[hider=Part 2]
Tinges of doubt danced about Sweet Gin's head as she looked ahead into the city. Nervously, she cast looks on the neighborhood she was parked in already, midst the decay that was so desperately trying to flee some mighty danger that was emanating from the heart of this city. The still and unbeating heart of the Commonwealth, whatever this meant. With a dry sigh Sweet Gin hoisted her pack over onto her shoulder and walked past the sign. Heading into the heart of Worcester. With any luck she felt, she could get out and through to the other-side within the hour.

But the empty shells that stood alongside the road into town filled Sweet Gin with a fearful claustrophobia. Their figures and forms bowing unnaturally from the stresses of time as they threatened to collapse inwards, or even outwards. But it wasn't the fear of being crushed by the imposing buildings that rose over her head. It was another fear, an unknown one. Their empty shapes and shadowy interiors carried a uneasy feeling that inside may rest monsters. Or additional assailants. Synth Retention Bureau even.

Through doors torn open, or shattered windows, behind the glass that twinkled in the high-noon sun there resided a deep and brooding darkness. Dark forms resided within, arranged to random shapes and forming a desolate wasteland within a wasteland. The mystery of their forms given the android no reprieve from the anxiety as she made her way along. The entire city of Worcester held itself in this darkened, gray atmosphere.

As sterile as it was, so was the ambiance. A cold silence hung over the vacant city. A silence punctuated only by the whispers and moaning of the wind as it cut through the cracks and the windows. Bending and bowing the buildings till they creaked, forcing them to sing low steady moans. A eulogy for itself.

And while passing through its streets, Sweet Gin found the thought that something terrible had happened here creeping up on her. She knew terrible, her memories recalled. The dirtied and vacant streets of Boston, outside the Institute. But even then, the vacancies were still washed away by travelers and the residents who clung on to their shadow of a city, scratching out a weak life and visiting her or her compatriots for an evening's relief. She never understood why then, in fact she never cared to ask, or wonder. Even the memories lacked any emotion and were dry, like listening to a holotape, or looking at the painting that guarded the road into the city: an artificial window at another time.

The emotions that were present were mere projections of her current self. With the memories recalled she felt not only understanding that her customers would have sought out some orderly reprieve or comfort in another person, and a living place. But at the same time, anger sang out. Reminding the android it was something forced upon her without her permission. "Rape." her new emotions said with an authoritarian tone, verbally slamming their fists on tables.

But wandering the empty streets of Worcester, there was a meek voice that spoke about how anyone who had to live here would seek others. Some comfort. It was the voice of impatient, cautious fear. And it fueled her as she kept her eyes peeled forward, facing towards her distant objective. Disregarding the vacancy that abounded. The empty Heart of the Commonwealth. Whatever the Commonwealth had been.

The road she walked along took a turn and swayed left. Shooting under the remnants of the highway she had abandoned awhile back. And as where she had climbed off this over-pass had fell onto the road that ran under it. What was under the cement when it had collapsed who knows how long ago was smashed and pancaked under the wreckage. The remnants of a green sign laying nearby on the twisted arm of its girded supports read in dirtying, chipping white on green: I-290, Marlborough, Mass."

The rest of the sign had been vandalized with a large array of graffiti. Much of it cursing some past figure or deity with slogans such as: "Chems, not bombs.", "God condemned us with the bombs.", or "My flesh, it burns!"

But slapped over it all was a large red heart. A single silver sword running down through it, impaling it as the heart simultaneously grew wings. The red paint of the sigil had dried dripping, giving in the impression of bleeding silver and blood. It struck Sweet Gin as a curiosity, gawking at it as she walked by. Walking to the earth embankment to climb up over the high berm the highway ran along on top of. The silent towering structures surrounding her giving a silent vigil as the android climbed atop the surface of I-290 and moved long to the other-side, and deeper into the heart of Worcester.

Gravel and rocks rolled down past Sweet Gin's feet as she slid down the opposite embankment. Misjudging the slope, she ultimately came to a sliding crash over top of the small retaining wall and came to a loud metallic clatter on top of the cabin of rusted wreck of a truck just below. The hood bending in and groaning loudly under her weight as she sat on her hands and knees, quivering. Stones and sand chased down after her less than graceful slide down the hill and landed in light patters against the truck's hood.

She sat there for a time, listening to the soft patter of stones against the hood. It drew on as the pebbles slid to a easy stop and the stream died. With the last clatter of the last stone on the denting hood of the vehicle a small sigh of relief, she shifted her weight to climb down. Happy that the shell of a vehicle had not collapsed underneath her. The plates of rust that had become it was certainly threatening.

But the shift in weight caused the roof of the cabin to groan louder, protesting her weight as it shifted off of one arm and on to the other. Delicately reaching forward to the edge to pull herself up the metal finally gave underneath her hand. The roof ripped open with a loud sheering scream, plunging her down into the musty and dust-choked cabin. With the metal torn, the rest of it gave easily, depositing her firmly onto the seats inside.

Her body landed with a soft thud on the mummified leather upholstery kicking up motes of dust that clouded the inside. But her chin wasn't as lucky as it came down and collided on the steering wheel with a loud wet smack. Barbs of pain exploded across her face as she rolled and twisted off of the metal steering wheel and twisted herself out on the tearing seat and floor.

A dull pain throbbed at her face, rolling from the bottom point of her chin where her mouth made contact with the steering wheel. A copper, wet warmth pooled in her mouth. Rolling up onto the seat she coughed out a wet stream of blood that slipped down onto the streets in a thin thread. Spitting, she whipped at her mouth with her hands, whipping the blood and spittle across its metal surface.

Anger and embarrassment bubbled up from inside her as she looked at her hand at the pool of blood on the ancient upholstery. The taste of copper intensified in her mouth as she pressed her eyes shut and beat at the leather. "It isn't fair!" she shouted, sniffing as she began to cry, "It't isn't, it really isn't!"

In her anger she kicked at the door of the truck and it tore open off its rusted hinges and landed with a clatter on the cement outside. Throwing herself out she beat at the truck, cursing it out. "You stupid ass!" she bellowed, "You weren't supposed to fall out from under me. You weren't! You weren't! Y-"

Between breaths and wet sobs she stopped as distantly a rolling roar caught her attention. A dry scream, as charred and drained as the city it lived in. It rose in a ghastly scream, sending chills down Sweet Gin's spin and snapping her back to reality. She was no longer mad at the truck, or herself, or her bleeding. The scream distracted her. Her eyes widened as she stared off into the distance, on high alert.

Then she noticed it. Red dots that weaved back and forth on her navigation compass. "W-what is this?" she stammered, taking steps back as she watched the dots slither back and forth, pause, and continue. And like a bugs, the slapping, clattering of their movement was heard over the warm dry breeze. Feet, plodding along bare over the concrete. Rushed. Aggressive.

