Soft ringing shone in the dwindling twilight as gusts of salted wind, like short sustained breaths, passed through the rust covered chimes that hung and rocked lazily over the porch of the moldering house. Footsteps on rotting wood were the steady rhythmic bass line. Blood soaked the oil stained rag as it was dragged along the razor edge of the knife. A man tossed the furthered stain cloth square to the side as he pushed through the swaying screen door of the old world ruins to the porch. He stopped for a moment, listening to the choir of chimes singing as a unified chromatic cacophony that somehow created a song pleasurable to the ear and mind. He sheathed his knife and looked out into the dimness, his eyes adjusting to the fading and yet strangely growing brightness. Angry flickering of tongues of heat and light called out to him swelling his curiosity. He stepped over the splintered steps and sunk into the damp earth that follows a heavy rash of rain. Chimes yearned for him to come back with their rusted beautiful voices. Flicking clumps of wet dirt into the air, he walked over to the twisted metal structures of the destroyed verti-carrier searching for his new but temporary quarries. He found the first face down in the enveloping mud near a chair with torn straps and a flung off helmet. Clumps of hair and bloodied follicles were still visibly dangling from where they were caught when the helmet was violently ripped off. He looked back and investigated the body. Its jumpsuit was singed in several places from fire that had been extinguished into a twirling spiral of smoke by the rain and ragged blood stained holes pockmarked its upper back from red hot shrapnel. Grasping its shoulder he flipped the lifeless shell onto its back. The arms and head lulled over to reveal the extent of the violence done. It was in tatters on the front more so than the back. Fragments of glass and steel carved canyons into the young face and body, leaving a grimace of horror as its final portrait. Its eyes were still open, the glassy blue irises mere rings around the black center. He flicked them closed with a gentle passing gesture of peace before tearing open the collar of the suit. He grasped the dog-tag that hung around its neck and shattered the clasp with a quick jerk of his arm. He poured over the laser carved inscription on the recently relieved steel plates: ENGINEER CONLEY, ELLIOT. He opened up the stitched-on pouch on his right thigh and placed the dog-tag within. He was aware of how these groups operate in the field and kept searching for the other three member of Conley’s fire team. The next bodies were found dozens of yards away. The first was older than the last. War was etched on its hardened face. The metal plating fastened to the exoskeleton it wore was melted, dinged, scratched, and punctured. All of the damage was recent as the rest of the unmarked plating was polished to a high sheen and the blood that had been dammed within had congealed. He took out his knife severing the veins and arteries of the exoskeleton, spilling forth the neon blue hydraulic fluid upon the already moisture-laden earth. He drew out another rag from his backpack and cleaned the blade once more. Sheathing the blade and dropping the small square of soiled checkered shirt fabric, he wrenched up the part of the exoskeleton that protected the collarbone, the metal groaning and cracking with the strain. Once more he yanked off the dog-tag around the neck. It read: KNIGHT ALONSO, GRIFF. He put Griff, who he assumed must have been the leader due to his apparent age and how he kept his armor polished, with Elliot in the pouch on his right thigh. The second was closer to the partially collapsed store. It was pierced in several places, shards of wooden shelving jutting out from the corpse black with dried blood. Its face was covered with comparable fresh bruises and its hair matted with blood. Its rifle was on the opposite side of the room, most likely thrown from its grip in a scuffle with the feral mutants that the man and his partner killed just moments before finding their scattered remains. He walked over tearing open its collar and removing the dog-tags with force. As he walked back out into the street, he read the inscription: TRAINEE FOLKEN, ALLISON. He slipped Allison into the pouch on his right thigh with Griff and Elliot. He looked around the wreckage, weaving through fractured blades and scraps of structure, until he reached the far side of the road and the muddy field beyond with brown dead knee high grass. A small separation in the grass a distance from the road stood out to him as odd. He took the laser rifle from the sling on his back and waded out into the sea of irradiated green-brown vegetation. A short distance from the fractured asphalt ribbon he found the fourth body face down and at the end of a large skid mark. It had tried to run from the battle and met its end with a bullet to the back. The ragged hole had congealed but not yet dried completely; the last to die. He reached down and undid the clasp before drawing out the mud and blood caked dog tags. Wiping them on his sleeve, he read aloud, 'TRAINEE XAVIER, HAROLD what a droll first name compared to the others'. He slid Harold into the pouch on his right thigh with Griff, Allison, and Elliot. He waded back out of the field and to her. She had been stripping the dead of both sides for anything of value: a watch, a sawed off stock-less rifle, some fifty caliber bullets (a rarity these days), a couple handfuls of energy cells, four well used laser rifles which they would return to the commander of the four dead soldiers, (surprisingly) a fragmentation grenade, and exactly one hundred and eight three coins (luckily many of them were smaller copper pieces).
