Daniel lay where he was after being hit in the warehouse, largely ignorant to anything save the ringing louder than a point blank minigun report in either ear. It died down eventually, and with that came the realization of other things. The dizziness and blurriness assaulting his vision were a two pronged attack that made orienting himself nigh impossible. But he was just about able to make out the Paladin stepping out of the building. Hoping to follow him Daniel got upright, before falling down. Several such false starts recurred before at last he was on his feet. Now then, what was he up to? Oh, yes, following the Paladin. He didn’t notice the arrived horde of ghouls, nor the dust-raising Deathclaws. Getting to the Paladin and the Vertibird, yes that was the mission. It was weird what part of the soldier’s consciousness were working well and which ones weren’t, because the ones to notice this very fact were good as new, not to mention the ones hoping others wouldn’t see the almost drunken way he got to the chopper. 

Only getting aboard was more of his mind liberated from his injury and he was becoming slowly aware that Gregory was being left behind from the rest of the squad. All the worse for poor McDowell’s fate, Daniel for now couldn’t process all this. “W...wait….” he managed weakly, the words stifled by a hysterical laugh. It would likely last longer than anybody hearing it through his helmet and the air would find comfortable, but eventually it ended with the young Knight asleep. 

[hr] 

The lad opened his eyes, instantly noticing several changes in his environment. He was sans helmet, everything outside of the Vertibird was jetblack and he was alone in it. Except… there was that unknown lightsource making everything bright. “No… no. No-no-no-no-no-no!” he cried clutching his head as once more those he believed to be his ancestors materialized around him. His vision though was filled with the images of Gregory now being abandoned to an inevitable death. They were so sharp, the image of the man alone before mutated beasts as though right before him. 

“Were we wrong?” a figure in T45 power armour demanded. “Were we wrong?” The phrase echoed through the hundred spectres going well past the confines of the vertibird. “Papa, why did you fail Gregory?” demanded a child by his feet. “Is it the same reason you will fail me?” the girl continued, the movement by words making it apparent a laser scorched her dead just above the cheek. The whole display made Daniel recoil with a high-pitched cry but his attempts to distance himself were in vain. The same man in ancient plate held him by one shoulder and his grandfather by the other. “You dishonour your blood.” The historical Knight said. “You bring shame upon your Brotherhood, upon the family name. You had all those books, all those lessons, all that training; shouldn’t you know better than to be a coward?” 

Daniel was squirming in their grips, they were somehow painful through the power armour he himself was wearing. “Please I-” the young Knight started in his defence, but a chorus resounded: “Silence!” 

“You disgusting creature.” This was Maria Livesey, another one of Daniel’s grandparents. “We died for the Brotherhood we died for our comrades and what do you do? You run! You cannot live with your failures, you wasted ever more time outside of the ranges on stupid trifles and to what end? You couldn’t hit a damn raider.” 

“But-” the young man tried again, only to be cut off by who was apparently a Friar with a rock lodged in his throat. “McDowell, he was a hero. He put himself under the attention and weight of fire of all those heathens but you? You didn’t even attempt to return this act.” 

A gob of spit came into the victimized Knight’s eyes, which when cleared revealed a bearded man donning a morion helm leaning upon a pike. “It should have been you, Daniel. It shames me to say it, and I would never have thought anyone else in history could think so. But I wish you my boy, my flesh, my progeny, I wish you would have died instead of the honourable Knight-Sergeant.” Tears were running down his face as if from a faucet, and through gasps for air Esteves just about managed to say “I’m sorry.”

[b]”YOU’RE SORRY?”[/b] Daniel’s face was splattered in blood as a decapitated figure in familiarly massive T60 power armour raised him before thrusting him against the wall. He was face to face with a throat squirting more and more blood, but all the ancestors came closer to stare upon him so he could see every long dead pore. 

“Is that really all you can say?” a voice hissed in his ear, one he couldn’t turn to reply to. “I don’t think he needs to. He was given everything, but he is worth nothing. Perhaps it better he doesn’t wake up, perhaps it better he no longer burdens his squad and squanders that which he bears?” 

“Join us, boy. We would hate your company of course but do it nonetheless.” A voice said. “Oh don’t worry about it my boy, it is damnation for his ilk!” chimed in another. “It would be better than to go on defiling our memory.” His grandparents said as one. “An end to thy guilt, thy misery.” Boomed the plated warrior. Daniel looked down to see that - without any prompt - his recharger pistol had materialized in his hand. His hand was trembling, but through his partial (but present) consent it slowly rose reaching height of his breast. But this ever dramatic moment was interrupted a momentary shake bringing Daniel to consciousness. 

[hr] 

He was in the Vertibird, but for real this time (or so he hoped). Daniel looked about, seeing they were landing somewhere and in anticipation of exploring unknown grounds the Knight loaded a fresh magazine into his M14, flicking the safety off. The man then disembarked from the vessel, giving a half-hearted “Yes-Sir.” at the orders he was given. He could still feel the effects of his self-diagnosed but likely accurate concussion, but for the most part he was physically much better for the sleep he had. “Lead the way Sir.” He said, tapping his headlamp alight only to remember it was broken and that same spot hurt alot. He cursed under his breath, sprinting for a second to catch up to the Paladin. “On to glory, Ad Victoriam.”