leanonstuff | PSL post for daughterless

PSL post for daughterless

[The NCR had sent Norman to the Vault because the area was surrounded by Fiends, and he was damn good at blending among the various "criminal" groups around the Mojave. No way an ordinary NCR trooper would be able to get inside without being attacked. And according to their intelligence, exactly what was inside was of such great importance that they couldn't possibly wait to go after it just in case Caesar's Legion got wind of it and acted first. Norman was searching for a box of special bottles that appeared to be beer or vodka bottles, but were actually filled with a chemical that, when introduced into a water supply, could spread a deadly bacteria that would wipe out anyone who drank the contaminated water for at least a month.

Unfortunately, finding the bottles was turning out to be far more difficult that Norman had anticipated. He'd gotten into the Vault in the first place by wearing old, torn and dirty clothes that could pass as those a typical raider or Fiend might wear. He'd even bought a few chems from them to help gain their trust (and to use them later, though he planned to tell the NCR that he'd disposed of them instead). The Vault seemed to be empty of Fiends, luckily, but he wasn't too optimistic that he wouldn't eventually run into ghouls or worse.

10mm pistol in hand, Norman opens the door to the Vault infirmary, hoping he might have some more luck locating the bottles in there.]

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[Joel's answering huff might have been a shade too smug as they file out of the stairwell. Still, they're not out of the fire yet. There's no telling if the men outside had seen the bottom of the floor slide shut, and even if they hadn't, there would still be the telltale blinking of the monitor to give their position away.

The new area is... not quite a tunnel. Actually, it looks to be some sort of a small monitoring room, multiple screens, more panels, thick sheafs of notes and scattered paper, everything covered in a fine layer of dust. A narrow doorway is set into the opposite wall; the door is ajar, and half a skeleton wedged into the opening, arm splayed out as if reaching out for help.

Joel eyes it for a moment, taking in the scene, then gives a little shake of his head, glancing at Norman.]

Well, that don't look to be a good sign.

[Norman all but deflates at the sight of the room, far from the tunnel he was hoping to find. He isn't too optimistic about what's on the other side of that little door with the skeleton, and now wonders if they've just made everything worse for themselves.]

I'm gonna check out these terminals.

[Maybe there's a turret system controlled from down here? If he could turn that on the soldiers...

...Christ, what has his life come to? Thinking casually about killing multiple NCR troopers? He wishes he could still believe there was a misunderstanding here, and that they don't mean to kill him. Wishes, but knows better by now.]

See if there's anything that can slow those guys down. You check on that door.

Got it.

[Joel follows Norman's lead, leaving him to tap at the keyboard as he crosses the room, shoving a rolling chair to one side where it rattles away, kicking up dust. The narrow door itself is jammed, caught between the skeleton's ribs. Joel gives it a hard tug. When the door doesn't budge, he braces his injured leg against the wall, wincing as he yanks back on the handle.

The door opens with an awful grinding sound of rusted hinges and cracked bone. Panting a little for breath, Joel peers cautiously around it into the darkness beyond. His flashlight casts a bright beam through the doorway-- a narrow passageway that widens out into curved, vaulted ceilings and... train tracks? Huh. Well, here's Norman's tunnel.

Turning back to call out to the other man, the beam of his light sweeps across the skeleton, missing everything from the hip down, and casting jagged shadows onto the toothmarks deep into its pelvis.

...well, shit.]

Norman- [He gestures] There's a path down this way. But... looks like we might have company. [He nudges the skeleton forward with his foot for the other man to get a better look.]

[The terminals aren't starting up. No power down here anymore, it looks like. He tries anyway, but stops and glances over his shoulder when Joel addresses him.]

Company? [Then he sees the state of the skeleton and heaves a sigh. What could have done that? Deathclaws? Feral Ghouls? Supermutants? He doesn't really want to know, but a path is a path and he'd rather take his chances with wasteland creatures than with NCR Rangers.]

Turn off your flashlight. We move slowly and quietly. If we're lucky, we might actually make it out of this alive.