'Ryan.'
'Yeah.'
'Toss me your bag.'
He tossed it to her from across the road. She caught it with deftness and began to put the laser rifles in his bag and the rest of the scavenged gear in hers. By the time she was done sorting it, he had returned to her side. She shoved the bag into his open arms and began to walk.
'It's going to rain soon.'
'I know. Those clouds look awfully dark.'
'Thunder and lightning maybe?'
'We aren’t that lucky', Ryan mulled, 'but if it does, maybe we won’t have to keep watch.'
'You’re right. It won’t.'
'Definitely rain.'
'Torrential. We should find shelter.'
He looked down at his wrist mounted computer and pulled up the map of the area. 'There’s a church not too far from here.'
'Could be muties inside.'
'We cleared it out last month, remember? for the Culver job. That fuckin' place with the muties in their tattered dresses and suits?'
'As if they were stuck there in church all these years?' She let out a hearty laugh. 'I can’t believe we get to go back there, the fun we had.'
'Just…let’s not sleep in the basement. I don’t want those memories haunting me.'
'Prude.'
'Bitch.'
'I’ll take first watch then.'
'Cool. I’ve always wanted to see the sun rise.'
Their chosen destination was not too far from where they found the wreckage but as soon as they started it began to rain. The storm built as they ran for cover. The harsh loud pounding of streams of rain funneling into a hollowed church was a din that kept him awake even though the heavy wood door was closed. A knock. 'Come in.'
'Can’t sleep?'
'Not with that racket. Shit could wake the dead.'
'Yea, well, at least we didn’t get caught out in that.'
He sat up from the dirty and aged bed that most likely belonged to the long dead priest. He had decided to sleep in his leather clothing as uncomfortable as they are and was now sure that it was a terrible idea as he felt tense and knotted from his restless sleep. 'That’s some much needed luck.'
'Maybe, but even if this places wasn’t so close, we could have slept in that house or the store.'
'That close to a mutant nest? No thank you. That’s precisely how you get killed and eaten. Or worse, eaten.'
She let out a slight breathless chuckle. 'You’re probably right, Orion.'
'Aren’t I always, Andromeda?'
They both sat in the din of the crashing waterfall of rain and the dim of the candle lit room. She had found some candles near the altar when they got there and used them in the backroom to provide some light in the windowless cell. He sat there lost in thought until she spoke up.
'So why’d you collect those dog tags?'
'What?'
'The dog tags. Why? Aren’t they are just useless pieces of metal.'
'Yes, but they mean something to someone.'
'What are you going to do with them then?'
'Take them back with those laser rifles to the Castle. See that their families or friends get them back or something?'
'Is there money in that? Like, did the Knights put out a bounty on their return?'
'No.'
'Then why waste the fuckin’ effort?'
'Atonement.'
'Atonement? What the fuck is that? Some shit you read in a book?'
'It’s like, Atonement is like trying to right the wrongs in my life. Or some shit like that.'
'What wrongs are you trying to right?'
'Seriously, you have to fucking ask?'
'Yeah, I do! Our lives have been pretty awesome as of late.'
'Well, since you are pretty much blind to reality, I’ll spell it out. I regret everything we did. I regret being called the Flesh Ripper. I regret the torching of settlements and robbing the poor and rich alike and the wanton murder and the enslavement of our fellow man!'
'Bullshit, you fucking enjoyed every moment of that. Hell, you suggested that we do that in the first place.'
'I never said I didn’t enjoy it, I mean look what we do now? We go around killing the most fucked up of the fucked up and making money off of their heads. And yes, I know I wanted to do all that shit, but it doesn’t mean I can’t regret it.'
'What made you regret it?'
'I can see them all. The innocents, the not-so innocents, every life that I have taken harmed or fucked up in some way. I close my eyes and I see them.'
'Shit, Orion. I didn’t know.'
