[I can't help myself....]
I wasn't even fully aware of raising my pistol until my finger pulled the trigger. A burst of brilliant blue light struck the leaping creature square in the chest. It was close enough for me to catch the stench of decay wafting from its open maw, close enough that its claws brushed my shoulder as it missed by inches. The collision sent me slamming against the wall, knocking the wind from my lungs in a single, explosive wheeze.
It didn't stay down.
No sooner had it landed than it twisted upright, limbs bending in ways that made my stomach twist. I could see a faint curl of smoke rising from the scorched wound in its chest, but it moved like it felt no pain. Its face, thin, translucent skin stretched taut over bone twitched. A low hiss bubbled from its throat, and my grip tightened around the charge pistol's handle.
I fired again.
Another lance of blue energy connected with its shoulder and forced it to stagger. A guttural, wet growl ripped from its mouth. It lunged, blind and furious, and the only thought in my mind was move. My boots scraped the floor, and I half-dove, half-stumbled out of its path, feeling the rush of air as its claws whistled past my ribs.
I squeezed the trigger for a third shot, not even sure if I was aiming. The shriek that followed shattered what little composure I had. I smelled something foul, burnt flesh and rancid meat, right before it collapsed, twitching on the floor. The entire time, its limbs kept clawing at the air like it refused to accept death. A final scream tore out of its mouth, and then it went limp, sinking into an awful, contorted heap.
I could barely breathe. My chest hurt from the impact. My mind screamed at me to move, but all I did was stand there, panting, heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears.
The hammering against the door, rattling it so hard that dust fell from the ceiling. More shrieks joined in, overlapping. My stomach dropped. I couldn't stay.
My gaze darted across the room for a way out. The metal shelf was jammed against the door, holding it, barely but every slam made it inch forward. Then I spotted the vent, rusty and half-hidden near the ceiling. With no cover but too high to reach without help.
The door groaned again, a shrill squeal of metal under strain, and my veins flooded with another shot of cold panic. Without thinking, I shoved my pistol back in its holster and lunged at the shelf. My numb fingers gripped the edges, and I started to climb, each step an effort as my boots scraped for footholds. The shelf rocked under my weight, its frame trembling.
They kept pounding the door so hard it sprang open an inch, letting in a flash of a gaunt, pallid arm but thankfully it seemed like the lock was doing its best to not break. I glimpsed the thing's hand, scrabbling at the gap. I sucked in a shaky breath and threw myself at the vent with everything I had.
But the door gave way behind me.
I heard the shelving unit crash, followed by a rush of frantic clicking. I had to climb. My arms burned as I heaved myself up. I gritted my teeth and pulled, knees slamming into the metal frame.
My heart nearly stopped when I felt something clutch at my ankle, a clawed grip that froze the blood in my veins. I choked on a scream as I twisted around to see one of them, Looking into the vent I had pulled myself in. Its mouth hung in that leering grin, jagged teeth clacking.
It yanked, and a spike of agony lanced through my calf. I kicked blindly, my boot connecting with its bony wrist. The creature hissed. I kicked again, ignoring the hotlines of pain where its nails dug in. Finally, its grip loosened, and I scrambled deeper into the vent, pulling my leg out of reach just as it swiped again.
An enraged, piercing screech reverberated behind me, echoing in the small metal space. The thing's arm flailed at the vent's entrance, trying to worm its way after me. I forced myself to breathe and crawled as fast as I could into the narrow tunnel.
The deeper I moved, the darker it got. My Pip-Boy's glow flickered off the vent walls. I forced myself to keep going, ignoring the slicing pain in my leg where those claws had carved across the fabric.
Behind me, the creature howled one more time, then fell silent. I heard scraping noises, metal grinding, and the rustling of limbs that couldn't quite fit through the vent's narrow throat. But no matter how tight it was in here, at least they couldn't follow.
Time lost all meaning in that claustrophobic tunnel. My knees and palms stung from the rough surface, but I couldn't stop. Even when I couldn't hear them.
Eventually, the vent widened enough for me to crouch and pause. My breath tore in ragged, shuddering gasps. My hands shook as I pressed them against the cold metal, trying to center myself. Everything ached my arms, my ribs, especially my leg. The slash from that thing's claws oozed blood, soaking into my pant leg with a dark, sticky warmth.
But I was alive. For now.
I slumped against the side of the vent, listening. Only my heartbeat and the rasp of my breathing accompanied me. A crawling sense of dread prickled across my skin, but at least they hadn't made it inside right?
I can't go back, I thought, leaning my head against the cold metal with a dull clang. The room was a death trap. If I so much as tried, I'd be swarmed. My only path was forward, deeper into these vents that could lead anywhere, maybe nowhere.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I forced myself to check the wound on my leg. The tear in the pants was sticky with blood, the edges stinging as I gingerly probed it with trembling fingers. It wasn't life-threatening.
