Consciousness returned slowly. My mind first registered light, and I felt the unfamiliar lumpy cushions beneath my resting form. I smelled an odd mix of dust, acrid vapor, and hints of personal odor overlaid with that ever-present slight metallic overtone. My ears picked up footsteps and quiet conversation, the clinking of metal and ceramic. The memories of the day before resurfaced- the alley, running for my life, Goodneighbor, meeting Hancock and Fahrenheit, floating in a drugged haze after my panic attack, falling asleep. Guess it wasn't a dream. Whatever drug was in the inhaler Hancock had given me had faded, leaving me with a sense of lingering calm that allowed me to process this new reality more rationally. I'm still here. I'd better learn to deal with it.
I opened my eyes. I was lying on my side, back against the couch. Across from me on the other couch, appearing to me as if she had never moved from evening before, sat Fahrenheit. She had her weapon, a flamethrower of some kind to my best guess, disassembled on the table in front of her, performing maintenance. I blinked a few times and sat up. Fahrenheit glanced up with a terse "Good morning" and started to reassemble the flamethrower. Her greeting, while not especially hearty, was almost cordial. Guess that's better than her hostility yesterday. I'll take it.
Hancock approached from the back of the room and placed a white can on the low table in front of me. Stark plain black letters spelled out "Purified Water" on the side. I gratefully accepted the offering, cracking open the tab and sipping eagerly. After my panicked day yesterday and the effects of the inhaler that was definitely more than just asthma medicine, I was absolutely parched. The water helped wake me up a bit more, though I dearly hoped there might be coffee in my future.
"Thank you," I managed around sips.
"Quite welcome, Sunshine." Hancock sat on the opposite couch, leaning back to put an arm around Fahrenheit. He took a puff on another of those ubiquitous inhalers, exhaling with a sigh of contentment. "Hungry?"
I nodded vigorously. I hadn't eaten anything since my dinner right before this... adventure had started. Had it really been over a day ago? My stomach was happy for the water, but that was a temporary fix.
"Don't got much here, but it's edible... barely" apologized the Ghoul, pushing a smallish cardboard box across to me. "This is probably the best of the lot."
"Dandy Boy Apples?" The carton looked like it came straight out of a 50s sitcom. I shrugged, opened the package, and took a bite. It tasted like apple, if someone who had never heard of fruit read a printed description of an apple in a book. The bits were chewy but edible... barely, just as he promised. The Pip-Boy on my forearm crackled a quiet burst of static for a moment, but I ignored it. I was very hungry, and there was a generous portion in the box. Just as I was finishing up, the double door leading to the landing opened and a new person walked into the room.
"You're late," Fahrenheit commented.
"Lay off, Fahr. I kept him up past his bedtime." Hancock chuckled. "Come on in, MacCready. Let's get this party started." He gestured to the other end of the couch where I was sitting.
The young man who stalked over to the couch was dressed in mud-spattered olive drab green with a long tattered leather duster belted snugly to his waist. An old Marine eight-point cap shaded his face. He was lean, almost scrawny in build, and not especially tall, but moved with a graceful strength that hinted to formidable combat prowess. He sat down, swinging a well-worn sniper rifle from his back to prop it between his knees. Nodding to Hancock, he looked over to me with a carefully guarded expression in his startlingly deep blue eyes. His face was narrow with high, sharply prominent cheekbones, and a slight frown framed by a thin light brown goatee. I met his flat gaze with what I hoped was a welcoming smile. He did not smile back, but one eyebrow raised slightly.
"All right," said Hancock, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Anne, right?"
I nodded.
"Anne, this is MacCready. MacCready, Anne." He paused, as if expecting us to exchange a handshake or pleasantries. MacCready didn't move, and I wasn't about to test his temper. When the silence stretched between us, he continued. "O-kay. Like I told you yesterday, Sunshine, you caught my attention and I want to help you." Fahrenheit rolled her eyes and MacCready huffed sardonically. "Anyway, since I can't just stop being the beloved mayor of Goodneighbor, friend to the downtrodden, champion of living free..."
"Geez, Hancock, lay it on a little thicker, won't ya?" MacCready interjected querulously, speaking for the first time.
