#vault720

Codsworth was working nearby to reclaim nails and screws from an enormous pile of discarded siding. He knew very well that the empty home had been the one he shared with Wraith’s family. The robot had overheard the exchange and decided that with Hancock’s help, they might be able to push Wraith into facing some of her ghosts, thereby achieving some small amount of closure. “Pardon me for interrupting, mum, but we seem to be running short on bedding materials. Might it be that you and Mayor Hancock could check in the ol’ homestead?”

Hancock saw her flinch, confirming his suspicions, “Look, we don’t have to go in there if ya don’t want.” He gestured vaguely east, “I saw a few old rugs in a house over there… might be a little scratchy, but hey, most of ‘em have been sleeping outside in the dirt, you feel me?”

Her pride pricked by the idea that her settlers might be reduced to sleeping on beds that were only marginally better then literal dirt, Wraith stuck out her lower lip and marched determinedly toward her old house. Her paced slowed the closer she got to the front door, however. Finally, she stood motionless with one hand outstretched, frozen midway to the doorknob.

Hancock’s voice was gentle, “It’s okay, sister. I got ya covered.”

She looked back over her shoulder and was further bolstered by the ghoul’s surprisingly-sweet smile. Apart from the brief search on day she had woken up, she hadn’t been inside her house for over two hundred years. Pushing through the door she had expected to be met with the stale air of a long abandon home, but apart from a few dust motes catching light in the sunbeams, it was remarkably well kept.

“Oh, that’s right…” She had forgotten that Codsworth had spent the better part of two hundred plus years maintaining her home, and had continued to do so when he wasn’t floating around the Commonwealth with her. She leaned back out to thank the robot, who was hovering anxiously just outside, “It looks great in here, sweetheart. Thanks, Codsworth.”

“My pleasure, mum! Give a holler if you’ll need anything else.”

Hancock was silent as Wraith walked slowly through her former living room and kitchen. Her movements were halting, almost jerky, and when she reached the hallway that led to the bedrooms she once again froze. Watching her made him sad and he felt an enormous surge of empathy.

Then, as if she had remembered her resolve, he watched as her back straightened and she squared her shoulders. It wasn’t as if she was wearing anything particularly form hugging or risqué; just her standard jeans and flannel with the sleeves rolled up, but Hancock felt his pulse quicken and a flush rose to his cheeks.

Damn! Can see the steel in her veins from any angle… almost as good a thrill as watchin’ her fight…

They worked in relative silence for a while, each lost in their own head. Wraith entertaining a few bittersweet memories of a bygone era and Hancock wrestling with a sudden realization that he was very, very attracted to her.

Pretty damn sure it’s one sided. Then again, maybe not; she’s looked you up and down more than a few when she thinks you ain’t lookin’. Could try puttin’ the moves to her… don’t want to rush anything… the way she moves when she’s fightin’ can only imagine how she is in the sack… I need to cool out or go take care of this… those legs wrapped around… mmm. She’s flexible too. Bet I could bend her…

“Hey, Hancock…”

He jumped guiltily and covered a yelp of surprise with an exaggerated grunt of exertion. “What have ya got for me?”

“Do you mind if we turn on the radio? I’m tired of stewing in memories for now.”

“Fine by me.”

After a few songs The End of the World came on and Hancock started humming along. He felt Wraith’s eyes on him and emboldened, he took her hand and pulled her to him to dance. He sang along to the radio as they circled in a slow, easy waltz and was delighted to see some of the sadness in her eyes melt away.

Definitely don’t want to rush this. Could be there’s more here than just a wild roll in the hay…

“Thanks, Hancock.”

“What for?”

“For reminding me that the end of something means the beginning of something else and the end of world doesn’t always mean the end of everything.”

Amata gives me a smile of relief. The dark circles under her hazel eyes really aged her and her raven black hair is dull and tangled into a messy bun. With the conflict over, I can tell a weight is lifted from her. We move closer together, filling me with a certain nostalgia. I’m finally back with my best friend and I can’t wait to tell her everything that’s happened. To finally catch up without chaos ensuing. The stories I have will stomp anything we ever read in the Grognak Comics. I’m already forming plans on who we can go to for supplies. How I can help protect our people from the Wastes.

