Dress to Impress

Posted: April 15, 2016 in Fallout 4, Fiction, Gaming
Tags: , , , ,

I was beginning to doubt the necessity of my power armor in the hospital. I had managed to creep on the positions of every raider and turret, even inside several hundred pounds of steel plating. My gear is efficient; my fusion core would last me another full day of constant movement. Still, I was contemplating the wasted fuel even as I checked the wires running from the door control in front of me. I traced the wire up to the ceiling and was about to head down the hall to my left when I heard Dogmeat let out an angry bark. My blood ran hot. I whirled about, pistol already in hand. A fucking Deathclaw. Ten feet from me. My blood ran cold.
I remembered the last time I had seen a Deathclaw this close. I was wearing a patchwork set of typical wastelander’s armor. I had just picked a rocket launcher off of a dead raider, and I was feeling cocky. That Deathclaw was busy with the remains of… well, something. There wasn’t much left. I shouldered the launcher and drew a bead on the back of the monster’s head. FWOOOOSH! The poor bastard didn’t even have time to turn as the warhead detonated on the thing. I cackled as the flames enveloped the beast. I stood, bathing in the rush of hot air. Dogmeat barked. The billowing smoke was split by a charging and angry, not to mention seemingly unharmed, Deathclaw. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” I tried to drop another rocket into the launch tube. The lizard charged right into me, sending me flying across the ruined street. I landed, rolled, lost the launcher. I fought my way to my feet, drawing my pistol. I recall firing a few times, even as the thing pierced my shoulder clear through with its claws. It reared back, roared, then turned. Dogmeat had latched his jaws down on the thing’s hind leg. I scrambled back, turned, and ran for all I was worth. The flight was a blur, but I eventually locked myself in the trunk of one of the endless rusting hulks of cars, and stanched my bleeding. I blacked out.
Even as I reminisced about that particular time that I nearly died, I raised my right hand and fired with the pistol, even as I drew my favorite rifle with my left. Just as before, the beast lunged, slashing at me with its fistfuls of bayonets. They scraped against my armor plating, but did not penetrate. I smashed against the locked door with a crunch of breaking glass, but held my footing. I raised my plasma rifle, firing as fast as my mechanically enhanced reflexes could squeeze the trigger. The energy burned a stripe from groin to neck as I fired, ripping the beast apart. Smoke and the scent of burning flesh hung in the air. I looked down at the rifle, and back at the blackened, scaly corpse. I looked over at Dogmeat. “Good boy.” I turned and started following the wires again. Bringing the armor was always the right choice.


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