Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 146: The Metal Taste Of Fury

Industrial rage painted Kelly's spirit as red as the skies when she was disarmed, bound at the wrists, and hustled aboard the Prydwen. Throughout the rough treatment, she couldn't take her eyes off the scene in the distant desert, the wild pillars of oil fumes signalling Danse's endangerment. One she was powerless to avert.

Two soldiers in power armor marched her forward across the Flight Deck, a steel hand wrapping each of her arms. She tried to wrench away from them, out of nothing but pure defiance, but their grips only tightened, bruising her flesh beneath the resilient material of her battlesuit. She could feel it flexing on her skin, trying to adapt to the pressure.

"If you hurt my crew, I'll kick you overboard just like I did to Groves," she spat, twisting in attempt to catch sight of Valentine, MacCready, Garvey, Richter, and X6-88 being marched into the Flight Deck's guard post. It was X6 she was concerned about. He had made it clear he would not tolerate her incarceration. If he acted out, she would lose any chance of talking herself out of this.

"Shut up, Wastelander."

Wastelander. When was the last time the Brotherhood had hit her with that one?

Maxson had done his due diligence in vilifying her back down to nothing but a dirty wastelander. A dirty synth wastelander.

One of the soldiers released her arm to allow the other to shove her through the entry hatch to the control deck. The chill in the air was immediately quelled for the muted squalls of the exterior winds.

Where is he? Where is that motherfucker hiding? I'm ready for you. Come and face me, coward. Come and judge me for yourself.

Kelly's eyes were primed on the brightness streaming in through the forward viewport, his palace balcony, his throne, casting about for his imperial figure. But she lost sight of it and anything that may be standing in waiting as she was bustled in and yanked about like a ragdoll, losing her footing. The soldier dangled her up off the deck, allowing her to scrabble upright, humiliatingly.

"Stop your squirming."

"Stop dicking me around!" His metal hand encased the circumference of her upper arm, but he increased the pressure further at her backtalk, causing her to wince and reflexively reach to pry at his grip with her free hand.

She was thrust, crashing across the deck on all fours. Her view of her splayed hands in the cuffs showed a reaction through the tactile surface of her palms and finger pads. She didn't know what it meant.

"That was unnecessary, soldier."

Lancer-Captain Kells. Kelly's nostrils flared with compact rage before even looking up at him.

"Sorry, sir." He didn't sound sorry.

"Dismissed." Kells didn't sound reprimanding, either. It was always just for show, scolding your soldier for being a little rough with a prisoner. Kells got to come out looking like the benevolent sophisticate, schooling his naughty boys for behaviors that only came naturally to them. He taught Maxson well.

Once they were alone, Captain Kells glared down on her. "Anything to say for yourself, Harper?"

"I didn't know you liked a woman on her knees. That how you groomed Maxson to think?"

Muscles contracted in his shaved jaw. "You just don't know what's good for you. Do you like to create anarchy wherever you go, is that it? Are you some kind of compulsive anarchist?"

She lifted one shoulder to convey innocence. "The anarchy finds me. I just survive it."

"A predictable response from a traitor. Or a spy."