“I… I can’t believe it.” Amata whispers, pulling me from my grand plans. “My father… I can’t believe he’s stepping down. I can’t believe you got through to him.” 

“We talked. I think for the first time, he actually listened. He… he didn’t even realize how wrong he was.” I take in the disarray state of the medical room. A place I saw as a sanctuary growing up. I could still see Jim laying stiffly against the wall when I first arrived. Or even Beatrice’s mangled corpse in the next room. A shake of my head returns me to the present. “But I set him straight.” 

“Well, thanks for keeping your cool. Violence would only lead to more problems in the future.” She puts her hands on her hips with a prideful smirk. “It’s time for our dusty old Vault to have a new beginning and it’ll start by opening it up again, and this time for good. It’s a bright new day for the Vault…,” Her pause takes me off guard. She looks at me sheepishly. The same look she gave me when I first got here. “But I’m afraid there’s one thing that has to change.”

“Whatever it is, I’m happy to help.” I reassure her. 

“I know you are and, on behalf of the Vault, I thank you for all you’ve done.” She places her hand on my shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. She sounds too much like an Overseer already. “But there are still many who blame you for everything that happened. So I have to ask you to leave. I’m sorry, but the situation is just... too delicate for you to stay.” 

My stomach feels like it’s in a knot; like I had been punched in the gut. I know I’m making a face as Amata continues, “Please. If you want to help the Vault, you need to leave.” 

The sting of tears began and my throat’s tight. I stare her down with a bitter smile. “Just like that, huh? After everything I’ve done, you’re kicking me out.” I laugh a bit as I realize that was her plan all along. She knew I would come, she knew I would help, and she knew I wasn’t allowed to stay.

“No, it’s not like that.” Amata grabs my hands to bring my attention back to her. Her hands are so soft compared to mine. “But if you stay, it’ll just keep causing more problems. The Vault can’t take any more in-fighting. It’s just what has to be.” Her explanation only makes my blood boil. I swear, I knew raiders that were less cold-blooded than her. “It’ll be awhile before we’re ready to really go outside. But once the Vault is stable again, maybe we’ll see you out there.” She smiles sweetly at me, which feeds my disgust toward her. I let the silence fester before I rip my hands from hers. She frowns, but switches back to a sweet smile.

“I guess this is goodbye for now.” She reaches behind her and hands me a dirty utility suit. “It’s not much, but take this with you, to remember us by. With luck, we’ll meet again.” 

I look at the grimy suit for a moment in a state of absolute shock. This is it? All that she sees me worthy of is some piece of shit suit? 

“Goodbye, Amata. I have a feeling you’ll do just fine as Overseer.” The ice in my tone causes her to flinch. I give a parting glance to the room that was my whole life with my dad. Him teaching me how to treat cuts, bruises, sprains, and numerous other ailments. The trash and overturn tables made the bile crawl further up my throat. Freddie and Mr. Brotch walk over to me just before I turn away. 

“Goodbye. We’ll miss ya.” Freddie says. His ‘Tunnel Snake’ leather jacket slipping off his slim frame. 

“I never thought you would be back. I’m sorry you have to go. You were always a pleasure to have in class.” Mr. Brotch adds with his warm brown eyes giving me pity. But he does nothing to object to my banishment. 

I almost roll my eyes at their pathetic attempts at a goodbye. “Good luck out there. You’ll need it.” I walk through the familiar yet ruined hallways of my home… former home. I pass by my room. My heart nearly shatters upon seeing Dad’s old bed, but I force myself to keep going. Residents line the hallways as their whispers and glares follow me.

“Good riddance.”

“Get out.” 

“You don’t belong here.” 

“This is all your fault!” The voices say as I pass by.

I hold my head up high despite wanting to yell and scream at them. They’re supposed to be my family, yet here I am leaving with my tail between my legs. I’m at the security room when a familiar guard brings me out of my haze. 

“Officer Gomez?” 

He looks at me with sorrowful eyes. “You aren’t leaving already, are you? Goodness, you just got here.” 

I curse my growing bad luck. He’s always been so kind to me. His salt and pepper hair made me think of a time long before that. The fondest memory being when he got onto Butch for stealing my sweet roll. I thought of him as my hero from that moment forward. I find it hard to look at him now.

