to stay as quiet as possible. Diamond City was a ticking time bomb, and who knew how long they had left before their door came crumbling down again. “Dez, c’mon. We don’t have time.”

From across the room, Desdemona hurried, her arms full of various maps and contacts, letters and dead drops they’d collected or waited to send, and pushed past Hancock.

Disappearing into the darkness of the hatch, Deacon looked up to the ghoul curiously, “You comin’?”  

Part of Hancock knew he wasn’t in the right mind, that something must have been off about him that day, but he couldn’t move. He wouldn’t allow himself to hide away as the Brotherhood came traipsing into the Railroad’s home again, no matter how much Desdemona ruffled his feathers. He had enough of the worry and terror written on Turner’s face at the prospect of being caught by the Brotherhood Paladin after what they’d done to her in the past.

“Nah.” Hancock refused outright, and took a seat on a rather plush red chair just opposite the main door, the shotgun at his side resting against his thigh. Deacon looked despondent and it took quite a bit of his strength to keep him from making a sour face at the ghoul. He pulled a rug up and over the hatch as he prepared to enter himself, and looked out from over the top of his sunglasses. “Had enough of their shit. No more runnin’.”

Taking a few rungs down, Deacon watched Hancock and waited for the ghoul to change his mind. But he got his answer when the ghoul mayor simply took a tin of mentats from his pocket and popped a few into his mouth, crossing his ankles lazily as he gave his gun a once over.

With one last look, Deacon pulled the hatch down and disappeared into the basement, leaving Hancock alone with his thoughts, alone and waiting for the inevitable.

It only took a few minutes for a heavy knock to come upon the front door, metal upon metal, and despite the anger and fear Hancock felt bubbling up in his throat he remained steadfast where he sat. Checking his shotgun once more, he adjusted his tricorn and leant further into his seat, his finger ready on the trigger.

It was only a few more seconds when the door to Home Plate burst inwards, and aglow in the light of the early morning stood Riddik, a fresh smear of red splattered across their breastplate. Hancock couldn’t help but grin, knowing fully well the Paladin wasn’t expecting a ghoul of all people to greet them. Maybe someone like Deacon or even Turner herself, but not the mayor of Goodneighbor -- it was like a slap in the face.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Hancock mocked, burrowing deep into his seat, his legs crossed at the knee. Without waiting for the ghoul to continue, Riddik ducked and entered through the small doorway, their pauldrons scraping noisily on the doorframe. “Get you a drink? Gin or vodka? Or are you a whiskey kind of guy?”

Despite the size of the Paladin, Hancock noticed the shadows of two other knights just beyond the door. Obviously, things weren’t going to go his way but it was too late to back out, and he gave a cocksure smile to Riddik, a red canister of jet finding its way to his nimble fingers.

He huffed once, held it, and released it with a short chuckle, anything to keep up his façade of strength as the other two knights entered the room. It was then that Hancock knew he might have messed up, made an error in one of his calculations, but it didn’t much matter. He wasn’t going to let the Brotherhood get their hands on the Railroad, wasn’t going to tell them where Turner got off to -- if she was even still alive.

Waiting for one of the knights to step into his line of sight, the one with an IX painted on the chest plate of their armour, Hancock readied himself. He grew tense, his legs uncrossing in preparation to spring up and away from his seat. It was only when the knight came out from behind Riddik that he leapt from his seat, taking the chair in hand and launching it at the head of the unsuspecting knight.

Nine teetered backwards as the chair made contact with his head, knocking the helmet clean off where it rolled out the door. Eleven was the first to take a shot as Hancock scarpered away around the corner, just barely missing the ghoul. He did, however, manage to burn a few holes in the tails of his frock, to which the ghoul was more than slightly annoyed.

That was for another time, though.

When the laser fire stopped, Hancock took a deep breath and listened for the sounds of heavy, metal feet. But when there came none, he licked what remained of his lips and darted out from behind the corner to fire at the knight without his helmet.

Nine raised his arms to prevent the scattershot from reaching his face, but to no avail. He fell back against the wall with a raucous thud, hundreds of pounds coming down as he fell limp to the floor. Hancock didn’t have the time to celebrate taking one of them down as he nearly tripped to get away up the stairs to the second floor, the gunfire from the remaining knight too close for comfort.

Several shots blasted through the rickety boards of the second floor, sending splinters up into the air around Hancock. Backed away against the wall, his hat cattywampus on his brow, he steadied himself and waiting for the hail of bullets to stop again.

Streams of light flickered through the battered floorboards, small particles of dust flitting about in the air. It would have been rather pretty in any other circumstance -- preferably one that didn’t involve a painful death -- and Hancock had to hold back a cough. He double checked his gun again, and slammed it shut with a resounding click before sidling along the wall back to the stairs.