'Its fine. I just make it a point to never forget them.'
'Then why the kleptomania?'
'It’s not kleptomania.'
'Sure seems like it, taking useless objects out of some compulsion.'
'Its not a compulsion either. Fuck, it sounds ridiculous, but I made it my mission to do something good in life and I’m always around death. So I decided that the least I could do is bring some closure or something to others.'
'I still don’t understand, but hey, whatever.'
There was a long pause between them. 'Do you regret anything?'
'Yea, getting out while the going was good.' She rested herself against the stone wall with her arms behind her head and her new assault rifle on her lap.
'Be serious.' He removed his leather jacket and laid back down. The air chilled his sweat dampened shirt.
'I am, we were on the verge of making so much fucking money! We had the Bertoia heist all planned out and the gear was coming in.'
'But the gang was falling apart. Shit, even Edgar was thinking twice about going that route instead of the usual raiding.'
'Yeah, but our leaving didn’t do them wonders either.'
'Made shit worse, but I couldn’t stand it.'
'Yea, not after seeing them.'
'So young.'
'Younger than we were.'
'I don’t know why they even lined them up.'
'Eddy wanted to take stock. He always does that.'
'I know, but I could tell from looking that they weren’t sick.'
'Then maybe he was being merciful.'
'I wouldn't call being mowed down by machine guns merciful. He fucking massacred them. Laughed the entire fucking time. I nearly threw up.'
'He laughed?'
'Yeah.'
'Makes sense why you wanted to take this job so badly.'
'I can’t wait to see him again.'
Andromeda’s wrist computer beeped repeatedly. 'My watch is up. Your turn.'
'Sweet.' Orion stretched as he got up. He slid back on his jacket and struggled with putting on his armor plating. Andromeda got to her feet and walked over to help him with it. Orion acknowledged her aid without a word. He grabbed his back holster with the laser rifle still slung in it and strapped it on. As he walked out he turned around and saw Andromeda undressing. He lingered for a bit too long and Andromeda turned and caught his eye.
'Pervert.' She laughed as she continued.
'Whatever,' he turned away and left with a chuckle.
The machete carved their prize apart with a sickening and wet thwack. Orion was glad that they had filled Edgar the Terrible with bullets. It had drained him of most of his blood. Decapitation was messy work as it is but the lack of blood simplified it. Andromeda grabbed the disembodied head by the hair, wrapping tendrils of grease and blood laden hair around her fingers and wrist to prevent it from falling. Orion let the gore coated blade slide to the floor as he pulled at the knot of rope that secured the blue and white cooler to his backpack and waist. He slid open the top and with a gloved hand cleared out the chilled container of ice and water. Andromeda laid the head to rest inside.
'Man, that bastard just wouldn’t die, would he?'
'I’m down three cells. What does that say?' Orion picked up his machete and wiped it clean with three square cloth rags, which he tossed on the ground.
'Three? You’ve got some shit aim then ‘cuz there are like no burn marks on ‘im.' She gestured over to the stiffening body.
'Says the woman who nearly shot him in the face accidently AND wasted six clips on him.'
'What can is say? Bigsby just eats ammo, Rion.' She hefted the assault rifle onto her shoulder.
'You named it?'
'He’s a good gun! Ain’t cha!' She kissed the gun.
'Ugh. We ought to go.'
'Don’t want Eddy to spoil.'
'Fucker was already rotten to the core. But I mean any more of his raiders. Who knows how many are out in the wild.'
'Even back in the day, he was rotten. You're right, though.'
The two walked out from the basement of the mansion upon a wooded hill. They passed their handiwork as they left: piles of disintegrated bodies; shredded remains of the bodies, victims to a fierce barrage of automatic fire from Bigsby; and, bludgeoned and carved raiders who lived enough to feel the rage of the ex-raider duo. Andromeda stopped just outside of the shattered front door which had been slightly rotted but still solid until she kicked through it and drew out her knife. In a flash of dexterity, she slashed the image of a skull with ‘x’s for eyes into the wood paneling of the building. This was her way of keeping their past alive, her compulsion, Orion thought, just as I collect things to return to loved ones or friends to atone for his transgressions. With a flip, she shoved her blade into its sheath. The rain of the morning had stopped and the bright yellow grey sun began to kiss the flat horizon through a parting in the clouds.