"You're no fun, MacCready." Hancock put on a wounded expression, drawing the corners of his ruined mouth down into a tragic frown. He cocked his head at the young man inquiringly, the tricorner hat on his head tilting down his hairless head.
"Get to the point." MacCready rubbed his temples, wincing slightly. He closed his eyes with a slight groan.
"All right. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted..." Hancock paused to grin at the sour young man before turning to address me directly. "I hired MacCready here to be your own personal bodyguard, sniper, Commonwealth travel guide, Wasteland survival teacher, human pack mule, private butler..."
"Whoa whoa whoa!" came the startled protest. "Private butler?!"
"All right, spoilsport. Maybe not a butler, but he's going to watch your back while we figure out how to get you home." Hancock produced a second can of purified water, sliding it over to MacCready. "Here, drink some water. You're a real bastard when you have a hangover."
"It's your fault." The sniper took the proffered water, downing it quickly. "Never," and he finally turned to address me, "get into a drinking contest with a Ghoul. Especially this one."
Hancock chuckled in reply. "See, you're giving her lessons already. You're a natural!" He smiled beatifically at MacCready's exasperated groan. Fahrenheit had observed the entire exchange coolly, not deigning to offer any additional commentary. "Anyway, Sunshine, you're his boss now. The services of the best gun in the Commonwealth, my gift to you."
"What?" I was stunned. "Why?"
"I dunno. You're cute. I like you. I like your story- the ultimate misfit in Goodneighbor! I had too many caps lying around anyway." Hancock pointed out carelessly, taking another puff on his inhaler, but I wasn't about to be deterred.
"This is too much." I protested. "I can't let you do this." I waved my hand towards MacCready, whose eyes widened in surprise. "I'm sure you're just as good as Hancock says, but it's not fair to you to have to traipse around after me."
"Look, angel," MacCready explained, meeting my eyes with his own, a serious expression on his face. "I'm a merc, a hired gun. It's simple; you point, and I shoot. It doesn't really matter who paid the caps for my fee. I've been hired to protect you, and I honor my contracts." He shrugged nonchalantly. "You can't be worse than any other boss I've had."
"Check and mate, Sunshine," chimed Hancock. "You're stuck with him, I'm afraid."
Outmatched, I nodded, sighing. As much as I didn't want to admit it, Hancock was right. I was completely out of my depth. I had been almost killed twice in less than twenty-four hours, and was woefully unprepared to step out of this room without some way to protect myself. MacCready seemed like a very bitter young man, but he also seemed competent.
"All right then." Hancock turned on his formidable charm to smooth things along. "So, let's get started with that Pip-Boy of yours. MacCready?"
MacCready set his rifle down on the table, speaking quietly. "Hancock told me a little. Unlike him, I've actually seen a Pip-Boy up close." He didn't elaborate further, but held out his hand. "May I?" His expression was neutral now, merely showing interest.
I held out my arm. He took it in his hands, examining the Pip-Boy closely, running his fingers gently along the silver piping, even twisting it to get a good look at the sealed intake casings where the vial and antenna were located. I couldn't help but notice his hands were coated in a light dusting of encrusted dirt. Muttering, almost to himself, he said, "Yeah, this isn't like anything I've ever seen before. The material is different, and it's sleeker than any Vault-dweller's Pip-Boy." He hmmmed thoughtfully as he peered closely at the wires in my arm, nose practically touching my skin, his breath tickling the back of my hand. All I could see was the top of his green cap. "That is definitely weird. I've never even heard of body attachments. Can you remove it?" I nodded, demonstrating. He pulled my forearm a bit closer, lightly tapping the pin receivers before releasing my arm completely. "Huh. I don't know." He looked up at me, blue eyes piercing, cradling the device in both hands. "You know how to use this thing?"
I shook my head. "Not really. I poked at it a bit, but the instruction manual is back... home."
He nodded, thinking. "All right. Let's see what I can remember. It's been a while."
