Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 130: Power And Paranoia

It was a suctioning dread that Danse heard. The very sound of dread. That noise that was all around him, seeping in and out like a great colossal parasite.

He could see nothing, but feel the lurching, smell and taste the acrid foulness, breathe in the fumes that assaulted his airways. The Dark Blood Sea of the Dark Deep swamped on him with it's limitless might. Here it encapsulated him, tucking him deep beneath it's thrashing waves, where no light was permitted, and no souls could escape.

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The very structure of the Castle was infused with the essence of the Minutemen spirit. Salt and sand, dirt and dust, rain and shine, the rough ocean teeth biting at a smooth, storied land. It was ancient history lusting with youthful bravado, moored by a visionary past that thrashed for reincarnation.

Kelly had almost forgotten how the familiar detritus of the Castle never failed to settle her nerves. The musty scent of the foundations, the earthiness of the mud and dust tracking in on boots, of the woody smoke from campfires scattered about the perimeter, denoting the unbroken guard duty shifts that kept them all safe and secure; all of it was homely. Laughter and shouts were never far away, drifting from one hall to the next. The sounds of the ocean dashed at the rear walls while the sprays filled the air with the taste of salt and freedom.

It was rough around the edges, and all the more comforting for it. Such an odd thing, really. An unkempt environment stole her heart over any orderly haven of the Brotherhood's or the Institute's. Maybe it reminded her of her childhood on the streets.

Danse would be chafing at the state of the place since he was last here, training her men.

Thinking of him, Kelly sailed through her self-appointed tasks. She ate her hot meal of vegetable soup and stale bread, guzzled coffee while memorizing all the family names of the deceased Minutemen, and inspected the new recruits preparing to ship out to the Bloodlands.

They were strong and determined, but too few. Only fifty had volunteered from the Castle force. While it might be enough to work the aquifer and crops at No Man's Delta, it wouldn't be near enough to staff the Delta Dune outpost. Not in the event of an invasion. The Brotherhood just couldn't spare the men to station security forces at every outpost they secured across the desert. Maxson hadn't expressly said so, probably because he didn't want to admit to as such to her.

She still had yet to sleep, and fatigue was gathering behind her eyes. But time was of the essence. How would she sleep with such a restless mind and environment? No, things had to be in alignment before she could rest. Danse would be scolding her for poor leadership philosophy; one could not care for others without first caring for oneself. But he was fallible himself.

"Do as I say, not as I do," he had told her one morning after she had confronted him about staying up all night on watch.

Yeah, whatever you say, Danse.

"Give me the rundown. Don't sugarcoat it, I want it raw and dirty." She reamed her staff for incident reports, cross-referencing with Pentagon's staff for unbiased versions, or sifting for something in between.

It was worse than he had initially made out. Synth paranoia had flourished and spread across the Commonwealth since the departure of the Prydwen. Whilst most civilians viewed the Brotherhood as an imposing, unwelcome enforcement, it appeared as though the military presence hell-bent on eradicating the Institute had still garnered a general feeling of protection. The airship had been a symbol of change, of hopeful salvation. The Minutemen were more known for the protection against raiders. And the withdrawal had not only affected the civilians.