Fallout Fan-Fic : a story brought to life!
Tag along with our sole survivor Bea Galante, Nick Valentine and MacCready (a semi-functional unit) as they leave the peaceful Spectacle Island to rescue some folks from a feral infested Diamond City! But...
"Bea," I bolt up in the sleeping bag, my fists raised. "Whoa, whoa!" A sliver of light from the door shines on his bony face and thin goatee. It's MacCready... "Wh- what do you want," I croak, unnerved by the disturbance. I pull the blankets up to my chest, only decent by a scrappy tank top. "I don't have anywhere to sleep," he whispers. He could sleep on the floor no problem; I know I have. "Tough it out," I coldly respond, twisting away from him. He curls his lip. A blue eye caught in a sliver of light looks down at me with annoyance. Behind that dirty look though, I see tired, sad eyes. Hmm. "It's fine, I'll keep look out," he hops out of his crouch, eyes drawn elsewhere. "No, no." I interject. "I've been greedy getting as much sleep as I have. Here." I slip out of the sleeping bag. "Don't look." "Trust me, I'm not," he sneers, crossing his arms in the darkness. I pull up my battered black jeans that fit me snug. "Get some beauty sleep." "Thank you," I hear genuine gratitude in his voice. He drops to the sleeping bag as if there were no tomorrow. Poor man; sometimes I feel bad how nasty I've been to him. He's human after all. I sneak out the back room, the bright light in the hall nearly blinds me. My heart sinks as I see Nick staring out into the black morning by himself. I pause, standing still. I don't say anything; my heart is heavy. Seeing him like this is disorienting; he's been damaged. Being asleep; escaping all this heartache? There's a reason I sleep a lot. My dreams are unshackled from this age, finding solace back in the sanctuary before the bombs dropped... I have a reoccurring dream: I sit on the bridge, my feet wading in the crisp, clear brook as I look out into the forest. There's always healthy, pre war animals staring back at me with beady eyes: A mink, a deer, a fox and a bear. They always seem a little out of place, but they feel real, as if they have something to say to me... "Who do you think won the war?" Nick's voice brings me back to the present; he must've known I was behind him. He turns around to look at me, a cigarette lit in his thin metal hand. Then, he scoffs. "Nobody, I guess." He ashes the cig with a seemingly irreversible face of pain. I don't respond. I slide up beside him though, placing my hand on his shoulder. We both look over the city in silence. I can see the ferals gnashing and tearing through the littered streets. Now that I have the time to look, I see a couple sprawled human bodies... Departed citizens. I look at Nick; he looks down. "We're taking everyone back to Spectacle Island. We can come back and clear the city when we have enough man power." I take his synthetic hand. He grips me tightly. "What about folks who aren't safe up here?" "We'll come back for them."
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I slide down the side the wall, my feet gracefully landing on the roof like a cat. The cold breeze gives me the goose bumps and passes through my thin, white tank. I really should've worn my jacket; probably should've brought a buddy too. Oh well. I wear the duffle bag like a backpack, which feels wrong, but hey, it works. I stand up straight, surveilling the city and looking for the best route of action. The city looks normal, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think it was. I hear faint growls. They know how to hide well. My gut twists as I imagine going face-to-face with a feral again, let alone a whole hoarde. "Okay, B." I pull up my bandana like a cartoon bandit and draw two knives. "Time to steal some chickens."
