Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 140: Deep Throat

*WARNING*
Depictions of rape. It's a dark one so don't read if you're feeling easily triggered or otherwise sensitive. I don't think I've ever actually depicted rape in my writing before. It's not something I'm comfortable with at all, but I felt it necessary to depict in order to express a major change in character arc. As I grow as a writer I'll get braver about how I write these things, and I want to, because I feel they are important to break taboo and raise awareness on just how horrible it is for people who experience it, and also how prevalent it is. We shouldn't be afraid of it, just considerate.

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"They wanted a monster."

Her voice dropped into the ether of his dreams like a wildfire in his ears. Danse, M7-97, walked the halls of the Institute a rogue element, angry.

"So be one."

Scientists proliferated through the halls and chambers, unaware, noses buried so deep in their clipboards, data pads, and conversations that by the time they noticed him, it was too late. He demolished everything in his path, indiscriminate. Heads were pulverized into walls, necks snapped with reverberating sound, limbs dislocated in brittle abandon. When the rudimentary synths challenged him, he ploughed through them like a knife through ranks of butter, pulling wires and unplugging hardware.

He didn't know where these skills and the knowledge to destroy came from. They were innate in him, genetic memories passed down from a chain of no beginning. He did not earn them through training and the rigors of trial and error. They felt untapped, like a wellspring of forbidden treasures with the potential to tip the balance of his sanity. With each delivery of pain he inflicted on his victims, he felt himself submerging into this overflow. He wanted to lose himself in the maiming, to experience those elusive first emotions in the pleasure that pain wrought.

Kelly was everywhere and nowhere. His eyes and ears were devilled by her ghosts.

"They wanted a monster, a psychopath. Let it in. Let it consume you."

Danse resisted while M7-97 was consumed, hungry for emotion, more, anything to feel human, alive. He wanted it all. The more agony he could inflict, the more chance he could experience this new dawning of sentience. It was intoxicating, maddening, but inexorably humanizing.

Sirens wailed. People screamed. Blood spilled. He was the genesis.

From nondescript halls and corridors, he emerged into a new world of luminous wonder. He had only ever known the lab. But this place was a great bowl of space and lights. Dazzled, he was caught off-guard as files of combat synths aligned themselves before him, a phalanx of riot shields standing against one.

Implanted instinct told M7-97 that he was outnumbered and outgunned, experience and common sense told Danse much the same thing, but the emerging psychopathic rage in both told him to destroy all in his way.

That rage simmered to his surface, a burgeoning root that he wanted to feel more of.

On his approach, they snatched their weapons up into firing positions. He came on undeterred. Even when he moved within a metre of their shield wall, they held their fire. He smashed at the first riot shield with a dropped shoulder, plying open a gap in their defense.

"Subdue the archetype!" an unfamiliar voice cried from behind the riot shields. "Keep it subdued until the Director recites the recall code."

Whoever this was, they didn't personally know his recall code. He had a window of time before Father arrived.