“Yeah. It’s… for the best. Or so I’m told.” I mumble. 

He places his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry about your daddy. And I’m sorry that… I wish you could stay.” I meet his gaze and he looks more upset than I am. “Good golly, I don’t know what’s happened to you out there, but you’re different now. I can see it in your eyes. You’re not... ,” He laughs a bit before giving me a beaming grin. “You’re not a kid anymore. I’m real proud of ya. I know you’re gonna do great things, kiddo. Always have. I hope we get to see you one day. Out there. Maybe you’ll be the one giving us the big tour of the place.” 

I bite my lip to keep a sob at bay before hugging him as tightly as I can. “Thank you, Mr. Gomez. I’m gonna miss you.” My voice cracks and a few tears stream down my cheek.

He chuckles a bit, but hugs me back. “Stay safe.” 

I nod my head and smile. “You too.” 

He pats me on the back as I walk towards the exit. I spare him one last look. He waves with a warm parting smile. I walk outside and open the wooden slat door. The ground shudders from the vault closing. The breeze rifles through my hair and the dust fills my nostrils. The heat of the waning sun warms my skin. I hear the metal screeching of the vault sealing. My breath leaves my chest and a choked cry follows. It’s done. 

I stare at the scorched landscape around me. Echoes of the past are all that’s left. Megaton catches my eye against the evening sun. I suppose that’s not entirely true, I realize. I think of Gob, and Lucas, and even Moriarty. I start to think of the Brotherhood, and the people of Rivet City. So many people that I’ve met, helped, or killed. I notice a furry blob heading towards me. A wide grin forms on my face when I realize who it is.

Dogmeat barrels up to me with yips of excitement. I pat his head while scratching behind his large ears. His rough fur feels great against my near numb fingers. His brown and blue eyes fill me with a comforting warmth. 

“I missed ya, too. Ya mangy mutt.” I tease.

How the fuck did he know about this place?! How does he always know?!

“No can do, boss.”

Wraith could hear him flip his lighter open and soon the acrid smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the cracks in the shed walls. He started humming to himself then transitioned to whistling, which would have been pleasantly melodic if it wasn’t deliberately too loud. After a few minutes he started to jazz it up with some attempts at saxophone and trumpet sounds.

“Enough already! What do you fucking want?”

“Oh, am I bothering you? I kinda forgot you were here, Whisper.” He sat down in the grass and leaned back against the building with his arms behind his head, “It is so quiet and peaceful out here!”

“Look, it’s kind of you to come and check on me, but I really need some more time alone…”

“Ooh, there’s a radstag out here!” He took in a deep breath through his nose, “Wow, it is just so great to get back to nature!”

“Deacon! Fuck off!”

“Sorry, Deacon’s not fucking anything… hmm that came out weird.” He started flipping his lighter open and snapping it closed. Over and over and over… and over…

“I’m not ready to come back yet.”

“Okay. That’s not why I’m here.”

She made a scoffing sound, “Liar.”

“Indubitably.”

“No need to worry, I’m fine and I’ll be back in the fray before you know it. You can go back and tell Preston…”

“Now who’s a liar? ‘Sides, I’m not your errand boy. You should’ve left a note or radioed in, if you really didn’t want someone to come looking for you.” He let himself sound smug.

“Last chance! What the fuck do you want?!”

“This is my vacation cabin. Every couple of weeks I come up here to clear out squatters.”

She threw the door open and got in his face, “If you won’t leave, then I…”

His glasses were off and he dropped his head so their faces were less than an inch apart, his pale blue eyes flashing back and forth as he studied her face, “You are not fine, Whisper. How could you be?” He leaned back and replaced his shades, “You’ve been alone for seven days. That’s a stupid move. What if something happened and you died out here. Nobody would know.”

“You would, obviously.”

Hmm, that comeback sounded way more powerful in my head.

“Like I said: nobody.”

“I don’t need any more guilt than I already have! I just need to be alone!”

“Stop punishing yourself. You hate being alone. You’re a very social person. You like being in a big group of friends and family…”

“STOP!” She brought her hands up and held them over her ears. She started hyperventilating and dark spots distorted her vision.