[Though by now, Norman doesn't have much faith in his luck. He doesn't like the idea of Joel having to go through this now either, injured as he is. Hands shaking, he starts toward the narrow door.]

[Looks like Norman's taking point on this one. Joel doesn't have any complaints, flicking off the light before sliding through the narrow passageway, shoulders bumping against the walls. The gait forces him to put equal weight on both legs, but he grits his teeth and sidles on through, jumping down onto the gravel of the tracks and letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.]

Don't know far out these run, but I ain't familiar with any trainyards in these parts.

[He squints down the shadowy tunnel, trying to orient himself.]

This way east.

I've never been here either. Should be an adventure.

[He lets out a halfhearted laugh, then remembers to lower his voice. Even a soft tone can carry in a place like this, and the last thing he wants to do is alert anything nasty to their presence.

Keeping said nasty things in mind, Norman pulls out his rifle, ignoring the ache in his shot arm as he holds it ready with both hands. He'd more readily use it as a melee weapon given the chance if he can cause less noise. Unfortunately, there are some creatures out there that won't die from a few blows to the head.

Following Joel's directions, Norman crouches a little to keep better hidden and starts down the eastward path. Damn it, these places give him the creeps... even worse than some of those vaults. As they walk, he stops frequently, thinking he's hearing some sounds echoing up ahead. He knows feral ghouls like to frequent places like this, and is being careful to listen to any of their shuffling or groaning sounds.]

[Joel snorts under his breath, also keeping his voice down.]

Yeah, I'll pass. Already had my fill of those.

[He keeps his 9 mm pistol in his hands, leaving the shotgun in its holster for the time being. Given the kick on that thing, he doesn't want to think about how bracing for recoil is going to fuck up his injured leg. Even crouched, Norman moves faster than his own hobbling gait, and he's breathing hard, cold sweat slick on his face after a little more than a mile underground.

Pausing for a moment to catch his breath and listen along the tracks, Joel squints into the darkness. Just how far do these tracks stretch anyway? As a smuggler, he knows his fair share of hidden routes and shortcuts through the Mojave, but no one had every said anything about a goddamn train line under their feet.

No sooner after he finishes that thought, there's an echo of metal on metal that reverberates through the tunnel, followed by a shriek. Joel's head immediately goes up, listening for the source of the sound. Down the tunnel, of course, the same damn direction they're headed.]

These trains don't run anymore... so what the hell was that?

[The NCR is pretty knowledgeable about the train lines running through the Mojave, but not all of the access points. And even if they did, no one's ever eager to venture down to these places, where some of the nastiest wasteland creatures lurk about.

That thought is confirmed when he hears those sounds. Norman freezes in place, eyes widening. While he can't be sure what that is just from the sound, his first thought is Deathclaw. They have been sighted in certain underground areas, after all.]

Let's just... focus on moving slowly and quietly. It'll be alright.

[He hopes. There's no fighting Deathclaws, if that's what's out there.]

[Doesn't sound like a ghoul, doesn't sound like anything Joel's encountered before, and he doesn't like the sudden nervous, pacifying tone in Norman's voice. It'll be alright, my ass. He keeps his voice low, doesn't bother hiding the annoyance.]

You know something I don't? 'Cause I sure as hell would appreciate the heads up.

[A glimmer of gray light up ahead, as the tunnel opens up into a wider space-- a station, completely with stairs, turnstiles, and a whole mess of trains, trains sitting empty on their tracks, trains twisted and bent into unrecognizable hunks of metal, falling over one another like a heap of snakes. A crack in the ceiling lets in a fine trickle of sand-- as well as the dim light. He squints up at the stairs.]

That might just be our ticket outta here. What do you--?

[Sudden movement in the shadows, and Joel's head immediately goes up, even as he raises the gun in his hands.]

[He debates telling, but doesn't want to cause unneeded concern if he's just overreacting. Then again, if he's right, then that concern is most definitely needed.]

Well...