Sweet Gin scrambled for her belt where she kept the 10mm hand gun as on the other side of the far street she saw a dark shape lurching in the shadows of the vacant home that still stood there. Several more shapes worked beyond the house, rushing with a rapid, primal furry furry. With a clatter crash the dark shape burst through the door, tossing aside a random assortment of smashed furnishing that had likely been piled up behind the door. And it stood, glaring at Sweet Gin with clouded eyes. Its lips chewed back to a permanent primal snarl.

It was the most horrifying human that Sweet Gin had laid eyes on and the handgun shivered in her hands as she stared down the petrified corpse glaring at her. It wore battered and dented armor that was so over-used on its body it was more nonexistent than the rest of the clothes draped on its body. The figure as well was draped in long hanging strips of skin revealing the parched dried muscle under neath. Sections of its arm had been chewed or cut away, revealing yellow wooden bone under neath.

It was emaciated, yet it didn't seem to care. It held itself upright on its bare feet. Its hands twitching feverishly at its side. Lurching back its shoulders it raised its head to the sky and screamed an inhumane and chilling scream, before throwing its weight forward and lurching towards Sweet Gin with a cannibalistic passion. Its eyes growing with a hot hatred as its mouth streamed sickly grey spittle.

"Now, now there's no way to go about this!" Sweet Gin begged as she began rapidly stepping backward. Fear pulled on every chord of her being as she struggled to stay put. It rattled and lurched against every inch of her as the corpse ahead of her charged forward. But it wasn't listening. It kept going.

"Epp!" Sweet Gin chirped, realizing diplomacy was out, she rose the pistol and the Vault Tec VATS system kicked in. Quickly analyzing the environment and displaying the hit chances across the corpse's figure as it barreled forward.

Working on a split second decision Sweet Gin fired on the creature's legs. Emptying out five shells before it. It collapsed to the ground in a meaty thud and lay sprawled, screaming in its dry voice and thrashing to get up off the ground. The thrashing of the creature as it fought to get up off the ground smeared blood so dark it was nearly black across the dry rock-strewn pavement. It screamed and roared in anger and hunger as it fought to get up.

Clambering to its hands it arced its back and howled. Summoning from behind the rest of its friends as they rushed out onto the scene in a lightning sprint. Their arms outstretched, and fingers clawed out towards Sweet Gin in vicious talons.

The corpse she had shot managed to regain its standing. It knee was completely pulverized by her bullets. Yet the creature continued to ignore the pain as it limped feverishly towards the Android. And with four new individuals rushing forward the android realized she could stay here anymore.

Hitching up her pack she turned and ran the opposite direction. Gunning for the corner around the back. Well botcha her.

Ducking around the back of the crumbling office building while on her tail nipped a hand's full of walking dead, the combined grunts and growls of the lumbering bodies had summoned to the chase more of the mummified and dried bodies. Sweet Gin narrowly avoided the swipe of a twiggy corpse who had so little clothes it had better been naked. Its spindly hair lay draped around its head like dry stiff cables as the android dropped to her legs and numbly slid under its back swing. The glass strewn across the ground from where it had bust from the window sliding along across the stones as she slid legs first past the creature.

((At this point, I'mma invoke [url=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PtTC3pGBjs4&feature=share&list=PLOZr_k-1GdZ-nZPZUze87Md_IQJnGGFCv]This son as Action Tiem[/url]))

The monster reeled and roared in frustration as its prey dodged under its swinging arm and flashed back to her feet, bolting off through the back alleys. Its dry eyes wide in ape-like furry as it thrashed its arms and joining the growing storm that was giving chase.

Sweet Gin dared to look behind her as she looked. And as she looked to the growing horde running in behind her she felt as a rock lodged itself in her throat. The fingers of terror wrapping around her. A furious fire burned inside her chest, demanding she go on despite the freezing terror that tried to imprison her. This was definitely not fair. She coughed, spitting up a wad of blood that had been pooling on her lips and kept hauling. The clink-clank of her feet on the asphalt accompanied by multitudes of plit-plats that chased her.

Arms wailing, she charged out of the alley and onto a large and empty streets. She turned about and saw the masses of dried zombie bodies filling the alley like a torrent of water. She fumbled for the pistol at her belt and blindly squeezed off the remainder of its clips. The shots echoing loud within the confines of the towering apartments and glass town houses that surrounded the street. She didn't stop to confirm if anything had hit, turning instead to run south along the road. I-290 was completely hidden by the high-rises that abounded.

The road she lead the chase through was packed with a multitude of wrecked armored cars and tanks. Everywhere the remains of man and machine lay in cooked lifeless heaps. The congesting vehicles packed the road to a veritable maze that she wound her way through. A mouse chased by a horde of cats, all rasping and growling and screaming behind her as their hunger drove them forward with a mindless determination.

Sweet Gin vaulted over the hood of a car just as another one of the corpses dove like a rocket from the size. Determined to take a chunk off her metal thigh. But instead landing face-first against the side of a large green truck the car had been smashed against. The truck groaned, rattled, and creaked at the lightning impact of the creature, and Sweet Gin nervously smiled as she turned to see the creature weakly rub at its face where it had impacted against the side.

But the grin died when she saw the amassing horde that pursued her from behind. Their sinewy bodies clambering over each other as they squeezed through the tight spaces between the vehicles. Some had been squeezed on top of the wrecks and stood victoriously over the road twitched and spasming with primal hunger as they shambled forward. Their mouths held open in a eternal snarl as they laid eyes on the fleeing Android.

Sweet Gin didn't know how long she continued on down the street, dodging these creatures as the swept in from the side or even above as they found a way around. Each time they tried to fall on her she dodged them. Or took them by their dry meaty collars and thrashed them against the side of the cars, or on poles, or against the gravel before moving on. Leaving them behind in the hope their dazed or broken bodies would stumble the rest. But for how much she exerted herself, she didn't feel worn. She kept moving. Ducking through and moving at moment's notices to clear the wreckage and the horde.

Her run through the maze of cars came to an abrupt end in view of a towering over pass that flew over head. The ages had been kinder on it, and for however long it was demanded it stand: it stood. Its majestic pillars holding a sky-high bridge that arced over the long road as glassy towers rose alongside it, melted and shattered as they were. Figures hung dangling off the side of the mighty bridge from taunt cables. The side distracting her, and causing her to gawk. Unaware of where she was going, she collided with something. A figure.

The collision threw her stumbling onto the pavement as her shoulder wound around from whatever it was she hit. She spun to see a darkened silhouette of a man against the dusty blue sky above. The man betrayed no sign of hostility as he looked down at the crumpled android, not showing emotion. Glint of sunlight shown off of some manner of armor her wore.