Deacon guided her back into the shack and eased her down onto the floor. He sat next to her quietly until her breathing normalized. When he spoke his voice was cheerful, “There’s no bathroom in here and I don’t see a pee bucket. How’d you manage that?”

She sat up and put her back to the opposite wall so she could glare at him, “I dug a big hole and put a blue barrel in it. Then, I packed dirt around it and put a toilet seat over the top.”

“How’s the splash-back?”

“You are welcome to try it out. Expect a bill.”

He cocked his head to the side, genuinely confused, “A bill?”

“For installing an outhouse for your cabin.” Wraith couldn’t help but smile when he laughed, but it faded quickly, “You’re right, I don’t like to be alone, but…” She brought her hands up and stared at her palms, “right now I feel like it might be safer.”

Deacon reached out and took one of her hands and gave it a brief squeeze before letting go, “That counts as a hug.”

A flutter passed through her and her breath caught in her throat, which she covered with a laugh, “No it fucking doesn’t! But, thanks.”

What was that? I wonder if I could…

Deacon stood and stretched, “Well, I’ll let you get back to your alone time, but I highly recommend you spend it with someone. Maybe go to Goodneighbor.”

“Then it wouldn’t be alone time, would it?”

“Ideally.”

Wraith stood as well and the confined space left them extremely close together, “You could stay.”

His pause was noticeable and despite a herculean effort, regret tinged his voice, “Nope. Too busy, boss. Got important ‘Road stuff to do! Ol’ Stanley asked me to pick up milk on my way home…”

“Oh, right. Well, you shouldn’t keep the good doctor waiting.”

When Deacon turned to open the door, Wraith set her forehead against his back. They stood together in this way for several seconds before the moment passed and Deacon was able to convince himself that opening the door and leaving was what he wanted to do.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

“The first time she did it to me was right after we took Quincy back.” Preston suddenly felt embarrassed and took an exceptionally long swig of beer.

“I fell inna hole!” Piper cleared her throat and tried again, “Whew! I’m switching to cola… and Sugar Boobs… BOMBS! Anyway, we were looking for Grandpa Savoldi’s hat around Old Gullet stinkhole,” she giggled at her own joke, “and part of the embarnk… endernkment… the side, gave way.” She paused to take a sip of the Nuka Cherry that Cait handed her.

Regardless of the fact that she was obviously still alive and that she was slurring the words, the companions hung on her every word and leaned in to hear the saga of Piper and the Hole.

“So my ankle went out and I went ‘Ooof’ and a deathclaw was there! Blue came sliding in and grabbed me and we went ‘slurop’,” She made a dipping wave motion with her hand, “further in!” She went on to tell how Wraith had carried her past radroaches, feral ghouls and a pack of mongrels to safety while still retrieving the late Minuteman’s hat.

Preston’s face held the sort of rapt attention that school-age children have while listening to a firefighter telling stories, “Then what?!”

“Well, we were safe for a minute and I noticed that Wraith had a cut on her cheek,” Piper’s smile was tender, “I was trying to clean it for her but she was fussing at me about my silly foot and our heads were close together and then she just… ‘boop’.” She held out her two fists and brought them together gently, “It was so… nice!”

MacCready was quiet. Wraith had neither clunked foreheads with him or told him that she loved him and up until five minutes ago, didn’t even know about that particular quirk. He had finished his beer and was now playing with the cap: sending it flipping back and forth across his knuckles rapidly.

“Here, Mac. I brought you more booooooze!” Wraith, a little tipsy herself, plopped down next to the sulking sniper leaned over, pulled off his hat and gently clunked their foreheads together. “Happy birthday!”

Boone was unimpressed, “Take Rex with you.”

The dog had been intensely sniffing at a crack in the cliffside but trotted over to Boone as soon as he heard his name. The sniper, in turn, absentmindedly shouldered the enormous rifle to reach down to pat his flank.

“Well, I can’t do that. Who’s gonna have your back if we’re both down there?”

Boone pointed over his shoulder, “The mountain.”

Snowflake frowned down at the dog, “I guess so… you wanna come with daddy and go chase some lizards?” While the dog pranced about, barking enthusiastically, the courier did a last check on his equipment.

