John “Cook” Kaye- His Room, The Den

John laid back in the moth-eaten recliner, ignoring the groan of protest from the age-old springs of its interior. His hand shook slightly as he put the steel lighter and bottle of Breeze down, content with just one taste to start his day. Jet had helped wake him up, but he had hardly felt a dose that small. He had to kick the Jet soon- he felt his body withering away more and more each day.

Now was not the time for worrying however. Now, all of his thoughts were replaced by pure, unadulterated bliss. John let out a groan rivaling the sound of the chair’s just moments ago as he was plunged deep into the depths of the chair’s dirty green fabric. He couldn’t help but smile as the familiar feeling of Breeze set in. Such a glorious, holy thing it was, and all because of him. He had brought Breeze into this world- it was his baby, and it treated him well. 

John looked up from the bottle which was now sitting on the ground by his side. All around him, the colors of the dilapidated room seemed to rush towards him, increasing impossibly in their brilliance. The wall opposite John, mounted with a humble cross but otherwise unadorned, slowly crept away from him, causing John’s vision to swim.

He blinked, momentarily glimpsing the great darkness hidden within him. He tried not to close his eyes when he took Breeze. It was… better than way. As John rocketed up, gripping the fabric of his chair tightly, he could not help but think of this darkness, his mind suddenly fixated on the dingy truths hidden within him. John physically shook his head, the motion sending a tingling down his back as the air of the room tickled his cheeks. He could not think of that now- not today.

It was too late, though. Even as waves of serenely warm pleasure washed across the small man’s crippled form, his mind was cast back. Back towards that which still haunted him. Back towards Catherine. Her smile, her laugh… her whimpers in those last terrible moments. John continued to shake his head, struggling vainly against the path which he was headed down. Breeze was an angel and a devil, and in both ways it was above man’s will. Its duality was beautiful… and terrifying.

John felt his head turn, though he couldn’t remember telling it to. He opened his eyes, not even knowing until now that they had remained closed, and found himself looking at the room’s dingy mirror. The room’s colors and proportions were off- oversaturated, elongated… unrealistic. At times it would be brilliant, but for now it was the most unnerving thing he had ever witnessed, a fact made so much worse when the image within the mirror slid slickly all over until it became his sister, just as he had seen her last. In a scene of cartooning images, she remained perfect- an anchor to reality in the suddenly cruel world he inhabited.

She looked like John, really. Pale, pretty, with dark hair and somehow darker eyes. Foam marred her face, dripping from the corner of her mouth. Shockingly, she moved, stepping through the liquid pool that the mirror had somehow become. Her feet slowly plodded towards John, who seemed to be bolted to his chair now. Time had stopped, and now nothing else was, nothing else would be. It was just John, Catherine, and a world of shame.

“Why did you let me go John? I never let you go.”

Her voice was sad, and it echoed out of her in waves which were somehow made visible to John’s gaze. He couldn’t move. On his face, he could feel something wet and warm, unable to wipe it away as it dripped down onto his button-up. John was paralyzed with regret. He’d killed his sister, the only person who had ever loved him. One bad batch was all it took for the endless depths of hell to rip her away. These talks they had now were Catherine’s bony, ethereal fingers trying in vain to cling to this world, John just knew it. They had always been one-another’s anchor.

“Come with me, John. It isn’t so bad. Just like all of your labs- dark, hot, noisey… like home.”

In a moment of clarity, John saw what was happening. A bad trip, that was all this was. He should’ve known better than to take a hit after he actually slept last night. The nightmares were what did it. He needed to stop sleeping if he could help it. This clarity came and went, though. This was his reality, his nightmare, his hell. This was what he had earned, and it was just as real as anything he had ever been victim to in his life.

“Come home.”