He could see the unmoving body of the knight through the dust just underneath the stairs, and could smell the copper that rose up to meet him. What he wasn’t expecting was to be sent forward onto his knees, the very foundation on which he stood shaking terribly.

Down below, Riddik slammed their sledge against the support beam of the second floor, blindly swinging into the miasma around them until a thunderous crack sounded through the room. Tumbling down with the floorboards, Hancock landed painfully on his back, the wind knocked from his lungs.

He took in a gulp of dusty air to steady himself and attempted to push himself up onto his feet, but Riddik was quicker.

The ghoul was slammed back down to the floor by a heavy punch, Riddik’s fist pounding him back into position. Hancock let off another shot at the Paladin above him, the shot breaking apart futilely on their chest, and slammed the butt of his gun against those terrible golden lenses that looked to shine through the fog.

Riddik staggered back and raised a hand to their helm in mock-horror, the right lens of their helmet now marred with a hideous crack. The sight sent a grin to Hancock’s face, though the grin was far more pained as he realized several of his ribs were probably broken.

Furious, Riddik raised their powered sledge on high and prepared to slam it down against Hancock’s head, but stopped when the ghoul spoke evenly.

“You’re never gonna get her at this rate, you know that? Or any of the Railroad.” Hancock laughed and held at his side, his teeth clenched together painfully. “You take me out, what makes you think you’ll ever have a trail again, huh? You that stupid?” He wanted to say “rhetorical question” but held his tongue. There was only so much he could ride on when he was that close to being done-in.

Eleven strode forward and aimed down the sights of his gun, far too angered over the supposed death of Nine by some misshaped mutant. Hancock made a show of spitting out a clot of blood at the knight’s boots, smiling a Cheshire grin as he pulled himself up against the wall for support.

“Let me put the freak out of its misery, Paladin.” Eleven begged, his voice wavering.

Hancock made sure to blow a curt kiss.

Riddik held out their sledge to stop Eleven’s assault before it began, and watched the ghoul for several seconds. There was a trap -- there had to be. There was no way the ghoul would try to stop them if there wasn’t something at play in the background.

The Paladin had to think quickly before things fell out of their favour.

---

The Institute was quiet, almost painfully so. Many of its human residents lay asleep while the tireless synths continued about their duties through the halls: cleaning, sanitizing, building, and repairing. The air was filled with the dull thrum of fans and pre-war technologies, the scent of plastic and metal wafting about.

Ersatz gazed out from behind the corner of an adjoining hall and glanced this way and that, unsure if there was a Courser or uncooperative synth nearby. Even amongst its brethren, the Generation 1 synths were all too loyal to the Institute to help out the second generation line.

Back behind the corner, Turner struggled to pull up her pants in a quiet manner, jumping on one foot awkwardly as the end of her cropped leggings caught on her toes. Nick rolled his eyes and averted his gaze, only looking back to make sure the small agent didn’t fall back on her behind or into a rack of equipment. Being caught with one’s pants around one’s ankles wasn’t the way he wanted to go; especially not after all he’d been through to get there.

Turner was slow to pulling her britches all the way up despite the coy look Nick was giving her. He wasn’t one to talk, dressed down to nothing, naked as the day he was taken off the production line. Unconsciously, she fiddled with the hem of her pants, her cold fingers wringing into the fabric of her large coat as she smoothed it down over her thighs.

What would happen if they successfully escaped the Institute? Would another Courser come after them, and would that mean she couldn’t return to Diamond City for fear of the Railroad’s new home being found? The thoughts began to plague her as she stood still for a few seconds too long, her bottom lip curling inward without thinking.

And what of their new friend, Ersatz? The synth, as far as either her or Nick could tell, was helping them on its own volition, but Turner wasn’t sure in her own blind faith now that they roamed the halls freely. Initially, Nick seemed bothered by the other synth’s presence, but now? She couldn’t be so sure. And if Ersatz escaped with them, what would become of it? The Commonwealth, and the Wasteland as a whole, was unforgiving of those alien to its way of life -- and it had taken Nick years to earn what little trust he had from the residents of Diamond City. Perhaps it could join up with the Railroad, or maybe it could--

Turner took a moment to stare down at her feet in contemplation, rubbing her nose as it began to run in the dry cold of the underground halls. It wasn’t until she felt a hand on her shoulder that she looked up, locking eyes with the Clockwork Detective before quickly glancing away out of sudden embarrassment.

“You doin’ alright, kid?” he whispered as Ersatz took measured steps around to ensure they were alone.