When he saw that the courier picked up his Blade of the West, (dubbed Butter Knife) Boone frowned critically, “You’re not taking that thing with you, are you?”

“Craig Daniel Boone, please stop nagging me!” He turned away to begin his careful decent from the cliff.

“My middle name isn’t Daniel…”

“It was a joke, Bubba.”

“No. Jokes are funny.”

 The plan was simple: using Stealth Boys, the courier would sneak past and count the resident deathclaws while locating the clutch of eggs. Along the way he would deploy frag mines, and then find his own perch to snipe from. They would each take one or two strategic shots to stir the reptiles up, and then eliminate the threat in relative safety. Or as Snowflake had put it, “It’ll be easy! Like shootin’ fish in a barrel.”

After politely telling the dog to stay, Snowflake activated a Stealth-Boy and crept along the narrow canyon and down into the quarry floor. He caught a whiff of deathclaw scat and followed his nose around a particularly large conveyer/excavator, laying mines as he went. Despite his earlier bravado he was still momentarily frozen when he turned a corner and came face to face with sleeping juvenile. He sucked in his breath as the beast grunted and shifted in its sleep. Satisfied that it was going to carry on in dreamland, he peered around its haunch and saw that its brethren were all in a similar repose.

Apparently, it was dragon nap time.      

Finally locating the eggs, he removed his shoulder bag and carefully packed them away. As he turned to head back to the excavator he was hit with a waft of the cloying smell of death and rot. The odor was sufficient warning and he dodged to his left as an enormous, sickle-shaped claw slashed through the air; missing him by a hair’s breadth. Abandoning stealth in favor of speed he sprinted toward the conveyor in the hopes that the beast wouldn’t be able to climb up the boom after him. The deathclaw reared back and bellowed, rousing its pack to war.

Shit may have been heading in an adjacent direction.

Not only was the deathclaw able to climb the conveyor belt, it was doing so much faster than Snowflake was. Dodging on the narrow platform while the creature took swipes at him took all of his coordination and he was too hard-pressed to get off a rifle shot. At a certain point he ended up hanging underneath while it tried in vain to poke its claws through the gap between the belt and the steel frame. Glancing down, he could see a rather large gathering of the lizards forming underneath him.

“Well, doesn’t that just rot yer socks…?”  

 Boone sat waiting for the signal shot. Switching between the gun scope and his binoculars he was muttering to himself in frustration, “Too damn long. Can’t see anybody. Where are you?” It never occurred to him to change position. After all, the courier told him to ‘stay’.

 Snowflake watched in frustration as the quarry’s full complement of deathclaws (save for his conveyer belt companion) avoided his mines and settled themselves beneath him, waiting for his arm strength to give out. He briefly considered whistling for Rex, but dismissed it just as quickly. Sure, the dog might have provided a useful distraction, but he might also be hurt and the courier would rather die than let that happen. Desperate times called for desperate measures, “Well, now that I have all y’alls attention, won’t you please consider this?” Letting go with one hand, he grabbed a frag grenade from his belt, pulled the pin with his teeth and dropped it.

Several of them leaped out of the way which triggered the mines which in turn triggered the vehicles and other machinery. Soon the entire quarry floor was flashing and shaking as one explosion after another rocked the very earth.

“Ooopsfuckingshit!”

 Boone was confused by the sudden light show. This wasn’t the signal that he and the courier had discussed. The percussive blasts reaching his ears snapped him back to his task and he looked through the AMR’s scope for his first target. The clouds of dust and debris made this nearly impossible and when he finally found a deathclaw to aim for, the gun jammed. Looking down at the useless rifle and then at the hellfire of the quarry, the sniper decided that, regardless of orders, Snowflake needed him.

Throwing the gun to the ground, he half ran, half slid, down the side of the ridge. The sharp rocks rolled up the sleeve of his uniform jacket and cut his arm in the process. Ignoring the wound, he drew his combat knife and sprinted as fast as he could toward were he judged the first explosion came from.

What he saw he couldn’t fully comprehend.