Casting his shadowed face from her to some unseen compatriot he barked an order: "Hit it now." he said in a deep gravely voice.

The cacophony that followed next was a loud booming, followed by a series of fiery roars that ripped through the air and bathed the under-pass in a bright orange, flaming light. Screams of pain and defeat echoed from the street as from within the multitudes of creatures were caught in the instant inferno and explosions, incinerated or turned to mince meat in a single instant. The sounds of metal groaning under the force of the blast and the clatter of steel as it rained down on the city streets was absolute.

The light of the burning fires threw aside the afternoon sun that burned over the head of the man, highlighting his features. He was a strong man, built like a brick with a twisted and scarred face. His nose brunt and bent at the tip, and his lips scarred and dried. His brown eyes showing an absolute tendency for violence and aggression. Whatever job the man had been assigned, he did it well.

"Fischer," the man said in that deep graveling voice, "Grab this lady, we need to take her to Bancroft."

"Yes sir." Fischer said, a higher pitched speaker.

Sweet Gin felt as hands grabbed under neath her augmented shoulders and wrapped around her waist. She was hoisted up, forced to look back at the long trail of fire and smoke behind her. She was confused, and scared, and maybe grateful. And perhaps the conflict kept her tamed as she looked back at her path with a puzzled expression. "What's going on?" she asked.

***

"I still don't know what's going on here." Sweet Gin repeated as she was carried along on the man's shoulders. Her company had rapidly expanded from two to three and then to four, which was even odder. Where these men had manifested was a strange question to be had. And she knew not if they meant her any harm. Nor did they look like the Synth Retention Bureau, who were noted for being more... sophisticated.

If anything, these men were far less that.

They lacked a great deal of fire-power to be sure, and without a doubt the extent of that was spent moments ago on the mass extermination of the horde that had chased her down the street; she was grateful for that, but was beginning to not appreciate the lack of answers. But what these men seemed to have plenty of were other implements. Longer, arm's lengths knives and pointed sticks tipped with crude jagged metal a plenty. They also seemed to dress in a scavenged array of metal or natural-hide leather.

The man that held her up onto his shoulder was a bear. And he kept a hard grip on the android's waist and legs as he carried her through the streets. His accomplice - who she identified as being the one named Fischer - was a scrawny man with a very puny face. His face was as jaunty, scarred, and sterile as the world around him. Scars as deep as canyons mired is face as his bones jaunted out as great exaggerated peeks. Lumpy moles also rose from the tip of his nose and chin making him a very unhandsome man. Furthermore he had an atrocious mole-like over-bite. His eyes also looked muddied and tired with a certain dry quality. Sweet Gin wondered if they had ever seen water, or how far away he was from becoming like those beasts that had pursued her through the streets.

He also had a cold habit of ignoring her. Though each question trying his patience and attention to the task at hand: which was obviously moving somewhere. She had taken a good chunk off his arm as well when he had attempted to bind her, which was an account for his jumpy nervousness whenever Sweet Gin asked a question, and it visibly irked him the more she pressed on. She had also attempted the same to her carrier after a short time and realizing someone had taken control, but it wasn't ultimately the best choice and her swing was blocked. For what he was worth: this individual had impressive skills in the pillars he called arms.

"So where we going?" she asked again riding atop the man's shoulder. Fischer looked nervously up at her and then ahead as his better half grumbled under his breath.

"I really want to know." she said again.

"Cen't yea' shut thaet bitch up!" one of the newcomers shouted from ahead. A ringing bell of frustration booming on his tongue. Sweet Gin never got a good look at him and she tried to crane her neck around to look, but was ultimately jostled lower along the shoulder as she shifted her weight.

"I tried but she nearly tore off my face!" Fischer called back, looking at Sweet Gin and taking several steps back from her as if trying to avoid one long swipe from her casually dangling hands.

"Fischer's jest a' pussy." the bear grumbled, "He wouldn't touch her after she tried to rip a slab off his arms."

"Ay, the Fishy Rat's get enough meat on 'em to take off?" a fourth voice jeered from up front, "Det boy ain't gonna get anything when Bancroft has his say."

"Who's Bancroft?" Sweet Gin inquired, twisting to face the front and being jostled again. She merely dug her claws into the thick armor of her carrier - who didn't seem to care let alone notice - to get a look ahead.

Her pack - which had moved from Fischer to one of the newer escorts - bounced from the back of one of the lead men. A long pole-arm in his hand. Turning to look a long sneer crawled across his hawk-face as he saw her looking ahead. "Can I ahctuahlly answer this?" he asked.

"Fine." her carrier said.

"Lord Bancroft is the [i]rightful king[/i] of Worcester." he said with a cynical sneer, "But really, he can cleave any of us in two. Ahn' he has first dibs on any loot.

"An' your loot."

That didn't sound to good to Sweet Gin whose head jumped to the conclusion of "Booty Pirate" and had no further context. A welling feeling of dread slipped over her as the possibility of ending up another person's slave washed over her.

"But, I can't be property..." she said.

"If you're Rahlrahd." the hawk snickered, "But Ahs fahr as I'm thinking, by Institute rules you're naht even ah human."

"I don't understand." Sweet Gin replied.

"Ahin't she ah thick one!" the hawk cackled, nodding to his partner alongside him who cackled loudly, "Goes and gets herself chased by a good pahck ah ghouls ahn probably knows ahbout as much of being living than them!"

Even Fischer laughed nervously as he slipped even further beyond her range. The joke fell empty on Sweet Gin and she wondered if she should be humored or offended as it draped across her face like a milky veil. She settled for feigning humor and laughed with a fake nervous smile. The act merely made her companions roll with laughter even more.

As the laughs and jesting died to a silence, so did the conversation. Sweet Gin persisted in her line of questioning but was only given cold awkward silence in return. As they kept moving down the lines of towering twisted structures and gutted shops the urban decay gave away to a new kind of urban life. Color began to take a hold, and though life was minimal, its sign was painted on the walls as they went. The ground began to swell upward and braving a look ahead Sweet Gin saw a slow steady climb upward. Homes and shops sat clustered together. And though the urban sprawl was thick, fires long dead and cleared the bulk of it, winds and explosions leveling the rest, and on every surface of sigil of the heart and the sword was painted.

And atop the hill, behind clusters of leafless and dying trees stood a solitary stone structure. Untouched by the times. A tiny fort with a single turret that stood a lone guard from atop its hill over Worcester. A silent observer, clothed in black and gray. Looking very much like the grey armored men that carried Sweet Gin up. And faintly in a circle around it, solid red banners flew in the wind. A herald to some power in this corner of the wasteland.