Turner only nodded hesitantly and cleared her throat, and it was obvious Nick wasn’t convinced. There were too many things on her mind clouding what thoughts she had, thoughts that came like a bolt from the blue and sapped what excitement she had at finally reuniting with Nick and escaping. Too many things were happening at once, and she felt overcome with a terrible anxiety that filled her chest in a matter of seconds.

Seeing her eyes dart across the smooth flooring, Nick didn’t press the subject and gently laid a hand between Turner’s shoulders to lead her out into the hall beside him to the patiently waiting Ersatz.

The other synth noted the bare metal digits loosely hanging at the girl’s sleeve but remained steadfast in holding its tongue. It could watch from afar and observe all it wanted for the time being. It wasn’t its place to go asking questions that wouldn’t be answered.

As the trio continued along the dead halls, the pristine white of the walls and shining gunmetal of the floors began to blur together. At one point, having sworn she saw the same messy desks and terminals, Turner had to force herself to believe that they weren’t running around in circles, that the weight in her gut wasn’t right when it told her Ersatz was stalling for time.

Soon, though, they came upon rusted, though unsealed, maintenance doors. The yellow paint on its surface was chipped and faded, but the words “REACTOR” could be read clear as day on its metal surface. It squealed with disuse as both Turner and Nick pried open the doors, Ersatz standing idly by with a curious look on its face. Wide-eyed and fascinated, it couldn’t help but watch Turner’s face turn red and twist as she struggled to open the door, whereas Nick looked to do it with ease. And yet when the detective made a joke about her being less than “in shape” she could only stick her tongue out and make a noise.

Ersatz was fascinated.

“So, down to the reactor, then? You planning on blowing this place to kingdom come, or making sure the eggheads have hot water?” Nick jested as he stood in the threshold. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t exactly trust you.”

The smell of oil and copper wafted up to meet Turner’s nose, and she tucked her head inside the cramped elevator car to take a closer look as Nick and Ersatz had a stare-down. ‘I guess it’s like looking in a mirror,’ she thought, though Nick was far worse for wear than his pampered look-alike, ‘A broken mirror, maybe.’ She glanced back over her shoulder and noted the quirk Ersatz had to its head, its bright yellow eyes staring forward at Nick unabashedly.

“You mean you wouldn’t like a nice, hot bath, Nick?” Turner joked and slapped at his bare arm. “Warm up the old circuit board a bit?”

“The only one who needs a bath here is you.” His metal hand found its way to some of the matted fur rimming Turner’s hood, “I’d throw you in, clothes and all.”

A slight flush swept across her cheeks, and she couldn’t help but purse her lips and make a crude sound with her tongue. Nick only returned the favour, sans noise, and the two stayed that way for several seconds before Turner’s eyes wandered over to Ersatz -- where she found it standing there awkwardly with only the tip of its tongue protruding from between its lips.

She covered her mouth with her hand and stifled a quiet laugh as the other synth didn’t quite get what she and Nick were doing. It wanted to emulate as much as it could, but without actually understanding the nuances behind the action, Turner couldn’t help but find the whole thing far too adorable for her own good.

Peeking back into the elevator, Turner noted the panel to the side of the door only held three barely flickering buttons of interest: open doors, close doors, and a down arrow. “If you’re leading us to the reactor, does that mean we can sabotage it? Initiate some kind of evacuation?”

Ersatz nodded and took a step inside of the elevator car, waving its hand to follow suit. Turner and Nick didn’t budge an inch, both of them waiting for the other to make the first move to follow. When they stared the other synth down inside of the elevator, all they received was a simple thumbs-up and a nod, the glowing irises of its eyes disappearing as it blinked slowly.

“Sounds like a long-shot, but what else have we got? A naked synth, a Lilliputian and a mime -- sounds like the start of a bad joke.” Turner slapped at Nick playfully, hitting the exposed plastic of his chest.

It was nice to see a genuine smile and a small blush cross her features, her freckles blending into the light scarlet.

Nick wouldn’t complain if she did it more often.

“After you.” He conceded, and motioned his arm for Turner to file into the elevator first if only to put some space between him and Ersatz. For a quick second, he glanced back into the empty hall to ensure they weren’t being followed before he headed inside himself.

Once the door closed behind him, the elevator was bathed in an inky blackness. Turner had to hold back a snort as she stared up to where Nick’s face would have been, only to be greeted by a pair of bright, gold eyes standing out against the darkness. Another pair of eyes moved to greet her, and she couldn’t help but cover her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

“You don’t come with a dimmer function, do you?” she asked, and blindly felt where Nick stood, her fingers touching bare metal through one of the tears in his chest.