[He taps his fingers on his rifle while considering what to say, even as they make their way into the main area of the train station. If they just keep pushing forward, there should be an exit right up ahead. He's about to say as much when Norman also notices the movements in the dim lighting.]

We gotta hide. [Again he grabs Joel's arm, urging him toward a small booth that someone selling tickets might've sat in before the war. They can hide in there, just to make sure it's safe. And sadly, he thinks he's going to have to share his suspicions.]

I don't... know for sure, but I've heard about Deathclaws making nests in places like this before.

[Joel opens his mouth, throat working, closes it after a moment, and then gives Norman a look. Deathclaws. Of all the goddamn--!

He sucks in a low breath, reigning in his temper. No use getting worked up; they don't even know what's out there yet. The constant ache and throb of his injured leg is messing with his focus, making him prickly with pain. Joel fumbles for his pack, then jabs another Med X into his leg, closing his eyes at the rush of blissful numbness. As it passes, he turns back toward Norman, pitching his voice low.]

...Guess we'd better have a look and see what we're goin' up again. [A pause.] You ever fought a Deathclaw before?

[Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, Joel hasn't. People don't do business where Deathclaws nest, and Joel's made it a point to avoid the hell out of any place reputed to have a Deathclaw sighting. It's worked out all right for him so far.]

[He watches Joel jab himself with a Med-X, and wishes he could justify doing the same. His arm hurts, sure, but it isn't bad enough to claim he really needs it in the face of their dwindling medical supply. Norman's already thinking Joel is suspicious of how little they have, and he doesn't want to make that worse.]

I'm still alive, so no.

[The thought of getting anywhere near one of those things gives him the chills. They're perceptive, and they move fast. Norman continues to urge Joel toward the little booth, thinking.]

If we kept hidden for awhile... the NCR troopers will eventually come through. They could distract the Deathclaws for us.

[It's a difficult suggestion for him to make, 'cause it more or less means watching his former teammates get slaughtered by said Deathclaws. But it would solve two of their problems- the soldiers on their tails, and the monsters up ahead.]

[Joel's brows go up at Norman's suggestion, looking at him in surprise even as they approach the booth. That's... that might well be a workable plan, even if the NCR soldiers pose an extra complication he'd really rather not deal with. What surprises him is that Norman had suggested it in the first place. Using his former comrades as a distraction... well, it's every man for himself out here, and it might just work.]

Might be a last resort, if we could--

[Joel's talking as he eases the booth door open, hoping that it wouldn't squeak. No such luck. The hinges rattle as they open with a low, rusty creak and a light whumph of displaced dust-- and from across the room, there's a roar, and the sound of bounding footsteps, claws clicking against the floor.

Joel doesn't even have enough time to swear before he's shoving Norman into the boot and hurrying in himself, sliding the door shut as quietly as he can while he ducks beneath the counter of the booth.]

[Norman doesn't really have that "every man for himself" mentality, but the fact of the matter is those soldiers would be perfectly happy to shoot him dead now, and he has something very important to protect. Those bottles are his responsibility now, and keeping them out of military hands is more important than protecting the lives of people who are now unabashedly his enemies. It's a logical and cold calculation, but Norman can see no other feasible alternative.

And when he hears the sounds of a Deathclaw roaring and running their way, all moral dilemmas fly from his mind. He falls into the booth when shoved, then scrambles to hide beneath the counter next to Joel as the monster approaches. From the other end he can hear the sounds of boots- the NCR was barely behind them, slow as they were moving.

And then, the sound of gunfire. Norman flinches a little at the sounds of the battle, roars and screams, gunshots and grenades. His heart is racing now, and Norman barely even realizes he's clutching one of Joel's arms tightly with both of his hands to try and calm the shaking. Now is not the time to succumb to his addiction, however stressful this situation might be. He needs as clear a head as possible, to help them through this once the battle ends.]