To Hancock's fascination, Fahrenheit's feigned disinterest, and my undivided attention, MacCready showed me what he knew about the mechanism. He demonstrated the built-in flashlight, told me about the internal Geiger counter and pointed to the dial showing my personal radiation level, ("out here, that's super important," he stressed), extended the wire attachment on the back ("I think this helps you hack into computers, but I'm not great with electronics") and went over each screen in detail. "They're pretty self-explanatory, actually," he commented in a slightly condescending tone. To my surprise, the "MAP" page now had a small building-shaped icon labeled "Goodneighbor" underlying the arrow in the center of the screen. ("Wow, you really haven't been anywhere, have you?") He flicked back to the blank page. "I have to admit, this 'INV' screen has me stumped. It usually stands for 'Inventory,' but now I'm not sure..." he trailed off. Giving a one-shouldered shrug, he handed the Pip-Boy back to me. "I guess we'll figure it out later. I'd keep it attached, though. The fact it links directly into your body is probably significant."
Once I replaced the device on my arm with the accompanying electrical pulse of activation, Hancock spoke up. "So, you don't know how ya got here." I shook my head sadly. "Can you at least tell us where you're from? We didn't get that far yesterday" he explained to MacCready, who leaned back into the cushions, crossing his arms.
"P-Pennsylvania." At the sharp bark of laughter from both Fahrenheit and MacCready, I turned to meet Hancock's widened black eyes. "What?"
"Oh, Sunshine, you're funny." He gave me an odd grin. "Darlin' there ain't a 'Pennsylvania' anymore," came the rasped comment. He took another drag from his inhaler, tossing it to the floor behind the couch. "Hasn't been since the bombs dropped 200 years ago."
"What?!" I felt the shock hit my system. "B-but... no, no, I live there, I swear it!" I pressed my face into my hands, snatching the glasses off my nose first. "I wish I could prove it. Wait!" I dug frantically in my pocket for my wallet. "Here!" My drivers license landed on the table.
Hancock took up the small plastic card, scrutinizing it before passing it to Fahrenheit, who glanced at it before almost immediately flipping it across the way to MacCready. MacCready peered at the license, twirling it deftly in his fingers in an almost fidgety gesture. Hancock shook his head tolerantly. "I already believed you. If you were makin' this up, it wouldn't be so farfetched. And you seem sincere. But this doesn't tell us how you got here."
"I don't know. It was just a bright blur." I sighed again. At least my emotions were more controlled today. Hancock and Fahrenheit had been more than patient with my panicked state yesterday, but I didn't want to push their generous hospitality with another breakdown. "I wish there was some way you could look into my head...see what I saw." All three of the others suddenly sat upright, staring at each other, then at me. "What? What did I say?"
"The Memory Den?" hazarded MacCready, looking at Hancock.
"Good idea," agreed the Ghoul, "but you'll have to pay for it. I'm runnin' low on caps here." I looked back and forth between the two men as they discussed this, no idea what they were talking about.
"What do you mean? You had plenty." retorted the sniper.
"Yeah, I did, until we got to your bar tab." The raspy tenor voice held a mixture of disgust and admiration. "How are you not a raging alcoholic?"
"Lots of practice," came the reply, a hint of amusement threading through the smooth baritone tones. I gave the young merc a closer look. He barely looked old enough to drink, at least in my world – Did I just think that? I am not in my own world anymore. - The barest lift of a smile teased one corner of his mouth; sarcastic, but a smile. "Can't you convince Irma to do you this one favor?"
"No can do. Irma's been here longer than I have, and she doesn't owe me...more the other way around, I'm afraid." A dreamy smile lit up Hancock's scarred face. "She's a real professional," he mused. "Which means she will want to be paid. That's on you." The last sentence was directed at me.
"What can I do?" I didn't know what they were talking about, but it sounded like there was an initial plan, or at least a vague direction. Hope flared.
"Nothing right now, but we'll change that right quick." The slender Ghoul stood up, inviting MacCready to join him. "You need to get geared up if you're going to earn enough caps to get anything done," he explained. "Irma may not owe me any favors, but just about everyone else here does. C'mon, MacCready, let's make a visit to KL-E-0 and Daisy, see what we can scrounge up for your charge." The couch creaked as MacCready stood up, retrieving his rifle and shouldering it with practiced ease. "Fahr, keep an eye on our friend here. We're going shopping!" The two men strode out of the room; Hancock with a jaunty step, MacCready pacing quietly in tow.