“Can’t say I do, smartass.” Nick retorted, thin digits curling around her wrist to pull away the probing fingers. Part of him didn’t want to admit that the feeling of her short nails against his frame sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, but he chalked it up to… he couldn’t think of an excuse.

He would think about it later, he told himself. Later, when life, death, and escape weren’t a factor.

---

The elevator chugged slowly downwards with the occasional worrisome rattle or two, until finally the door creaked open once more to reveal the unseen underbelly of the Institute. When compared to the clean lines and preserved appeal of the halls above, Turner couldn’t help but be reminded of the Commonwealth that stood beyond the walls of their current prison.

All around her sat rust and decay, like the interior of the Prydwen or down under North End Church, and the scent of copper was stronger than ever before. Under her nails, grime and flaking metal gathered as she ran her hand across a guard rail, her eyes trailing to a pool of water beneath the corrugated walkway under her feet.

“Hell of a change of scenery.” Nick could feel the walkway shift under his bare feet, the old metal groaning from his added weight.

Ersatz gingerly stepped past them and waved for them to follow behind once more. A plethora of walkways lay before them as the silent synth led them deeper into the underworld. It knew exactly where it was headed, barely registering the constant clanking of both Turner and Nick’s feet on the walkway behind it.

It wasn’t until they came to a large, open room that Ersatz came to a stop, its hand shooting out to point at a large machine on the far wall. It glowed in the low light of the high vaulted room, the air stagnant and warm.

A noticeable electricity drifted through the air and clung to Turner’s skin. It was the reactor, of that much she was certain, and Ersatz looked more than ready to do anything to help.

She stepped away from Nick’s side and craned her head to take in the whole of the reactor, her face glowing in the light that peered from the window on its front. “So how do we,” she waved her hands about willy-nilly, unsure of what words to use, “you know?”

Ersatz continued to stare at her, its eyes wide and inquisitive, and reached for the button clasp just under its chin. It unzipped the top portion of its suit, and thinking the synth had misunderstood her, Turner stepped forward to stop it, “No, no, I didn’t mean like that. I meant--” she stopped short, however, when it produced a small grenade from the lining of its suit, the toxic green of plasma illuminating its hand. “Oh.”

“And here I thought you and Hancock were on the regular.” Nick joked halfheartedly, “You’ll have to remind me to get you two a how-to book.” The thought of ‘might have to read a few pages myself’ crossed his mind, but he let the sentiment go unsaid.

Ersatz closed its suit back up after pulling another clutch of grenades from inside and handed them to Turner, leading Nick to wonder why the other synth was walking around packing so much heat. Maybe it had planned to sabotage the Institute all along and was just waiting for an excuse. Maybe the exhilaration of something so dangerous sitting on its person was all that got it through the day. Or maybe Ersatz had more secrets than it let on.

Either way, Turner and Nick watched as Ersatz turned and bent low to pick up a metal rod from a small collection seated at the base of the reactor. At some time, someone was building onto the walkway for whatever reason and never finished their task, leaving the unused equipment behind.

Ersatz stood tall and banged the metal rod against the side of the reactor -- a hollow, tinny noise resounding through the room.

It continued to tap gently on the sides like some kind of odd ritual or out of uncharacteristic playfulness, until it came to the clear front of the reactor. Out of nowhere, Ersatz swung hard against the thick glass, and continued to slam the rod with such ferocity that Turner took a step back out of sudden fear when the casing shattered at last.

A blast of heat jetted out from the new opening, and Nick pulled Turner back several more feet, careful not to disrupt the plasma grenades in her arms. Sensing it had done enough damage to the reactor’s door, Ersatz looked to them and dropped the rod to the ground with a loud clank.

And then it waited. Waited for Turner to step forward and throw the grenades into the waiting, proverbial fire.

“Are you ready to run, Nick?” she asked as she inched forward bit by bit, nearly blinded by the searing white heat that lay before her. Ersatz’ eyes were almost lost in the light that emitted from the reactor’s open maw, its suit positively glowing as it stood unfazed so close to the wreckage it caused.

It looked almost proud standing tall next to the very thing that would upend the Institute in a matter of seconds, and Turner thought about whether she meant the reactor or herself.

Figuring there was no other out, Turner swallowed hard and made sure to look back at Nick as the heat of the reactor seared into her cheeks. When he nodded in affirmation, she knew she was prepared to go through with it if it meant their freedom.

And without another thought, Turner stared back into the blinding heat and watched as the toxic green that sat curled preciously in her arms flew toward the fire.

---

Up Next!

Chapter 22!

With Hancock taken and the Railroad still left waiting with no word, Riddik sets their final plan into motion! And when Turner and Nick find themselves alone, can they admit things they’re still holding back from one another? Will they finally be able to say the Institute is gone for good?