I flicked at my Pip-Boy to boost the light, taking one last look behind me. The tunnel yawned into the dark, silent. If those things tried again, I'd hear them, I'd make sure to listen to any noise.
Three dark passages ahead of me. I slumped against the cool metal wall, letting out a shaky laugh—part relief, part hysteria.
"Jaysus, that was close," I breathed, my lips curling into a grin I couldn't quite contain.
The tension in my chest uncoiled in a rush, leaving me feeling lightheaded. My leg throbbed where that thing's claws had raked me. Every throb sent a little jolt of pain up my spine. Time for a bandage, well, more than a bandage. I fumbled with my backpack, popping it open to fish out a Stimpack. Thankfully they didn't break.
It was near the top, bright red liquid sloshing faintly inside the tube. My hands shaking just enough to make gripping the damn thing awkward. I took one steadying breath and pressed the needle into my leg, wincing at the sting. The warmth spread almost immediately, numbing the pain from the inside out.
I caught myself bracing for that weird tingling, but what I wasn't expecting was the stab of hunger that rolled over me like a wave. My stomach growled so loudly it almost echoed in the vent.
"Feckin' hell,…?" I muttered, eyes flicking to the empty Stimpack.
I'd never heard of a stimpack draining your fat reserves, but it sure felt like my body was pulling fuel from somewhere. Judging by the hollow ache in my gut, that somewhere was gone. With my leg no longer screaming, I dug out an MRE. I ripped it open, salty scent, Chili Pork and Beans label. it smelled like heaven.
And it was warm. Warm. My brain stumbled on that detail, but I wasn't about to question the little miracles. I tore it open, stirring the contents with the small plastic spoon. The first bite tasted far better than it had any right to. A little spicy, a bit too salty, but after everything I'd just been through? I'd take it.
I ate with my back against the metal, eyes flicking between the three vents branching off.
A few mouthfuls in, I paused to wash it down with water. The half-empty bottle let out a hollow glug, and I forced myself to stop before draining it. Rationing would matter if I even made it out of this place. The chili beans still warmed my insides, and the hunger pangs receded enough for me to think straight.
My pant leg had dried blood caked along the tear. I grimaced, flexing my ankle just to test my newly healed skin. It ached, but that was it. The stimpack had done a good job patching me up. Maybe using it had been a waste, but in the moment, I wasn't exactly thinking long-term. I just knew I needed to stay in one piece.
"Don't rip open again," I muttered under my breath as I rummaged for the electrical tape I'd looted earlier. Not wanting to tempt fate, I tore off a strip of tape with my teeth and did a quick patch job. It looked awful, but better than letting everything flap around.
Then there was my jacket. The leather had a thin slash near the shoulder, courtesy of those claws. Not too deep, but definitely noticeable. I pressed another strip of tape down, smoothing it over with my thumb.
With my clothes taped together, I relaxed for a moment, letting the MRE do its work. My heart wasn't pounding like it had been before. The hush in the vent felt oppressive, the kind that made you second-guess every sound.
I brushed the crumbs off my lap. My gaze wandered to the three passages ahead. I listened hard, I could catch a faint dripping noise in the middle tunnel. The one on the left sounded utterly silent. The one on the right… also silent.
"No signs. No directions. Figures."
My voice came out quiet, echoing back at me in a distorted whisper. I reached out and steadied myself against the metal floor, pulling the backpack onto my shoulders.
I let out a low exhale and moved to light up the first few feet of each passage. Metal tunnels, chipped paint, random rust, nothing helpful. My mind cycled through possible illusions of safety: maybe one path led to a bigger maintenance room, maybe another to more things. No way to know.
And I sure as hell wasn't going back the way I came. Suddenly I saw movement and shot first!
The stench of the charred radroach filled the vent, a nauseating mix of burnt shell clung to the air. I scrunched my nose, but my stomach gave a faint growl. The thought made me grimace.
Eating bug wasn't exactly high on my list of life goals, but… options were limited. I knelt next to the radroach, its body still faintly warm, and steeled myself.
I didn't have a knife, so I had to make do with my hands. The shell was tougher than I expected, and my fingers slipped against its slick surface more than once before I found a weak spot near its abdomen. With a sharp pull, I managed to tear off a chunk of the meat beneath the shell, the texture slimy and unappealing. I gagged, forcing myself not to think about what I was doing.
"Survival," I muttered under my breath, shoving the piece into the empty mre pack and placing it in my backpack, and sealing it tight. "Just in case."