[Shit, shit, shit, that was too close! Joel thinks furiously, back pressed flat against the walls of the booth and trying to stay out of sight-- the last thing they want right now is some trooper peering through the window and seeing his or Norman's outstretched legs. They'd gotten lucky, damn lucky, practically leading the Deathclaw right to the NCR on their tails, but sooner or later that luck is going to run out. From the racket of shrieks and gunfire above their heads, it sounds like the Deathclaws are winning this battle, and they'd be in for a world of trouble afterward.

He doesn't even realize that Norman's holding onto him until he tries to shift positions and can't get his arm free. Glancing over at the other man, his brow furrows. What, is he scared? Not that Joel can blame him much, but the man is supposed to be a soldier, for chrissakes, and this is really not the time.]

Hey--! [He keeps his voice barely above a whisper, low and emphatic as he tries to shift out of Norman's grasp-- then pauses, feeling the tremble of his hands all the way up his arm. What the hell? Was he injured worse than Joel had realized?] Hey, you hangin' in there?

[Once Joel brings attention to the grip he has on his arm, Norman releases it hastily, which only has the effect of making his trembling that much more obvious. His vision is starting to blur, and breathing is becoming increasingly difficult. Shit, shit, shit!]

Y-yeah... just need a Med-X.

[He doesn't want his secret to come out, but right now surviving is more important that what Joel will think of him. He rummages through his bag, keeping carefully beneath the counter until he finds one of the needles and jabs it into his arm.

Almost instantly Norman feels himself relaxing. The sounds of the battle outside their little booth don't seem as bad as before, and he immediately starts thinking of an escape plan after dropping the empty syringe.]

Okay... alright. There's another door on the other side of this booth, so we need to sneak out that way while they're still fighting. If we get down past the stairs, we can make it outside and hide from any Deathclaws that might still be hanging around. How's that sound?

What-? [For the pain? No, that doesn't seem right. To loosen up? In the middle of a firefight? Joel's eyes narrow as Norman injects himself with the Med-X, the shakes immediately subsiding.

But there's no time to question him or even think his suspicions through. Joel turns his focus on Norman's plan, even as his mouth tightens into a hard line. He can't say he's much of a fan of Norman's idea either, but it don't like they've got much else in the way of choices either.]

If we can get to the tracks... [The platform to the left of the booth is at least four or five feet above the tracks themselves-- plenty of room to sneak past if they kept crouched. That's assuming they don't get spotted by any of the troopers, or catch a stray bullet, or there aren't more Deathclaws lurking just out of sight... Joel makes a humorless sound that might have passed for a laugh.] Don't sound like much, but it ain't like I got one better.

It's dark enough in here that I think we might actually stand a chance.

[But they'd better act soon, while there are still sounds of a fight going on between the Deathclaws and NCR. Keeping crouched, Norman carefully pushes open the opposite door to the booth, the squeak of the hinges lost in the sounds of gunfire this time. He creeps out of their hiding place, taking a quick glance toward the action but (probably fortunately) unable to see much of anything.]

Okay... I'll get down to the tracks first, then help you.

[The five foot drop isn't much of a problem for Norman, but for Joel, with his injured leg... he almost winces in sympathy at the prospect.

No time to waste worrying, however. Norman moves as quickly as he can without drawing attention to himself, then makes the drop onto the tracks. Once there, he waits for Joel to follow, ready to give his companion a hand down.]

[Joel half hops, half slides over the edge of the platform, catching himself on his uninjured leg with a grunt and dropping into a painful crouch. He'd meant to ignore Norman's clear offer of help from beside him, but his leg buckles at the last minute and he ends up grabbing onto the other man's shoulder instead, gripping tight before a moment before he regains his balance, then letting go just as abruptly.

(He still isn't sure what to make of that episode back there in the booth, doesn't really want to talk to Norman til he's got it sorted in his head, but the whole thing had been suspicious as all hell and if he could only have two goddamn seconds of peace and quiet to think it through--)

The sound of gunfire seems to be dying down behind them-- along with the snarl of the Deathclaws, but Joel knows better than to hope that that'll be the last of it. They creep along in the shadows-- and suddenly he throws his arm out against Norman, trying to stop the other man in his tracks.