The structures and signs of habitation gave way as the men carried Sweet Gin up the hill. The battered and broken concrete stretched up the hill, winding between dead and mangled trees that poured and lamented over the road mourning the days they had known better. The slabs of asphalt that was left behind lay in seas and rivulets of gravel and sand that flowed up and was caught on the dry winds as they rippled over the battered roadway. Clods and clumps of thinning, dead, yellowing glass stood in cracked patches alongside the roadway.
 
 As they climbed, long banners of red stretched between the trees. The filthy dirty rags fluttered in the wind, singing a stormy song of determination. A multitude of wings that beat and smacked against the wind. The curiosity of them was a wonder to Sweet Gin who gazed up on them curiously as they passed. Her captors didn't seem to care.
 
 Standing between the trees stood a silent vigil as men with long polls crouched in the sand, or lounged in rusty lawn chairs watching the curiosity of an android being carried aloft along the road. Their vigil was cold and silent. They bore as much emotion as the dead world around them. Total bored apathy.
 
 The group made a turn, and soon they were on a stone gate. A series of solid concrete and steel pylons standing erect between two heavy, stout field-stone parapets. Their eastern face was scorched, smoothed by some strange force. The same force that gutted and forced the trees away from some central point. Beyond this gate, a dense village of tents stood amid a forest of flying banners, with that stone tower at its center. Men and women alike milled about the tents or in a casual orbit around the tower as they chattered and jeered loudly to each other. Each of them possessed the same archaic tools and scrapped-together clothes and armor.
 
 And fresh on life, they gawked and watched Sweet Gin passed with an avid, livid passion. Sweet Gin felt an uncomfortable uncertainty in this look. The way they all looked at her, they wanted her. A primal desire to either fight, or to-
 
 "Where is Bancroft?" the bear of a man who carried Sweet Gin demanded as he approached the rising arching entrance of the tower. A guard of statues stood watch, watching the approach of the newcomers with a cold patient stare, behind masks of metal. Sheets of scavenged metal armor clad them, as torn and tattered cloaks of random fabric clothed them, parting where their arms gripped their long, sharp poles.
 
 "The Lord Bancroft is out back." one of the guards declared, "Watching a fight with a Yao Guai with his latest hunts."
 
 "We have new bounty for him." the bear said.
 
 "Then you are permitted." the guards said, stepping aside to allow the man to pass. With a bow from his companions, he and Sweet Gin entered through the tower.
 
 The passing of the gate though seemed to be a mere formality, as there were no walls dividing the two halves of the hill. But passing through they stepped into a new sector of a different tone. There was an avid excitability on this side. A roaring torrent of laughing that had mingled with the regular chatter of the other side. A thick crowd gathered on a central point. Drums beat as men sang along a garbled drunken song. It was through this throng that the men carried Sweet Gin through.
 
 The gathered crowd seemed not to care, as they battled each other for a view of the pit below as a monstrous creature. Its shoulders as wide as boulders and hide twice and thick. The hair that remained on it was as stubborn and stuck up as the grass that persisted throughout the wasteland in a sickly manner. Deep scars marked its body. Hefty arms as solid as pillars, as battered as the hide of trees swung in wide sweeping motions at a gangly creature that glowed a sickly green.
 
 Soaring across the arena it smacked against the wooden and steel side of the open pit with a wet "splat" and tumbled to the packed-clay ground in a broken lump. As the crowd roared with excitement thick with blood lust the figure scrambled to its bear feet. Pressing against the side of the wall it shambled along the edge, keeping away from the monster at the bottom of the pit as it slowly, and languidly tracked it on its thick legs. Snarling and bearing long curled teeth.
 
 "Come'n," a spectator roared, "Smash in the ghoul's skull!"
 
 "Leit'm limp!" another boomed as Sweet Gin passed, his wild excited face dodging to the side as she passed on the shoulders of her captor.
 
 The crowd thinned and abruptly ended, as if giving an undue respect for the man that stood at its center. A large wide figure, draped in a cloak of a hundred furs. From the back of his head: clean shaven.
 
 At his right hand, a thinning and wild looking man. Dressed in a similar cloak, but his hair knotted and messy that fell about his face and oiled so black it was as if light itself never dared embraced his head.
 
 Sweet Gin landed with a loud thumb on the ground as her carrier threw her down. She immediately rolled onto her knees, watching up as the scene began to unfold.
 
 "Lord Bancroft." her carrier said over the jeering and cheering of the crowd, a fiery rumbling like the explosions that destroyed the corpses; the ghouls.
 
 The clean shaven figure shifted on his heels as he half-looked behind him, and then turning. Facing the newcomer with eyes as cold as ice, knowing no emotion except calculation. Care and apathy mixed in a frightening manner aboard his clean-shaven white face, where though clearly middle-ages: bore few lines. Narrow eyebrows furrowed in a disdain as calculating as his eyes bounced between the man, and Sweet Gin.
 
 He pressed his thin lips together to a narrow thread and looked down at Sweet Gin. His teeth grit and clenched as he gazed down onto Sweet Gin.
 
 "Who is this?" he asked in a dry unflattering tone.
 
 "A trespasser to your claim." the beast-man said in a gruff proud voice, "We encountered here on Lincoln Street, when we were working to dispatch the Hellfire spawn of that region."
 
 Lord Bancroft's gaze turned back down to Sweet Gin, dancing about on her face, her body, her limbs. For all his examination, the android felt uneasy as to how he looked down at her. He showed no disgust, contempt, happiness, or pride.
 
 "And what threat did you think she imposes on us? What judgement poured through you to take her into custody? Did she bare arms?"
 
 "Indeed she did." her carrier proclaimed, gesturing with his thick fingers as he stepped to the side. Summoning up to him one of his compatriots who poured out the contents of her bag on the ground before the Lord Bancroft. The cases of ammunition and the two handguns and the rifle landed in a clatter in the dirt, alongside the assortment of other belongings and the loud banging of the radio. The excitement of the inquiries had turned from the combat in the pit below towards Bancroft and Sweet Gin. The chatter of the crowd turning into a palpable silence that could be cut with a knife. All the voices hushing to a court-like silence, while down below the finishing blows of the monster was given to the glowing ghoul, clearly rendering it apart in a wet meaty splatter accompanied by harsh tears and bony snaps.
 
 Lord Bancroft looked down at the assortment of items and took in a deep sigh. "Then this is it?" he said.
 
 The large man nodded. Fischer nodding as well in uninhibited agreement.
 
 "Then did she turn them on you?"
 
 "She fired on the ghouls."
 
 "Why was she?"
 
 "She was being..." the man started, hesitating, "being pursued."
 
 "Then why did you take her into custody?"
 
 "She was trespassing!" the other man declared again.
 
 "She took som'a my arm off!" Fischer yelped with his high-pitched voice. Winning a quick freezing glare from Bancroft that sent him shirking off out of view.
 