At once, the pupils of Catherine’s eyes became brighter, a glare held within their dark depths suddenly expanded to become a pair of shining beacons within the room. For the first time, John truly glimpsed at the old cross hanging on the wall opposite of him, a relic from before the war. His attention fixed on to it, and in a moment it silently erupted into a mass of spiders, whose numbers steadily grew until they nearly covered the entire wall. John entered a frenzied state, all alarms in his head going off at once. He stared at whatever lay beneath and his sister called out to him, beckoning him into the dark depths.

John heard a voice in the distance, though he couldn’t pinpoint the location. It sounded like a man’s yell, one of fright and terror. John suddenly erupted from his chair,  his frail form lunging toward the mirror from which his sister had emerged. John hit it, again, and again, and again. His hand cried out in pain until finally the image of terror before him shattered. He found himself on the floor now, and arms quickly lifted him up, as easily as one would lift a child.

Before him was Edgar, John’s slave, who had seemingly plucked him from the ground. The face before him, like that of an innocent, concerned child looked odd on the mutated brute’s pale face. Edgar spoke up now, his speech deep and meticulous as always.

“Master is okay, master is okay. Master is bleeding too.”

John realized now that the yelling he had heard had been his own. He was suddenly flush with embarrassment, his trip momentarily killed by this realization. [i]Edgar said there was blood…[/i]

John looked down at his favorite white button-up, bought a year back in Diamond City. “Fuck!”, he groaned. The shirt was spattered with the familiar sight of his own blood, soaked through with blood in the front and spattered with a much smaller amount on both of his arms, with these stains having come from fresh cuts beneath his shirt. John reached up to touch his face and found it covered in both blood and tears. Sometimes he hated these damn nose bleeds.

As John wiped his face with a handkerchief he’d produced from his pocket, Edgar looked on. The brutish man examined the now-broken mirror, keeping his mouth shut. Master didn’t like when Edgar asked too many questions, after all. 

After having Edgar fetch him a fresh shirt from the newly-stocked set of drawers within the room, John quickly changed. Already, John felt a come-down in the works. He cursed himself. These bad trips didn’t happen often, but when they did they were the stuff of pure nightmares. And his sister… [i]Leave me be, Catherine. I’m not ready yet.[/i]

Now changed, John grabbed his bag from beside the door, retrieving his 12.7 from within and sliding the cool metal into the waistband of his jeans. Satisfied, he hoisted the bag itself over his shoulder and exited his room. Outside was a hallway, with two doors set onto the opposite side. One of the doors was ajar, with Rose standing perfectly in its center, as if she was the subject of some lewd painting.

“You alright Cook? Sounds like you had a bit of a fit.” Rose’s voice was soft and young- exactly what you would expect from a woman her age. She wasn’t a bit over 5’2, making even John appear tall, though they likely weighed about the same at just over 100. She was modestly curvy, with her attire helping to show what she had, and her face was best described as cute. She didn’t fool John for one minute with the innocent look she tried to keep up, however. She was all raider, still yet to be domesticated.

“I’m fine, I just…” John coughed weakly, quickly finding himself unable to stop. He produced the same handkerchief from his pocket, and proceeded to soak it through further with blood. John grew frustrated. He was tired of falling apart, this damn cough would never leave him. He needed air.

“I’m going to walk around town a bit, maybe see if that diner opened up yet. Edgar, bring up a few buckets of water from the cove and boil them. I want a bath drawn for me when I return, if you’d be so kind, Rose.”

Rose rolled her eyes. She knew Cook meant an actual bath- he wasn’t usually in a mood for anything else, especially when his health was poor. “Gotcha Cook, bring some party favors if you really want to relax.”

John waved her off, weakly making his way towards the stairs. The old complex they had all set up shop in was huge, really. Three separate buildings connected together- an old tailor’s, and insurance company, and some sort of bait and tackle shop, all of them with living space on their second floors. It was perfect, though after two days of work the four of them still hadn’t even gotten the tailor’s and its rooms restored.