In the darkness above them, there's a low sound like a roaring wheeze, then the click of claws against tile.]

[He holds onto Joel when the other man grips his shoulder, trying to help make sure he keeps his balance. Falling down now would be loud and most likely very painful; they have enough troubles as it is without adding to the pot.

Fortunately, Joel manages to keep on his feet. They sneak on ahead, Norman's mind starting to wander with the effects of the Med-X and relative feeling of safety when the sounds of fighting fade into the distance. Lost in his thoughts, it's a good thing Joel stops him. He blinks in confusion, before picking up on the ominous sounds above them. Oh no.

Instinct has him pressing firmly back against the wall along the tracks, hoping to keep well out of sight of the monster above. Can it smell them? He hopes not.]

[Maybe, maybe not. Joel is flattened against the wall as well, frozen in indecision. He could reach for the shotgun slung along his back, but that would be movement and noise that they couldn't afford. Instead, he slides down careful inch by inch, feeling the strain against his knees as he feels around on the ground beneath him, picking up a small rock as the Deathclaw sniffs the air with sort whuffs above them.

With a gentle underhand toss, he pitches it further down the tracks, listening to the ping and clatter as it hits metal and rolls away. There's a harsh snarl, and the sound of displaced air as it turns, lunging toward the sound. Immediately, Joel pushes at Norman-- come on, get moving!]

[At first, Norman has half a mind to stop Joel when he picks up a rock from the ground. What good is that gonna do? Piss off the Deathclaw? He isn't seeing how that will help them survive.

But then he tosses it far off in the other direction, and Norman wants to smack himself in the forehead for not seeing such an obvious solution. He would congratulate Joel on a good idea, but instead focuses on getting as far away as possible after he's pushed forward.

There's some light at the end of the tunnel. Norman grins, feeling safer as they reach the final stretch of their escape. Of course, Deathclaws could be outside as well. He's just sincerely hoping they won't be, and that he and Joel will be able to find a moment to rest.]

[Joel limps after Norman, trying to match his pace but failing, falling a step or two behind. It doesn't matter, as long as they can get the hell out. His arm aches, he's gripping his gun so tightly.

There's a low snarl from behind them, distant but quickly approaching-- the Deathclaw they'd distracted, having finally caught sight of them and lunging forward at high speed. Joel risks a glance back, and immediately regrets it.]

Fuck--! [His reaction is purely instinctive, he isn't thinking when he shoves Norman forward, just as the Deathclaw leaps.]

Wha-?

[The shove is rough enough to send him stumbling several paces ahead, and out of the way of the Deathclaw. But that puts Joel in its way instead, and Norman feels his pulse rushing wildly as he gets a glimpse at the creature's face. Working out in the wasteland, you see a lot of horrible things, but nothing looks like staring into the face of hell itself like gazing upon a Deathclaw.

And Joel is going to be torn to shreds if he doesn't do something. The beast looks pretty heavily injured, probably thanks to the firefight with the NCR. Norman raises his rifle, wasting little time to aim properly before firing off round after round into the Deathclaw's face. It roars and stumbles back off of Joel, but Norman doesn't let up until it's time to reload. Then he just prays he's done enough damage, or will have enough time to finish it off before it recovers.]

[For one brittle, frozen moment, Joel thinks that this is the end for him. This is the end, and he's going to die alone (not alone, not anymore), mangled by a Deathclaw in some dark hole in the ass middle of nowhere. He thinks... he can't think a single philosophical or sentimental thought, no last words, just that Norman had better damn well fish those bottles off his corpse- unless the Deathclaw ate them first. And then it wouldn't be a problem for either of them to deal with.

There's a tearing, heavy weight against his back (claws, and even then he doesn't close his eyes, waiting for the inevitable pain)-- and then the sharp crack of Norman's rifle and suddenly Joel can breathe again, and he rolls onto his back just in time to see the Deathclaw rearing back with a roar.

His arms move before his head can quite catch up, and he's crawling forward, picking himself up on hands and knees and staggering forward.]

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