Another Unoriginal Oneshot Book

Ensnared

AN: This chapter, and the next two, deal with pretty dark subject matter. I wouldn't say 18+, but when I eventually post these to fanfic.net they will be rated M. However, if you've played the games, you've dealt with the same type of story before. Also, part of this chapter was on request from The-Real-Deadpool. Contains some spoilers regarding Boone.
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Arizona, 2268.
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Cassius groaned lowly and shifted against Gabriel's back. He was reacting very poorly to this whole situation, in his employee's opinion, considering that Gabriel definitely got the worse end of the deal.

Cassius had been crouched on the ground when they'd sprung the net trap. He had the good fortune to be folded into a somewhat-dignified position in their hanging prison. Gabriel had been caught unaware by the net snapping them up, and his legs were currently pointed up toward the ceiling of the abandoned industrial complex. He was stuck folded nearly in half, and Cassius's squirming didn't help. Gabriel's shotgun was wedged painfully between them.

"Cassius," he growled. "If you would stop moving—"

Cassius froze, but not because of Gabriel. Crushed as he was, the boy only now noticed that the shadows around them were shifting.

They defined themselves into shapes, then into humans... or, beings. There was very little about these creatures that could be called human.

That was Legion propaganda talking, maybe. After spending so long in Flagstaff, it was easy to dehumanize groups less civilized, or less powerful. But even the tribes had been beautiful in their simplicity. Beauty was the furthest thing in the world from the Fiends.

Most wore Brahmin skulls on their heads, some driven through with nails, some filthy with unidentifiable substances. Their armor was patchwork — car tires, military-grade equipment, gecko skin, rags. They were bright with chems, or jittery with withdrawal. They bore savage scars across their faces and bodies, as if they fought each other tooth and nail when they weren't rallying against others. They moved like animals, coyotes waiting for the fight to go out of potential prey. Worst of all was the smell. It had been evident on the way in, but now it surrounded them. The only word for it was filth. Clotting, uninhibited, unwashed inhumanity. Gabriel could see it on them, a layer of inky-black muck that defied definition. The net shifted as he curled his hand protectively around his nose.

And from the mass of shadows-turned-beasts, a man approached. Along with his helmet, he wore leather pants, a cuirass, and a fur half-coat that covered only his shoulders. Rather than move a step to the side, he rotated the net around to look Gabriel in the face. His bloodshot eyes raked over the teenager, seeing something that seemed to amuse him. The man's odor was fiercer than the others'; it was transfixing in its obscenity. Gabriel didn't break eye contact, though he was absolutely disgusted.

The leader's dry lips pursed and the corners of his eyes crinkled. He ran a tongue casually over brown teeth. "What a good-looking thug you are," he addressed Gabriel in a voice like grit. He spun the net around to look at Cassius. Gabriel hissed in annoyance.

"Savage, you will release this net, or fear the vengeance of Caesar's Legion!" Cassius boomed, attempting lamely to mask the fear in his voice. The fiend cackled in response, doubling over with mirth.

Unimpressed with his employer's posturing, Gabriel muttered, "Keep them occupied," between his teeth as he surreptitiously fished out his serrated combat knife.

Cassius didn't seem to hear him, too distracted by the disgusting man hooting with laughter on the ground while his second-in-command held the net in place. Gabriel bitterly reflected on the easy communication he'd had with the legate. His master would never have lost control of the situation like this, and would know without speaking that Gabriel was going to cut them down. As bluntly as his memory struck Gabriel, the two had had far better chemistry than he did with Cassius.