 As he disappeared into the crowd, Bancroft turned to Sweet Gin and looked down at her. "And who are you?" he asked.
 
 "I'm..." she started, "Sweet Gin."
 
 "Who are you?" he repeated.
 
 "Sweet Gin." she replied and chatter rippled through the crowd.
 
 "What are you?" Bancroft asked, looking for a new route of questioning, best fit to what he wanted to hear.
 
 However the question was met with greater hesitation from Sweet Gin who looked up at him with a wide-eyed expression on her face. Threading her metal fingers through her bright ginger hair she thought for a moment, "I am..." she began, "I am an android, made in Boston."
 
 "Institute spies!" someone screamed in the thick of the crowd.
 
 Bancroft looked off in the direction of the voice, raising a single gloved hand from under his fur cloak and ultimately the excited whispers died swiftly. Only the distant townly talk of the camp opposite of the tower could be heard in the wind. "I will be the judge of this!" he snapped, turning back to Sweet Gin, "If I asked you what you are again, would you repeat yourself?"
 
 "I- I presume so." she said, "To tell the truth I-"
 
 "We shall stay relevant." Bancroft said coldly, "So why are you here, why are you in my kingdom?"
 
 "I am looking for the Railroad." Sweet Gin said unsuredly.
 
 "Certainly a group of good morals." Bancroft breathed, maintaining that plain expression that betrayed nothing. His partner though licked his lips excitedly, hungrily. Whether in hunger, or being he was just horny.
 
 Looking at this partner, Sweet Gin noticed a certain familiarity between the two. Similar production models? The two shared the same gleam in their eyes, the same shade of blue. But the familiarity came to a slow death thereafter. His face clearly scarred and mangled from some combat, and not nearly as clean shaved as a ratty beard lined his narrow bony face.
 
 "And..." Sweet Gin waited.
 
 "And I have allotted myself to remain out of the Synth Retention Bureau and the Railroad's infinite game of cat and mouse." Bancroft stated plainly, "For though given how good it is, I do not see it having any logical conclusion.
 
 "But you are still in the middle of the Heart. And though the Heart is dead, it will not let but the strongest live."

***

Limbo is one place Sweet Gin didn't think she'd be. Effectively, Lord Bancroft had set her free from any manner of imprisonment. But for the time being, she was bound to the hill. A place which she had learned quickly was his domain, dominated by the single tower that rose above them. It was the single tallest structure in the area, and none of the flag poles that were nested around it dared sweep taller than its single standing parapet.

The tower itself looked like it was an incomplete structure, or could have been built into a larger fortress. A single gate stood at its heart, entering and exiting onto nothing but two halves the hills that could be accessed by simply walking around. The tall sweeping and highly built arch was a connector between two thick square pillars, where on the one side a single stone tower stood out of, built out and over the side by a mere's stone thickness.

Windows square and empty marked its side, bearing only shadow or the soft glow of fire light as the afternoon sun dropped slowly to a dull evening orange and purple. Merlon lined battlements crowned the head of the castle as soot, sand, and age wore down the stone in rivers that draped and cloaked it in a veil and coat of black.

The keep stood like a mourner and the last standing, functional structure in all of Worcester with its heavy built stone walls. Its nature somber, dark, and brooding. To its aura it had attracted many, either because of the landmarks peculiarity, or the power that resided inside of it that brought the men and women together to form a tightly packed community on its hills. Milling about in the dirty wretched throngs that milled about outside wandered Sweet Gin, unable to leave, but free to partake in the nightly madness that swept the tent village.

In the packed clay and mud that faced the hill, the larger community broke itself into a dozen smaller ones. Nestled around fires, shouting and telling stories or playing games. Many worked a craft, ate, or drink. It was perhaps the first look at a true community that Sweet Gin had ever looked into, once shut into a dark part of a network, she had found herself looking into the light of society.

And the emotion was mixed. A warm curiosity washed over her in a refreshing bath as she observed the involvement of each member in their own game. But, she wondered why. Looking at any and each of them, the question of why they did not simply attack each other to better their personal gain nagged at her. There was in the entire camp, enough material to make a single man as strong as Bancroft. But each member was in a seat of trust towards their fellow as they mingled and mixed.

Likewise, the intermingling was a light on something Sweet Gin didn't quit know. Lost in the darkness outside she watched each sub-unit with the inquisition of a small child fighting to simply understanding. For all she understood, it was only the domination of one over another. And not simply being a unit in a greater whole.

She had been used, submissive to a single person who used her for his own gains. Likewise, she had been used by her first captor since being freed; the lone man in the cabin in the dark country. Afterwards, she had manipulated and dominated the traveler for what she needed, and wanted. And the three that had engaged her, and promptly put down were put under the same fate, except the one had owned two others. Concubines, she called them. She had been a concubine, but never a part of an arm as the men had been to her.

And within these units, even as they worked together for some common or arbitrary short-term goal, individuality and an inter-group dominance was displayed. Or even, dominance from within, to the outside.

From the warm lights of the campfires and the battered old batter-operated lanterns these individuals gathered about, figures looked up at her. Expressions of desire, lust, and greed played in their eyes as the shadows played on their face. A second face, that despite the air of content each one wanted more, and was willing to play to win it. Even if the chances were as narrow as the ones the dice-throwers had in their games on most of the pits.

A most curious game, Sweet Gin thought to herself, they have only a three percent chance of probability.

But perhaps probability was it, or they did not just care. For even if the better liege of chance was stronger, they were willing to play. They were willing the risk to get what they want. Even as they looked to Sweet Gin they saw not something or someone who could rend their throats without realizing what she was doing, except it must be done to maintain operation. No, what they saw was a prize.

And it scared Sweet Gin, as much as it was a warm curiosity to look into this window of an alien world. That it was so welcoming, but so dangerous to anyone in it. It made her nethers turn in agitation. A sickly warding off of desire to keep her from relapsing to an old habit and into danger. She had lost her arms and legs once, she wasn't going to loose them again, and perchance more than she had gained.

A firm and warm hand landed on Sweet Gin's shoulder and she jumped, throwing herself from the stranger's hand and reeling on her feet, ready to address the attacker. But found instead a courier. Still in his armor, his hands rested casually on the hilt of his weapon. "Lord Bancroft wishes to speak with you, Lady Sweet Gin." the man said.

Sweet Gin relaxed her posture, he wasn't one of the many who no doubt wanted her. But an unsympathetic look flowered on his face. He stepped aside, seemingly inviting her ahead. "While the night is young." the guard said again, letting Sweet Gin own the lead.