John made his way downstairs, both his joints and the stairs creaking. Breeze’s peak usually came and went quickly, but he knew he’s have a manageable afterglow for a few more hours. It would do well enough to see him through the rest of the day. Downstairs, he found Steve hammering away at an old wooden chair, seemingly trying to bring it back to usable shape. While he was older, John’s companion was still much healthier than him, looking every bit a warrior.

“Place is looking good, Steve.”

“Thanks." steve replied as he stopped working and turned to face John "This place is big, haven't even cleared out let alone started on the tailor shop yet but the party room and Rosey's Bedroom are pretty much done so we can start accepting customers."

“I was going to take a walk around town, get some fresh air. I made sure Edgar and Rose stay busy. Want to tag along? There might be newcomers around already.” John hoped so, at least. They’d arrived a couple days ago and were greeted by just a pair of people who had set up shop in the shell of a town. Everyone expected newcomers to show soon, however.

"Sure could use an little break." Steve stated as he put on his old leather jacket and began to pack up his tools. Ever since Edgar had accidentally cut of Bob's toe he had made sure not to leave anything sharp out around the mutated giant.

The pair made their way outside, with the bright sun eliciting a sneeze from the bone-thin John. He detested the sun, really. His craft had always required him to be more active after twilight, and John had adapted to this nocturnal lifestyle just fine. The two made some small talk as the walked down the cracked streets of Salem, heading first towards the Church, then on towards the diner. They were stopped, however, by Barney Rook, the closest thing this place had to an official authority so far. They’d met briefly, but Barney seemed to have suspicions about their rough little group.

“Hey folks, Steve and, erm… John, right? Nice day isn’t it?” Barney examined the pair shortly, resuming his speech before they could even respond. “You look a little cut up there, John. You don’t look like you’re in any shape to lose more blood. Don’t want to be loosin’ settlers before we even get this place started!”

"He's always looking like that." Steve chuckled "but don't worry I'll make sure he doesn't lose anymore... today."

Barney chuckled cheerfully, and John looked down and examined his arms again. Now dressed in a black short sleeve, the long, shallow scratches that the mirror had gouged in him were easy to see. “I suppose you’re right Barney, got any clean bandages I can trade you for? I had a bit of an accident while we were cleaning up the place,” he lied.

“I can do you one better. Man just walked into town claiming he’s a doctor, told me to tell anyone who needed medical attention. He’s up in the church on the second floor.”

"If he's setting up an clinic in there he should move it to the ground floor, not everyone can get upstairs easily,” said Steve.

John nodded. He hadn’t seen an actual doctor since Megaton, when he worked under Doctor Hardin. John had his doubts about the actual credibility of this supposed stranger, but if he knew anything about doctor-types in the wasteland, the man would be in desperate need of good chems in one way or another.

“Might be able to shake some money out of this guy if I’m lucky,” John said quietly to Steve, who stood well above him. “I’ll be back in a bit. It might not be a bad idea to check out more of the town. We need to get the word out that we’ll be opening soon.”

"Good luck, I'll head to the dinner and get us some drinks along with finding out if anyone else has arrived in town yet..." 

John nodded and said his temporary goodbyes to Steve, making his way into the dilapidated church and up its creaking stairs. John wasn’t sure how he felt about the Old World’s God. They didn’t get along too well, it seemed. Sometimes he thought something else had taken an interest in him though.

John shook off these thoughts, he didn’t want to accidentally have a repeat of his episode earlier. Within moments he was outside of the rectory room Barney had directed him too. The neat, intact door was closed, and John hesitantly rapped on it a couple of times before simply letting himself in and peaking through.

“Excuse me sir, I heard you were a doctor,” He stepped further into the man’s new room. “You don’t happen to know anything about the heart, do you? Been a few years since I’ve gotten a proper check-up.”

Now fully within the small quarters, John extended a skeletal, pale hand towards the man. “John Kaye, though most just call me Cook. I’m a bit of a self-made chemist, myself. Used to practice under Doctor Hardin in Megaton. You don’t happen to need any chems for your arsenal, do you?”