There was what appeared to be a glowing one fighting the few surviving deathclaws. Leaping, spinning and dodging, it was wielding Butter Knife in an expert display of swordsmanship. Slicing at the tendons in wrist, knee and ankle, they brought down several of the beasts, rendering them helpless. Then, to Boone’s further astonishment, they brandished Snowflake’s revolver, sending shot after shot into the open mouths and eyes of the creatures.

When the alpha charged the glowing warrior, they sent out an enormous blast of radiation causing the beast to stager and rear back from the heat. Then, taking advantage of the deathclaw’s exposed throat, they made several slices in rapid succession, the last swing causing the head to come free and fly in Boone’s direction. When the sniper stepped out of the way, the glowing one saw the movement from their peripheral and raised the magnum as if to shoot.

Sudden recognition froze Boone in his tracks as he stared into the unmistakable eyes of his friend. Rather than make an attempt to evade, he threw his arms out wide and flexed his chest toward Snowflake; as if asking him to shoot.

“Boone?!” Lowering the now melting revolver, the glowing courier slammed the remains of Butter Knife into the ashen quarry floor and leaned heavily against it, “What the fuck!”

“What do you mean ‘what that fuck’? WHAT THE FUCK TO YOU?!” Suddenly angry, the sniper yelled back at his friend, “ARE YOU… what… How are you doing that!?”

“Never mind this, did you just… what were you… do you know what it would do to me if I accidentally shot you?!”

“I just thought… that if it was you… I’d be okay with it being you.” Boone was so confused and mentally turned around; he didn’t know what to do or where to look and he stood awkwardly with blood dripping from his fingers.

“I need your help! I can’t do this without you! And that’s… that is not how I want to show my love for you, Boone.”

“You… love me?”

The halo of light around Snowflake had begun to diminish. It was becoming clear that all of his clothes, hair and a good portion of his skin had burned away. Exhausted, he dropped to his knees and would have fallen over, had Boone not rushed to catch him.

The sniper took off his jacket and tucked the other man into it, “What are you talking about?!”

Snowflake smiled up at him and when he spoke, his voice, although ragged, was closer to normal, “You’re my best friend; of course I love ya. You’re my brother, Boone.”

“Oh.” The sniper gave the courier a brief squeeze and looked around at the carnage, “This got messy. Where’s Rex?”

“You wrap up your arm, take some Rad-X and go look for him. I need to just… I have to lay here a minnit.”

After about an hour, Boone returned carrying both the dog (who despite having lost both of his rear cyber limbs, seemed to be pain-free and happy) and miraculously, Snowflake’s pack.

“I’m sorry super pup! Don’t worry; I know Raul can fix you up.” Snowflake was in a fetal position, trying to fit as much of himself as possible into Boone’s coat and his voice was muffled, “Ha ha, that rhymed!”

“Are you… going to be okay?”

“Sure. This isn’t the first time this has happened, you know? Although… I’m always afraid my hair won’t grow back. Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone? People wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t understand.”

 Boone went back up the cliff to retrieve the rest of their equipment (including spare clothes for Snowflake) and then the trio spent the night huddled together. In the morning, Snowflake’s condition had much improved and had even begun to grow back skin.

“Is that where your nickname come from? Why you wear gloves? From the scars?”

“Yes and no.” The courier was surprised and a little excited that Boone would ask him such personal questions, “I wasn’t nuclear for very long yesterday and these burns are… different. It’ll take a little bit but I should regrow most of what skin I lost yesterday. No, these…” he held out his hands and gestured to his face, “are from when I was a kid and my family’s wagon hit a land mine. I wasn’t in it; was riding our big horner, Ladd, alongside. The shrapnel cut me up real bad and I burned my hands trying to pull my brother from the wreck. Other families in our caravan took pity on me and would share their food, but their kids started calling me ‘Snowflake’ on account of all my little white scars.” His smile was forced, “No two alike!”

Boone was quiet for a moment as he studied the courier’s face. When he spoke his voice was soft, “Kids can be mean. Why did you keep the nickname?”

“Well, I figured I’d steal some of their fun by ownin’ it. Sides, ‘a snowflake in the desert’ sounds romantic, right? Who doesn’t root for the underdog?”

“Right.”

“Speakin’ of dogs; which would you prefer?” He gestured to Rex and then the severed head of the alpha deathclaw, “Doggy style or head?”

