Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 90: Flags Of Our Foul-Ups

The vertibird airlift over Lex Talionis was a burst of fresh air, and on that air rode a perpetual burst of gunfire from the distant battle for No Man's Delta.

It was a hard day's labor to score a meeting with the Elder, especially in a time where his safety was a fragile nerve in the Brotherhood of Steel, but under John Hancock's charismatic powers of persuasion, the crew managed to hitch a ride up to the Prydwen with an escort of Paladin Svensson's men. Svensson himself, despite his liberal leanings within the Brotherhood and his standing offer of support to the Minutemen cause, was visibly perturbed by the presence of a ghoul, a synth, and a raider in the vertibird with him.

Clay-Crawler blessed him with one of his glowing smiles in an attempt to befriend him. The fire-haired man stared back at the raider, his left eye giving a single, disturbed twitch. He then switched to eyeballing the cripple in the sunglasses.

"I gotta ask why you were so keen to tag along, Deacon," Hancock spoke over the colossal racket of the rotors. "Gettin' up close and personal ain't usually your thing."

"Damage control, Mayor Hancock," the spy answered, meeting a round of disbelief. Then he broke with a grin. "Psych. Nah, comic relief."

"That's why we brought Clay for. A familiar face and a source of amusement."

"Ah, but does he know how to spot a liar? Besides, you need someone who can speak the same language of style as these guys. I got that down pat."

"Well I'm glad at least one of us is going to get a kick outta this," Nick commented as the docking arms brought the gunship into the belly of the beast.

Svensson stepped clear first. "Follow me and keep it tight. You have clearance to board but that doesn't mean everyone's happy about it. The last thing we want is to stir the pot."

"Heh. She's ready to blow." D-Con stepped off the vertibird next, hobbling on his leg cast and stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets as he let Hancock and Nick pass him to fall in behind them. "This is the first rodeo on the mothership for you guys, huh?"

Before they could respond, Svensson turned in his power armor to eye D-Con, circumspectly. "And when did you board the Prydwen?"

Features slightly agape, the spy sidled Clay-Crawler a look before coming to a casual shrug. "Oh, Kelly took me for a little look-see a while back after I helped on one of her patrols. I didn't touch anything, and I definitely didn't steal anything. Promise."

Svensson held onto his suspicion for a moment longer, before slowly turning back toward the Flight Deck hatch. D-Con threw Clay-Crawler a sheepish cringe before they set out again. Keeping his rescue heist under wraps was probably a good idea.

They were stripped of their weapons at the hatch, and Clay-Crawler was forced to dismount his power armor, after much persuasion from the others after he refused the Brotherhood's request. He was reminded of his illness without the bracing support of his armor, feeling the deck sway under his feet. He gave his best efforts at covering his weakness and putting on a brave face, however. That was what Deadskull would do.

Unfavorable stares confronted them on the command deck. Clay-Crawler remembered there being less security last time he was here. Now, soldiers in power armor lined the walls, laser armaments cradled intimately in steel arms. Vengeful visors locked onto the strangers, giving an unwelcoming greeting.