Fallout 4: AR

9. First Blood

A rough hand shook me awake. Groggily, I flailed upright in the dark room, grabbing for my glasses. "Whaa?" MacCready's lean form came into focus, lightly splashed with the reflected red neon light from outside. Satisfied I was up and moving, he retreated back to the couch to finish his own preparations. To my disgust, he looked ready to go, idly scraping the stubble from his cheeks with a wicked-looking combat knife. I blinked a few times, chasing the scattered fragments of sleep from my head before stumping to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Feeling a bit more awake, I returned to see a can of purified water and a small cardboard box of unidentified food sitting on the low table.

"Thanks," I muttered, tucking in. The water was very welcome, and the food filled the gnawing in my stomach, tasteless but hopefully nourishing.

"No problem, Boss," came the reply. "I'll just add it to your tab."

"What? You're keeping count?" Geez, what a money-grubber.

"Always. Gotta keep things even." He sheathed the knife, checked his sniper rifle one more time and quietly sauntered to the door. "Ready?" he asked. "Lead the way."

True to his word, the street was nearly deserted as we made our stealthy way towards the first warehouse. The location markers Charlie put on my Pip-Boy proved accurate and extremely useful, pointing us to the exact door we needed without my having to hunt around the unfamiliar area. We crowded into the recessed doorway, crouching to stay out of sight. MacCready kept watch for any wandering patrols while I focused on the lock.

Exactly like the day before, the minute I touched the lock with bobby pin and screwdriver, I felt the tingle of electricity whisper through my arm, guiding my fingers to the sweet spot. In only a few seconds, the low-quality lock had popped open with a small click, giving us access to the interior of the building.

"Some skill you have there," commented MacCready, sardonic approval lacing the quiet murmur. I shot him a quick, nervous half-grin. Moving as quietly as possible, we crept inside, pushing the door closed behind us.

Once inside, we hugged the wall, crouching our way along until we were half-hidden behind a stack of wooden crates. The warehouse floor was large and open, piles of crates and shelving shoved in random stacks. A staircase ascended into the shadowy second floor near the back of the room. There were a few open hanging bulbs lighting the area, providing a mosaic of light and shadow that may prove either a benefit or a hindrance. Quiet voices floated across the open area, and my mouth went dry as I spotted our first targets, two men dressed like 1950's gangsters standing watch.

MacCready had already unslung his sniper, maneuvering to get into a good shooting position. I couldn't believe how cool and professional he looked, my stomach was doing somersaults in apprehension. I shakily took out the laser pistol, taking position near MacCready to fire through a gap in the crates, then paused. Feeling his curious gaze on me, I quietly re-holstered the pistol, swinging my rifle into position. I met his gaze, mouthing my explanation in a barely audible whisper.

"Tracers work both ways." His eyes widened, then narrowed again as he nodded and resumed his position. Yes, the laser pistol was quieter than my rifle, but it speared a bright line of red light every time it fired. The last thing we wanted was to announce our exact location. Sitting with my back against the crates, the realization of what I was about to do crashed upon me uninvited.

I'm going to kill these men.

I struggled with that thought, my morality colliding with this new reality of kill or be killed. How can I just shoot them, and live with their blood on my hands? I fought to keep my breathing quiet and even, needing to keep us from being detected. MacCready glanced up now and again in annoyance, waiting for my signal. Wait, he's a hired gun, isn't he? Maybe it won't be as bad if...