'So, dis is ‘im?'
'Yes, Mister Stockton, that is the head of Edgar the Terrible.'
'Naht that I don’t trust ya, I do, but I’ve only ever seen ‘im frum a distance. Lemme get Thomas. The older gentleman reeled back, his hand in a cone next to his mouth. Thomas!'
Orion was impressed by the boisterousness that the old man could muster.
'Whas the matta, Mayar Stockton?'
'Need ya to identify the identity of Edgar the Terrible.'
The man named Thomas was a large and oaf-like man with skin baked by long hours in the sun. He had no bottom lip, just an angry looking scar, and three fingers on his left hand. As he looked in the cooler, the man’s eyes widened and he spat through a satisfied grin.
'Dats ‘im. Never forgot ‘is face.'
'Thank ya, Thomas. Could ya do somethin’ for me?'
'Anythin’.'
'Put ‘is head on a spike an’ display ‘im on the west tower.'
'With pleasa!' Thomas grabbed the head of the dead raider and sprinted off.
'So how about our reward, Stockton?'
'Righ’, fifteen was it? Each?'
'Yes, Mister Stockton, thirty thousand total.'
'Money well earned, 'Rion.' The gentleman straightened his tie and wandered off to the backroom of the building. After several minutes he returned with two wooden boxes stacked upon each other. He set them down with shaking hands and struggled to move the top box next to the other. He took out a ring of keys, fumbling with them until he grabbed several small bronze keys. He tried each one on the locks affixed to the boxes. Eventually he got the locks off, tossing them to the side with a clatter. Inside were a hundred stacks of a hundred and fifty coins, each uniform stack made up of various coins. They shook the gentleman’s hand and hefted the boxes off of the counter.
It was dark by the time they left Stockton’s store. Makeshift streetlights, which were just old oil lamps set into concrete holders poured into holes in the ground, illuminated the rough but well-traveled dirt streets. Their house was a short uneventful walk from Stockton’s along the main pathways of the junk walled city. It was a simple home though set upon the crest of a small but prominent hill. A seat of power that once belonged to the mayor of the city, Orion had won the deed in a betting game that was rigged in favor of the mayor. Andromeda may have had a hand in his victory over the notorious cheat but she always denied that she did. All he knew was the dealer’s voice was octave higher. Orion unlocked the door and Andromeda busted through, sending the inner door handle slamming into the corrugated metal wall. Andromeda shrugged off his judgmental glare as she disappeared farther inside. The interior was warm and well-furnished despite its humble and worn down exterior. They had spent a small fortune on making their home presentable as well as creating false panels and flooring to hide their gear and treasure . A few steps inside, Orion just dropped the wooden box to the ground with a crack of wood hitting wood and the sharp jingling of jostled coins. He shrugged off his backpack and cooler and placed them by the door. His laser rifle and its holster were tossed onto the nearest couch. Crouching low he picked the box back up and crab walked over to the far end of the rug. He kicked back the corner to reveal a removable section of wood flooring. Resting the box on the floor he pulled up the planks to uncover a fifty gallon drum buried to just below the rim. Inside was a load of coins halfway to the top. Orion kicked the lid on the box open and dumped the fifteen thousand pieces of reward into it. The crash was deafening. Once emptied, he tossed the box across the room before scooping up handfuls of coins and placing them into his purse. He covered his horde back up and went to clean the cooler. With a box of white cleaning powder in hand, he filled up a bucket with dirty water from the pump outside. The already brown water was tinged a sickly red as he scrubbed the dried blood and viscera out. A shadow blocked the light from the open doorway to the house.
'I’m working here.'
'I can see. You headed out tonight.'
Orion looked over at Andromeda. She had changed into loose fitting clothes and let her hair down. 'Maybe, it could wait until tomorrow.'
'But it won’t.'
'Why do you say that?'
'You only clean the cooler out immediately if you won’t be around in the morning to do it.'
Orion chuckled, 'you know me too well.'
'Go to bed, it can wait.'
'No, it can’t.'
Andromeda sighed. 'This mission of yours will get you killed one day.'
'The job will get me killed one day.'
'Everything will kill you one day.'
He laughed. 'Life is like that.'
'Come to bed.'
'Sorry.' He splashed the putrid liquid onto the dead grass.
It glistened in the moonlight.