The interior of the tower was cold and poorly lit. Mangled barrels loaded with wood and refuse lit the main floor, further choking the ashen interior with a thicker layer of smoke and rained ash on the stone work below. A cold silence gripped the structure, which duely occupied, and was occupied by the guards that watched her. From under the stairs, or along the doors as she was guided up a narrow flight of iron steps to the next floor up. One of which that was no different than the one before.

Iron and steel girders. Dressed at every inch in bright red rust, bolted, drilled, and cemented into the ancient stonework of the tower. The narrow windows and darkened, short corridors looking out at the tents below. There was a curious archaic image to this, or so Sweet Gin felt as she was guided up onto the roof and across the battlements into the round tower.

A pair of guards stood by an aged and weathered iron door. As the android approached they reached out and opened the portcullis, almost as robots themselves; admitting Sweet Gin into the orange interior of the room beyond.

Unlike the remainder of the tower, this high space had been decorated, or attempts made to make the small space seem more homely. Packed in quarters no more than perhaps twelve feet across rested a bed, chairs, and a surprising number of old, tattered books that towered to the ceiling. And seated in the room was Lord Bancroft himself, and the other man. They patiently watched the android enter as the doors clanged shut behind, leaving her alone to the two in the room.

Bancroft studied her over, without showing any reflection of joy, pity, or anger. "Please, sit." he invited from his seat, warmly gesturing to a seat opposite of him with a single gloved hand, "I mean to discuss."

"Oh, ah, thank you." Sweet Gin said softly, cautiously taking her seat. The chair groaned under her weight, but held up.

"You intend to cross the remainder of The Woo, then." Bancroft began, "How do you intend to do this?"

"Walk, I suppose." Sweet Gin said nervously, biting on her lip, "It's the only way to move really. Though, I suppose I could also crawl."

"Aen whaet ealse, slither like a snake?" the other man crooned mockingly from the rust stained and barely-there lawn chair he called his own. Bancroft's wooden rocking chair in surprisingly better condition.

"Silence Barstan." Bancroft remarked, his tone actually flexing around anger as he addressed his younger contemporary, "This is not a discussion for you to chime in the middle of, not without invitation. You will speak when I tell you to, as you will jump or kill."

Barstan took the words with a venomous sting and recoiled in his chair, frowning and dropping his eyes as he mumbled: "Yes sir."

"My lord." Bancroft corrected, "But to the matter at hand," he added, turning to Sweet Gin, "It is fortunate that you got as far through Worcester as you did, Sweet Gin. It's a difficult for many caravans to do on their own. The city has lost its luster, and it is not nearly as well controlled as independents like The Spring to the west. I'd say we're the only group here.

"The only civilized group."

"There are others?" Sweet Gin asked.

"Mostly raider bands and colonies of ghouls, who are predominately the former knights of this nation's former military."

"Former... Nation?"

"You don't know about this world, do you?" Bancroft asked.

"No."

"Then let me explain since you are new to this world," began Bancroft, "I know little of Boston, or the Institute. Just that they exist, and being such as yourself are from there.

"But the Wasteland, and them, are linked by a common chord. And that is over two centuries ago, the world tore itself asunder by a great fire. This fire left the world barren, infertile. Scattered man and shattered their resolve as they fought over the meager remnants of food, water, and civilization left untainted by the fire the Old World released onto its self.

"Swathes of the world were protected underground. I was born there, in a Vault. We called it George's Vault, and it was founded on principles rarely known to the rest of the world. One day, the door of our Vault suffered a fatal error, and forced itself to open. Expunging us into the world.

"I will spare you the details. But we ruled the Vault and its surrounding lands as I do here. When I was forcibly exiled I sought to build my own kingdom. And what I learned is what I teach to you. It would be wise to not ignore my advice.

"Do not enter dark places, rarely alone. The hordes of the undead - ghouls - reside here. They were burned and touched by the hellfire released onto the world and more often than not their souls have abandoned them, but they remain alive still."

"Souls? Alive?" Sweet Gin interrupted.

The questions met Bancroft with a great deal of perplexity who was forced to hesitate in his story. A mumbled under his breath. "Their eternal... programming... has been corrupted." he said uneasily, trying to find the right metaphor for the android to understand, "But whatever the case is: they must be avoided, and they should be destroyed. I have rarely met a ghoul I would permit to persist.

"Many of the bodies of water are yet free of the malignant curse of the Hellfire. Unless you seek to be tainted as the ghouls are, avoid it too much.

"And company you can trust." Bancroft added, "I had to k-... Destroy many a man that I could not trust in the contesting of my claim. It would be ultimately best to maintain a quiet demeanor and to not call attention to yourself. A quiet person is a peaceful person, as I intend to role my following."

"I see." Sweet Gin said, registering the information and stocking it away, "But how does this help me through Worcester?"

"Have you got caps?" Bancroft asked.

"Caps?"

"Bottle caps. The old world used it to seal bottles of drink with, you can still find plenty still sealed, and many loose caps scattered about the world. This world trades them for their services, and for loyalties. I still have my men farm the Arctic Cola plant for our own caps. We need them to deal with the merchants, and to acquire precious commodities we can not locate here: guns, ammunition. However much I have forsaken them for their... histories of failure.

"Every man owes to themselves as much as they owe the kingdom to march progress. Not so much machines, which we owe for a realistic limit of their reliability.

"It is not to insult you. It is merely why we've gone to the tools of Grognak and Sir Lancileer of Taels of Chivalrie. Easily to invoke images, and a illustration to their tools."

Sweet Gin nodded slowly, "But I have none of these." she said.

"Then you are in a debt, and we will need to settle this. And I can not permit you to leave without feeling you will die."

"Perhaps there is something I might be able to do?"

Bancroft and Barstan exchange a brief look. "We do." Bancroft said.

[i]End of Chapter 3[/i]
[i]Level footnote: level 3[/i]
[i]Skill footnote: Guns 26/100[/i]

[img]http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2013/197/8/e/frp_banner___a_worm_s_heart_by_aaronmk-d6drdy8.png[/img]

(Some [url=http://youtu.be/TzMHvvBqVuY]thematic music[/url])

The morning air hung over the ruins of Worcester in a cool, crisp stillness. A rare oddity, no doubt. And the rising sun basked the ruins in a strange warm light as it breached the horizon over Boston way. Sweet Gin had spent the night sitting in the trees on the edge of Bancroft's hill, staring into the darkness and the sky as the people around her fell into a restive sleep. But for the android, it felt as if it was unneeded. She had watched the fires die, and the laughter fade to silence.

On that hill, silence and darkness fell quickly. The only lights in the darkness were those of the patrols. The only sound in the stillness their boots. Such a rule had lasted through the late hours underneath a billion stars in the clear skies above them. And with the sun rising, and the moon hanging over head as a thin silver sliver the same silence continued to march on. But early risers had work to do, and Sweet Gin was to join them.

