John

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The door opens from Milliways onto the tumbletown ruins of what used to be an industrial area on the fringes of Arlington. The temperature is summertime-warm, the air dry; the last rains to pass through here are long since gone. Overhead, a scavenger bird or two circles, visible only to people who know what they're looking for. A breeze listlessly stirs the air, kicking up brief dust-devils along the shattered ruin of the local roads. Beyond that, the place is quiet in the way that only emptiness can bring.

"This is where I came in," Ellen says over her shoulder. "Like I mentioned the other day, it's about a day's travel to the Fort Bannister region from here. There's still some pre-war asphalt laid down here but pretty soon it all gives way to open sand and scrub. The nearest radiation source is a hundred yards northeast of here, and we're not going in that direction, so unless my Geiger counter goes off without warning we should be all right."

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[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

The Spartan had noticed the animals a while ago with his superhuman eyesight, but had come to the conclusion Ellen had just confirmed.

"What about that one?" He asks, pointing with his rifle at what appeared to be a very large scorpion scuttling over the craggy hills in the opposite direction.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Those are dangerous," Ellen confirms after a moment's squint. "Snapping claws and a lot of venom in the tail. Dogmeat, stay here."

The last was warranted; Dogmeat had lowered his head and started to growl.

"He'll attack anything he thinks is a threat, but those are best taken out at a distance."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

"It's not coming any closer," John observes. Sure enough, the scorpion disappears under a distant block of rubble and doesn't emerge. He continues walking for some minutes in silence.

Under the glaring sun, John casually memorized the patterns of fur on Dogmeat, just in case he had to quickly identify the animal later in low visibility conditions. He proceeded to do the same with Ellen's particular posture and the small unique scratches, scrapes, and markings on her armor. Her powered armor lacked a friend-or-foe identification tag that his suit could easily latch onto. He would have to ask later about that. He might be able to modify its existing system so his suit could pick her up.

After another while of observation, John breaks the revere. "You mentioned something about a vault when we first met. Is it some kind of bunker?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Not exactly," Ellen says, "although it shares characteristics with them. The Vaults were a series of long-term fallout shelters built before the War. The situation with China was really bad for so long that I think people thought nuclear war was almost inevitable. Vault-Tec Corporation built... I don't know how many shelters. At least a hundred and twelve, though, in different places across the country, and I think some in Canada after we annexed it. They were designed to hold up to a thousand people for an indefinite amount of time without allowing radiation or contamination to get in. Vault 101 is where I grew up- it's under a rock formation northwest of here."

"Only they weren't really proper shelters, ultimately. The whole thing was being run as a series of experiments. I haven't found out what the ultimate goal was, but each Vault was a separate test of something. And most of the Vaults I've found here in the Wasteland failed- very, very badly."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

The US of John's universe had done a lot to the betterment of humanity, on the whole. "It doesn't sound like the old US government had its act together," the soldier says. That was probably part of the reason there was no US government anymore.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Not especially, no," Ellen agrees. "The old Army was pretty efficient, from what I saw in a prewar combat training sim I had to go through, but outside of the War Department everything I've ever found seems to point to the government being kind of off the rails way before the bombs fell. And their descendants don't seem to be a whole lot better, if what people've told me about the Enclave is true."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

The UNSC's only purpose had been to protect humanity, both from itself and from outsiders. It seemed that the US of this universe had slightly different priorities.

"What about yourself?" John asks. "Why did you leave the Vault?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"It wasn't my idea." Ellen wrinkles her nose, but behind her armor's helmet it's completely invisible. "There was a policy in place when I was growing up- the Overseer didn't like the fact that the Vault had had contact with the surface around the time Dad and I arrived, so he forced all the adults to act as if it had never happened. When Dad escaped to go back to work on his water purifier, the Overseer sent the security team after me and Dad's assistant during the night. They killed Jonas trying to interrogate him, but the Overseer's daughter woke me up before they could find me. I still had to fight a couple of them to get out of the Vault alive."

It seems like it was a million years ago, now that she thinks about it. Milliways time aside, that was very nearly a different life altogether.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

He could tell by her tense posture that this was a sensitive topic. "I understand how that is, ma'am," says John.

He continues to walk in silence, passively evaluating every aspect of the landscape.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"It's all right. I'm sorry," Ellen says. "That was the first time I ever had to actually fight for anything- literally, I mean. A lot of things happened that day."

John is likely to spot it first: in the distance, skimming along a rise in the landscape that used to be part of a road, is a round, shiny metallic robot of some kind. It's no Monitor, though. The Monitors didn't have trailing antennae, or broadcast patriotic fife-and-drum music.

(343 Guilty Spark was weird in a lot of ways, but that wasn't one of them.)

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John raises his rifle, casually drawing a bead on the machine. "Eliminate or evade?" he asks. He decides to aim for the sensor array. If it was a recon drone, it would do no good blind. If he shot it though, anyone who was watching on the other side would know their position.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Eliminate," says Ellen. "It's Enclave. They're trying to scout out the Wasteland with the intention of taking over."