The idea of eating it later made my skin crawl, but I wasn't about to waste the two MREs I had left unless I absolutely had to. I wiped my hands on the inside of my jacket, trying to shake off the lingering filth, and turned my attention back to the vents.
The right passage curved upward at a sharp angle, the walls narrowing slightly as the space became steeper. It wasn't an easy climb, but it was my best shot at getting out of these claustrophobic tunnels. I adjusted the backpack on my shoulders, double-checking that everything was secure, and gripped the edge of the vent.
The first few steps weren't too bad. My boots found traction against the uneven metal, and I used the sides of the vent to help pull myself up. But as the incline grew steeper, the effort doubled. My arms strained with each pull, my fingers scrabbling for any kind of grip. The light from my Pip-Boy bounced off the walls, casting jagged shadows that made the narrow space feel even tighter.
About halfway up, I paused to catch my breath, my chest heaving as sweat dripped down my face. My legs burned from the effort, and my palms ached from the rough metal. The vent groaned faintly beneath my weight, a reminder that this wasn't exactly built for comfort or climbing.
"Just… a little further," I muttered, more to myself than anything else.
With a grunt, I pushed forward, my arms trembling as I pulled myself over the next ledge. The vent widened slightly at the top, enough to let me crouch without feeling like I was about to be squished. I leaned back against the wall, my breaths coming in shallow gasps, and glanced at the passage ahead.
The air was cooler here, fresher. Maybe I was closer to the surface or at least further away from whatever nightmare creatures were still lurking below. I adjusted the Pip-Boy's beam catching faint scuff marks along the walls.
The vent creaked as I crawled through, every movement echoing down the narrow passage. My arms ached, and my legs burned, but the faint glow of light ahead pushed me forward. The slats of a vent grate appeared, blocking the way out. With a grunt, I pressed my hands against the metal, shoving until the screws gave with a harsh snap, and the grate clattered to the floor.
I slid out of the vent, landing awkwardly on my ass. The room was dim, lit by flickering overhead lights that cast uneven shadows on the walls. Dust coated everything, thick enough to make the air feel heavy. Old papers were scattered across the floor, their edges curling with age. I picked one up, the faded print catching my eye. It wasn't much of a headline, a date, and a mention of the subway system. But it was enough. New York. That's where I was.
Tossing the paper aside, I stood and scanned the room. It was small, cramped, and lined with shelves paper. The hum of a terminal drew my attention, and my eyes landed on a Protectron standing dormant in its glass case. The robot's bulky frame was scuffed and worn, but intact. Beside it, a terminal flickered weakly, the screen filled with lines of green text.
I stepped closer, running my fingers along the edge of the terminal. The interface was basic—old, clunky, but familiar in its simplicity. If I could hack into it and reprogram the Protectron.
The first attempt was a disaster. My fingers hesitated on the keys, the unfamiliar commands slowing me down. The screen flashed red access denied.
The second try was closer. I navigated through the directories, isolating the security protocols. Another error message popped up, and I resisted the urge to punch the keyboard. My hands were steady, my mind sharper now as I pieced together the logic behind the system. It wasn't just about guessing. One I could solve.
The third attempt. I caught the pattern, spotting the weak points in the code. A few keystrokes later, the terminal beeped, and a new menu appeared. Protectron Priority Protocols. My lips twitched into a grin as I selected my parameters, designating myself as the top priority for protection. The terminal confirmed the change, and I hit execute.
The Protectron's case hissed as the glass door slid open. Its mechanical frame jerked to life, servos whining as its head swiveled toward me. "Protect and serve," it droned, its monotone voice filling the room. Relief washed over me.
I stepped back, giving the robot room as it clunked forward, its heavy footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. The terminal shut off with a faint click, its work done. My gaze drifted around the room again, landing on a gas mask tucked beneath a pile of debris. The leather straps were brittle, but the filter seemed intact. I grabbed it, brushing off the dust before pulling it over my face.
I checked the date on my Pip-Boy as I adjusted the mask. 2287. Three months before Fallout 4 began. The flashing lights above cast erratic shadows, making the room feel smaller than it was. I couldn't shake the exhaustion creeping over me, though. My body ached, my mind felt sluggish, and every part of me screamed for rest.
I moved to the vent, shoving the grate back into place and wedging it tight with debris from the shelves. The door was next, its hinges rusted. I dragged a shelf in front of it, the scraping sound grating against my ears. It wasn't perfect, but it would hold.
The Protectron stood in the corner, silent and watchful. Knowing it was there gave me a small sense of comfort, though I still couldn't fully relax. I sank to the floor, leaning against the wall, and pulled my jacket tighter around me. The hard floor wasn't exactly ideal, but it would have to do.
As my eyes grew heavy, I muttered under my breath, "I'd kill for a sleeping bag."