The android was in company within the ruins of the city. So long ago melted and blasted by the Great Fire that Bancroft had described. The light of the sun shining in at sharp angles into the broken glass of the structures and illuminating far walls in brilliant shades of orange and reds. A literal fire of color that blasted through and done away with the night's cold. A thin layer of mist and frost coated every surface, and with the sun's hot rays coming to contact with them, the city began to fog.

It was a ghostly experience. The rising and warming fog danced around the android and her escort's feet as they moved East along a wide and emptied street. From what Bancroft had asked of her, she was to address a threat to his community on the east-side.

"My scouts and patrols report a sharp-shooter or hunter set up on the Eastern Bridge leading into Worcester." he had told her last night when she agreed to the assignment to clear a debt that materialized over her, "The gun man has become a threat to caravans more so than raiders."

“C-caravans are important?” Sweet Gin had asked.

“Even the threat of lines that connect the east to west it's still all the same important.” he had replied, “ There is still the need to run between the stations and the outlying communities. All that has happened is the strengthening of the Old Hubs, I fear. But even then, the goods leach out the worst under the most violent of cities.”

Evidently, he feared the shooter would chase away the few merchants and scavengers "crazy" enough to head into the city.

For the majority of her venture she was ganged up with a small group of men issued to scrounge the city for ghoul remnants. Their route heading east as far as where she was picked up. Their tools - swords, and spears as she learned they were called - glinted in the burning sun as they passed through the city. Silent as a graveyard. Sharp is their blade. And centuries cancerous to life.

***

The packs landed with a sudden thud on the pavement as the men stopped suddenly in the middle of the intersection. The looming sun was rising slowly into the sky, casting a harsh glare on the city that dismissing the fog with a casual wave of a fiery hand. The mist thus retreating to darker and cooler corners to wait for the setting of the sun once again. Thus began the breakfast of the men as they sat down, with the looming towers hanging above them, twisted and bent over themselves.

Rusted tin cans and barely intact boxes were pulled from the packs and the clink of silverware as tarnished spoons, forks, and bowls were handed out to each of the levees. In a cold hard silence they dispensed the meager breakfast rations among themselves, clumping odd slimy mush with dry, flaky cereal with a eerie over-saturated color. Lounging in the cross roads they munched away on the mixed bowls as they watched the surroundings with a vacant expression.

Sweet Gin stood by, not feeling any bit hungry and watching the escort eat. Watching them dig into the slimy mix she wondered if perhaps she was supposed to eat, but didn't feel any inclination that she had to. She felt alive, about as much as she did the day before and the day before that. She gave each of the diners a passive, curious stare. It obviously unnerved them.

"For fucks sake woman!" shouted one of them, frustratingly slamming his battered bowl against the cold pavement and looking up at Sweet Gin in a frustrated gnarled, twisted expression. Dark boils and pits scarred his face. It was obvious to the android he was not the most well nourished. In fact, many of these men were not. "The Hell you got to stare at us like that for?" the man continued steering, "You're making me feel funny, like you poisoned by Cram for fucks sake."

"No need to get fussy." one of his comrades said, dipping into his mush while fighting to feign the fact he was more comfortable with Sweet Gin awkwardly watching them.

"Don't give me that bull!" the other man shouted, "It's too early in that morning! And I don't want to feel like I need to vomit that crap up now. You know well we'll all be doing that later."

"Don't you think you should find something better to eat then." Sweet Gin observed.

All the men laughed as they sat in the road. One bringing his wrists up to his mouth to keep him from spitting up his breakfast he managed to choke out: "Why would you think that?"

"Well, from the looks of you: you're all lacking in some basic nutrients." the android continued, "You all share a yellowing of the skin, and the jaundice suggests you're not getting much Vitamin C. Have you perchance had any fruit?"

"The fuck are you saying, robot?" the first man said with a puzzled expression, "I didn't get half the dribble you're speaking you stupid git."

"I'm saying you all need fruit." she said.

This made the third man spit his food out as he chuckled heartily. Desperately whipping his lips he said with a patient snicker: "Where do you suggest we get a luxury like that?" he sneered, "Hell, many of us haven't even seen an apple in the last three years. If we're damn lucky we'll manage to find something that's not mush that smells like apples."

"This old-world Cram and Sugar Apple Bombs are the only thing we've got going for us." another of the men said, "That, or dog meat."

"Thanks for the concern either way." the third said, "But if you can find anyone who could possibly trade for fruit it'd be a boost for us. For Bancroft's reach doesn't go nearly as far as he'd hope. So we're stuck with whatever the caravans can sell us from Boston."

"And fuck you too, Doc." the first man snarled, "The last thing we should do is fill this thing's head with ideas."

"Shut up." the man identified as Doc snapped back. Turning back to Sweet Gin he sighed, "Listen, we're turning back to where you were reportedly picked up." he said, "So here's where we split off. If you're going to chase that sharpshooter, then the road to his bridge is just south. Just follow Belmont east."

At that note, Sweet Gin watched as the navigation in her vision blinked, and the marker for Springville moved to the opposite end of the dial. She looked off east, centering the icon in her vision. She blinked vacantly for a moment. Turning back to the escort she muttered: "Thanks."

The walk through Worcester came to be of little interference. But as Sweet Gin moved between the towering steel pillars that rose from the city's grave she felt a certain anxiety. Like there were eyes watching her. Trapped somewhere on high or hidden in the shadows as unseen forces watched her by with vicious curiosity. Still, nothing passed to assault her as she moved alone through the wrecked streets.

Her navigation was a solitary guide through the wasted city as it pointed her surely east ward. The road she walked heading straight for the end of this road. This segment of a road she had yet to walk more of. Piles of rubble, heaped and blasted scoured the road but were only minor inconveniences as the android lifted herself over and moved on.

As the time passed the sun's warmth grew greater. And as she moved forward she felt a different warmth. There was something in the air that tickled and plucked at her hair and flesh. And although she was warm, she felt herself harden as if cold from the reaction to whatever was at play. A soft tingling. Hardly threatening, but certainly uncomfortable as her bits and parts underneath shifted.

As she moved, she didn't know if it was the mounting feeling of being watched, or the greater definition of burns that scoured the urban landscape. The buildings bent and shoved ever more away from a central axis.

And as she came to a gentle bend in the road, and climbed another chunk of building that had fallen from the skyscraper along the side of the road, she met a whole different barrier. At this point, all of which had been the ruins of the age left.

This one was more organized.