It's far from the most dangerous variety of robot in the Wasteland, but ever since Linden told her about what the Enclave tried to do in California, she's gone out of her way to destroy every eyebot she's come across.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John fires twice, working the bolt in between shots: once at the drone's sensor array, and another at its power plant. The drone explodes.

The gunshots are so close together that an untrained ear would mark them as a single sound.

John continues walking while he reloads his weapon and mentally notes the specific ballistics of his current weapon, just in case longer range engagements became necessary.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Very nice," Ellen says. "Suddenly I miss my old Gauss rifle. I haven't had anything that accurate in a long time."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John checks the action of the weapon. "Accuracy isn't important. Precision is important. Predictability is key."

The Spartan makes a few adjustments, and then bends an almost imperceptible kink out of the barrel as he walks.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"That, at least, I've got." Ellen indicates her own gun. "Predictability, I mean. This is a plasma rifle from up in the Commonwealth- somewhere north of here, though I don't know how far. It's slower-firing than a laser rifle or some of the bullet guns, but every shot is exactly the same as the last, which is better than any other gun I've ever had to use."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

The Spartan could tell Ellen was a valuable resource on the field. He forged ahead, choosing not to comment.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The Wasteland rolls on, vast and empty, for quite some time before the figures appear in the distance: three armor-clad humans, and one... Well. It's got treads, and it's made of metal, and it has snakelike arms terminating in claws. But it's got some kind of glowing dome on the top, possibly with a... yeah, that'd be a brain inside.

Humans and machine alike are painted in black and red.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

"Three contacts," John says suddenly, watching the distant newcomers. "Two are in power armor, like yours. Black and red markings. Third is a cyborg of some kind. Same markings. They're heavily armed." He takes note of effective flanking routes and covered firing positions. "Are they hostile?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Brotherhood Outcasts," Ellen identifies the description. "And a Robobrain. Not usually hostile, but their mission here in the Wasteland is to collect any advanced tech they find in 'the wrong hands' and send it back to their headquarters. Anyone who isn't Brotherhood of Steel is 'the wrong hands'." She grimaces. "I've met a few who were decent, but most of them look at me like they're trying to decide if they could peel my armor off without losing theirs first."

As she speaks, the forward of the two humans stops, then unslings a missile launcher from across its back. The second human produces a squared-off rifle. Fortunately, the group isn't facing in John and Ellen's direction; whatever threat they're perceiving is coming from further away, and another direction entirely.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John guessed that the Outcasts would determine his powered assault armor was in the 'wrong hands' as well. He would just have to not be seen by them, if it came to that. Spartans might weigh three quarters of a ton with their armor, but they were very light on their feet.

The soldier scans the area for the contacts the Outcasts are about to engage or threaten. "Should we assist them?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Unless they-"

Ellen had been about to say unless they kill it first, but the phrase dies before it can ever be said. The enemy's heaved into sight. There are three of them to start with, green-skinned and over-muscled, looking like someone poured ten feet of angry into nine feet of skin. They don't so much wear armor, or even clothing, as they wear bodged-together patches of scrap metal and leather taken from every conceivable source. The one in the lead has some kind of helmet crammed down onto its skull, looking almost more like a trophy than protective wear. It's armed with a minigun, its barrels already spinning up; the others have assault rifles.

Ellen's breath hisses between her teeth, and she draws her plasma rifle immediately. "Definitely assist," she says. "Mutants. These things are nasty."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John fires four times in rapid succession at one of the mutants flanking the leader, noting how at this angle and range, his shots bounce off of the hostile's skull. He had just succeeded in making it angrier. The enemy was more like the Covenant than he had thought. He switched tacitcs.

"I'm going to close range," the Spartan says, dodging off to the side and leaping down into a deep gully. He takes off once out of sight, running faster than anything in the wasteland could manage, with the possible exception of a Enclave vertibird.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods once and flashes a thumbs-up; it's easier than trying to make herself heard over the sound of gunfire. As John darts away he may hear her armor shouting "LET 'EM EAT LEAD!", but that's about all the sound that'll be coming from her end of the field... other than the zzthwip! of green plasma bolts, anyway.

The mutants are a relatively perceptive bunch, but their attention in this battle is on the beleaguered Outcasts. Whether they'll realize that they're about to be set upon by death from below is tough to say.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

Exceeding the speed limit in a residential zone, the Spartan leaps out of the gully, on the flank of the mutants. He soars through the air like a three-quarter ton missile, ending the arc with a flying kick in the trailing mutant's back. The impact snaps the creature's spine neatly. He slides with fluid grace off of the corpse and vaults up the side of the next-nearest mutant. The creature turns in opened-mouthed surprise at the Spartan, just in time for John to shove his rifle into the thing's mouth, pull the trigger, and then snap its neck for good measure.

The last mutant is probably torn apart between the Brotherhood Outcasts' heavy weaponry and Ellen's plasma rifle.

In any case, John rolls behind a slab of upturned concrete for cover. The Outcasts could turn hostile as well, from Ellen's description of them.