Boone rolled his eyes as he gathered the dog into his arms, “I’ll carry Rex, thanks.”

“Oh, c’mon, Bubba, that was a joke!”

“I’m sorry, sir. But, you cannot risk going out to look for the Elder.” Paladin Artemis was stern in his command for the second time. He tried to keep some sort of patience with the young Squire, but he was finding himself ready to launch Maxson over the Citadel wall. 

“But she’s missing! She’s our Elder! We should all be out looking for her!” Arthur objected; his outraged voice echoed in the narrow corridor of the Citadel. Passing Knights and Scribes spared the two curious looks before marching past.

Artemis gave a pitiful grimace at the young boy’s outrage. “I’ll be frank with you. The entire Lyon’s Pride was found dead. Just because we haven’t found her body yet, doesn’t mean she’s missing.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s dead either.” Arthur countered. Artemis ran his hand through his thick blonde hair. A sigh of frustration escaped him. He was half tempted to let him join the Recon Squad.

“That’s enough, Squire Maxson.” Scribe Rothchild appeared. His nasally voice made Arthur flinch. “You will not be conducting a search party, and that’s final.” 

“Who’s being sent to look for her then?!” Arthur demanded. Rothchild and Artemis gave each other a glance before answering.

“We’ve sent a team to look for her.” The young Paladin was finding it hard to keep the edge from his voice.

Arthur’s brows furrowed at the vagueness. “A squad? That’s it?! Shouldn’t you be sending every available man?!  Shouldn’t you be sending the best?! What about the Knight that helped with the purifier! They’ll help!” 

“We’ve had no contact with them since the final battle with the Enclave.” Artemis quickly shot down. 

Arthur’s hands balled into fists. “I’m going to find the Elder. That’s our duty! My duty.”

Rothchild shook his head and knelt down to Arthur’s eye level. “You will do no such thing, Squire. You’ve been ordered by senior members to stay here. We’ve begun a search for the Elder. You will do well to listen, and do as you’re told.” The balding man paused at the distraught boy in front of him. “I know you and Sarah were close. And I’m sorry that this happened. We are doing everything we can to find her.”

Arthur shook his head, his eyes pleading with the older Scribe. “I don’t understand why I can’t go with them! I’m old enough to start joining missions!” 

“You’re far too important to be risking your life.” Rothchild stated coldly with narrowed eyes to the child.

“More important than finding the Elder?” Arthur raised a brow in question. 

Artemis and Rothchild gave each other another quick glance. 

“Return to your quarters, Squire. You have your orders.” Artemis dismissed. Arthur wanted to object still, but the steely look in Artemis’ eye said to drop it. Arthur gave a final glare to both of them before storming back to his bunk. He went to his locker and pulled out his laser rifle, ready to leave, when something floated out of his locker. It was a fallen picture. He picked it up and turned it over. Lyon’s Pride stared back with smiling determined faces. Their power armor was covered in dirt, grime, and scorched holes from laser blasts. 

Vargas and Glade were the more serious of the group; while Kodiak, Colvin, and Dusk sported wide grins. The latter two had their sniper rifles resting on their hips. Arthur used to be amazed at Dusk’s sniper abilities; probably the best sharpshooter in the whole Wasteland. Arthur could make out Glade’s minigun in the background. The large man used to take him up on the wall to shoot missiles at wandering Super Mutants before Elder Lyons caught them.

Gallows, Sarah, and the vault dweller Knight were more neutral in their expressions. The vault dweller and Sarah had their arms over each other like actual siblings, which wasn’t surprising. After the purifier, the two were nearly inseparable. As he looked over the group, one thing was obvious: All of them were proud.

He remembered the Wastelander, turned Brotherhood Knight, wanted an Initiate to take their photo. It was right after they defeated the Enclave, and before the Knight left. Arthur smiled a bit at the unusual Knight. They always had an odd obsession with taking pictures of things, but what surprised Arthur was when he was given the group picture.

He tried not to show it then, but he was giddy at the gift. It made him feel like he was a part of their team. He had dreams of being one of them: Fighting Super Mutants, Deathclaws, and even Behemoths by their side. Living out all the stories he’s heard from them, himself.