Stretching across the road, and cutting through the park at either side was a long chain-linked and wrought-iron barrier. The face of which was mired in thick rust and harsh weather. The bolts and rivets that held it together coming undone at the edges. The fence links and the sheets of metal alike coming undone. Running along the top, veins and chords of twisted and gnarled lengths of barbed wire lined the top most portion of the wall. Signs hung against the barrier at regular intervals, foreign and forgotten insignia - at least to her - hung in faded and chipping yellow and black paint. Underneath, an additional sign read:

[i]"WARNING! [/i]
[i]Deadly levels of radiation beyond this point. [/i]
[i]Absolutely no admittance![/i]
[i]Clean up is in process!"[/i]

Sweet gin looked at the sign, and the symbol hanging above it and put the two and two together. She could still feel it, and whatever was beyond she could feel.

And further more, she found herself again puzzled by the invocation of the word, "death". But surmised that the radiation beyond would not be good for even her levels of operation.

She looked at its face again, watching it bisect the road she meant to walk and the park alongside of it. The ground was barren, stripped clean. Even the remnants of trees had disappeared: at best leaving only withered barely standing shafts of carbon in their place. But along this face, the dirt lay packed and dug out. Many things had walked this route, and the rut bore the story of the new road life in the Wasteland had dug.

As well, the still remaining citizens of the city had left their mark.

No doubt the work of Bancroft's men: shafts of iron rose to the sky, where impaled and no doubt no longer inoperable hung the remains of ghouls, or other persons. The spikes driven through their groin and up through the backs of the necks. The dangled rotting, and cooking in the radiation atop their poles, with nothing but a narrow seat to rest on, more than a full body's length down the pole. For what message this had to bear Sweet Gin didn't know, or failed to realize as she passed them by and moved along the edge of the wall.

The barrier stretched on and on. Eventually making an abrupt turn from its regular course and running a new one. Occasionally along its route there would stand the remains of something other. Inoperable remains of some machines or collection of refuse that had been gathered and fashioned into a shelter. Moldy and rotting mattresses were laid down. Out of curiosity, Sweet Gin stopped to examine the bedding, finding it to be still and carrying a strong stench: somehow worse than the beds she used to work on, as something told her about her memory banks.

Further more, crates of rudimentary supplies lay alongside these outposts. Treating herself, Sweet Gin scored new rounds for her pistol and rifle, but carried on leaving the rest - bottle of turpentine, scraps of metal - behind.

The round about path came to an eventual close as it met up with the main road, allowing the android the comfort of a wider path, and a straight view to her objective. As she passed down hill and through the remains of slowly shrinking buildings and trees she could see the bridge in question, and the murky quagmire body of water it passed over.

The road slowly crept down along the hill. A gentle slope, but none the less cluttered. Stacks of automobiles had cluttered each intersection and the remains of buildings lay in the way, toppled, and their faces chewed in the face of fenced off area that lay behind her now. The scouring marks of fire stretched in a radius around the crater. Wondering as she wondered: had that been the sight of the Hellfire that Bancroft had spoken of?

The thought was struck from her head as he foot stepped and crunched on a stray tin can in the road. The stillness of the air carried the sound far and it echoed from the empty bones of the buildings. She paused hesitantly as she stood over the can, slowly stepping down causing it to groan louder as she stepped forward. A stone sunk in her chest, and plummeted as a return screamed over the empty streets.

That same, dry, crackling cough of a scream.

She turned behind her drawing immediately for her gun as the soft dry plodding of feet echoed behind her. Turning to meet a barely dressed ghoul as it shambled out of a door war. Its muscles flexing and bulged under its leathery skin as a singular eye darted to the android. Slobber pooled and dripped from its twisted and broken maw. Shambling over bricks and chunks of mortar it came to a stumbling pause and regarded the Android with a hungry, instinct fueled glare.

And with violent spasm it threw its shoulder back. Arcing its chest out and letting out a bestial ape-like roar that screamed and screech that tore apart the atmosphere as if cut by a knife, freezing everything that stood and sending icy chills through Sweet Gin. As its dry guttural roar came to a broken chord and ceased it threw itself forward, flailing its arms wildly as it made like a rabid animal for her.

Tearing through the ground it charged. Pure hunger shone it is remaining. A new sun of pain and predation. VATS kicked in as Sweet Gin rose the pistol to her eye and targeted the ghoul. With a soft clapping snap the pistol let out a single shot that peeled back the ghoul's head in a wet smack and sent it tumbling to the floor. As its limp body fell with a hard thump to the floor screams and cries of anger and rage echoed from every corner of the city block and Sweet Gin knew it was time to go again.

Her feet clattered and clanged as she bolted down the road towards the bridge. Hot adrenaline raced through her as chemical synthesizers somewhere within her worked in high gear in response to the threat. And the influx of hormones into her system sparked a higher desire and panic to run. Her eyes wide and fire on her feet she made down the hill. The echoing of patter and the harsh wispy panting of ghouls behind her as she ran.

"Second. Time!" Sweet Gin screamed in fear and no sense of irony. She looked behind her, panic setting in as she turned her head about and saw the cascading horde chewing on her tail.

Sending off a high-pitched scream she pitched her head back ahead of her as she screamed upon a barricade of cars ahead of her. Springing into the air she made clear air over the barricade, going airborne like a bird in its own heavy flightless way. With a clang, the feather-less turkey came to a hard landing on a... something. What it was, her weight had dislodged something and with her feet planted firmly on the seat that was crumbling under her and the a set of handlebars behind her she began rolling down hill. Rhythmic rusty squealing rose and fell as the whatever carted down the hill as internal sensors told her to steer and sway left to right and to keep precarious balance on the rust-choked vehicle.

Sweet Gin afforded a quick glance for the vehicle she had landed on. It was small, and perhaps only big enough for one person. A seat that had once been black not housed her right foot. And her other was gripping the handlebars of this machine. From the looks of the couplings and bearings that held it, they were supposed to move. But they had long sense welded the handlebars in a permanent forward position with rust and grime.

As well, the thing had three wheels that screamed and groaned under the android's weight. But no doubt vigilantly carried her down hill at a shocking speed. And for all that it was worth, it was allowing Sweet Gin precious distance between her and the ghouls that pursued her. As the three-wheeled thing tumbled down the hill, the Ghouls were barely beginning to scramble over the cars, carelessly pushing and climbing over each other in a desperate and hungry mob.

Though, with the first horde lost, the insistent squealing of the tires continued to summon more. From along the road, from within the blasted out shops, or frozen armored cars ghouls of different shapes and dress poured out after the Android as the noise summoned them. A high-pitched dinner bell.

The vehicle gave her comfort and confidence. And for a rare moment in this adventure she laughed with pure ecstasy as she fired at the stranded monsters that lined the road and lunged for her with angry claws. Whether the bullets found a mark or not was not of confidence, and if they hit it was only a plus. The wet, dark blossoming of crimson flowers that bloomed from their heads was a mild amusement of a side-show bemusement. 
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