Delilah stirred, slowly rousing from a sleep so deep it felt like days had passed. The bed beneath her was softer and warmer than anything she could ever remember, making it hard to leave. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the unfamiliar room, and her heart jumped before she caught sight of her brother.
Altan sat at the edge of the bed, broad-backed and monolithic, his head hanging forward, chin resting on his chest. His posture was heavy, unmoving—he was still out cold.
“G’mornin’, bro,” she muttered, more out of habit than expectation of a reply. With a groan, she dragged herself out from under the covers, the chill of the room biting her skin as she shuffled toward the footlocker at the end of the bed.
She opened it and began rummaging through her gear, pulling out pieces one by one, laying them on the bed with quiet clinks and thuds. The routine settled her nerves, grounding her in the reality of the situation.
As she turned, her eyes landed on a mini fridge tucked beside a table in the corner of the room. The thought of cold water—or maybe even something better—crossed her mind. She paused, glancing back at Altan. He hadn’t moved a muscle, still slumped forward like a statue.
Her lips quirked into a mischievous grin as she moved toward the fridge, her steps light.
"I'm gonna have Nuka Cola for breakfast," she quietly sung, and cracked open the fridge. Sure enough, several glass bottles of fizzy cola goodness were nestled in there alongside other beverages of the adult variety. She avoided those, still remembering the sour taste and burn of the bourbon she'd snuck into on her tenth birthday.
Bottle in hand, she returned to the footlocker. Altan was still slumped over, and she paused for a moment, trying to figure out how best to wake him. "Altan?" Delilah called softly. No response. She grabbed his arm and shook it, a grin spreading across her face as he groaned in protest. "Come on, bro! Time to face the world."
"Lily," he mumbled groggily. "Shut up."
"Nope!" she chirped, climbing onto the bed and shaking him harder. He groaned, finally cracking his eyes open. "I'm up, I'm up. What time is it?"
She checked her Pip-Boy and grimaced. "A little after noon."
Altan nodded, stretching with a loud groan as he stood. Delilah winced at the sharp pops from his back and joints, loud enough to remind her of his rifle on full auto.
Satisfied with the stretch, Altan turned to her. "Alright. Let’s get moving. Restroom, shower, then food. Sound good?"
Delilah nodded, sliding off the bed. That’s when Altan noticed the sweating bottle of cola in her hand.
"Where'd you get that?"
Delilah flushed and quickly hid the bottle behind her back. "It was in the mini-fridge. I wasn't gonna have cola for breakfast, I swear!"
Altan chuckled. "Alright, alright. Put it back. We’ll have some later." Delilah’s eyes lit up as she returned the cola to the fridge. They rummaged through their packs for a change of clothes—another set of fatigues for Altan, and a sleeveless dress with her lab coat for Delilah.
A patrolling security officer pointed them in the right direction, and after completing their ablutions, they returned to the Upper Deck, clean, refreshed, and with gurgling stomachs.
"Go ahead and find us a seat," Altan told Delilah as they neared their hotel room. "I’m gonna grab our caps and join you."
Delilah nodded and darted off, humming happily as she went. Altan watched her go, shaking his head and smiling, before ducking into their room and rummaging around for his caps. Deciding to forgo his combat gear for the day, he slipped on his holster belt, securing his sidearms and medical kit, and tossed their caps purse up and down as he locked the door behind him.
"Gonna have to find some work while we’re here," Altan muttered to himself. "Maybe—" His hand brushed the grip of his laser pistol as he stepped into the hotel lobby, his thoughts interrupted by the chaos within.
"-and you're a creep! A pervert! A weirdo! Just you wait until my brother gets here, he's gonna kick your ass!" Delilah’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. She stood defiantly before a hulking, drunken man whose half-eaten lunch and empty liquor bottles lay scattered around him. He sputtered and slurred a reply, his face a blotchy mix of frustration and intoxication.
Behind her, Vera attempted to calm the situation, speaking in soft, placating tones. The other guests watched with a mix of amusement and disgust, the latter clearly aimed at the man.
One of Buckingham's eye-stalks perked up at Altan's arrival, and the bot floated over to the inebriated man, rotating so that its flamethrower arm was conveniently aimed in his direction. "Mr. Sister, sir, I believe you have overstayed your welcome. Please leave, or I shall have no choice but to summon security."
Delilah gasped when she heard the man's name. "Your name is Sister? Sister?” She snorted, crossing her arms. "No wonder you're such a creep." She took a step closer, her voice rising. "And guess what? You reek! When was the last time you took a bath—when it rained?!"
Her tirade was cut short by the sharp crack of a glass bottle hitting her face, thrown with drunken anger by the man she'd pushed too far.
In that instant, Altan, coiled with tension from the last few days, didn't hesitate. He raised his laser pistol and fired twice into Sister's chest, then once into his head. The man's body jerked with every impact, and he slumped lifelessly into his chair.
The lobby went quiet, save for Delilah’s pained cries. Altan stood motionless, his expression hard as the weight of what he’d just done settled over him.
He holstered the pistol with slow, deliberate movements. Altan’s gaze shifted to Delilah, seeing the blood trickling through her fingers as she clutched her forehead.
His voice was steady, though his eyes darkened with concern. “Lily, let me see it.”
She hesitated, then slowly lowered her hands, revealing a large bump swelling on her forehead where the bottle had struck her. There was a small trickle of blood, but the bruise was already starting to darken. Altan’s expression hardened as he kneeled in front of her, gently guiding her hands away from the injury. His fingers moved quickly over the bump, checking for any other signs of damage.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“You're fine, Lily,” he muttered, his voice calm but tense. He reached behind him, unzipping the medical kit on his belt with practiced ease. He pulled out a clean cloth and a small vial of antiseptic, his movements swift and sure. “This is gonna sting, but we need to stop the bleeding and keep the swelling down.”
Delilah winced as he dabbed the antiseptic on the bump, her eyes watering slightly. She bit her lip to stifle a cry, but Altan’s touch remained steady, firm yet gentle. He wrapped the cloth around her forehead to hold the swelling in place, securing it with a few quick knots.
“There,” he said quietly, his hands stilling as he checked the makeshift bandage. “That’ll hold for now. Just keep it on, alright? Get some ice on it, too.”
Delilah nodded, though she looked up at him with a mix of gratitude and discomfort. “Thanks…”
Altan didn’t respond right away, his gaze flicking toward the door. The muffled sound of approaching footsteps broke the tense silence, and the clatter of armor echoed through the lobby. “I'm gonna go with the guards when they arrive, okay?”
Rivet City security arrived before she could respond, their boots clanging against the floor as they entered, weapons at the ready. Altan stood, his eyes meeting Delilah’s one last time before turning to face the officers. "You're looking for me. Here.” He removed his belt, calmly surrendering it, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a heavy stone. He could feel Delilah’s gaze on him, but he didn’t allow himself to glance back. There was nothing more to say.
With a resigned sigh, Altan allowed himself to be led away. The walk was quiet, and before long, Altan found himself in a holding cell surrounded by drunks sleeping it off. The only sober occupant was a scantily clad young woman, probably a few years older than him. She ignored him at first, but eventually, curiosity and boredom got the best of her. She cleared her throat.
"So, uh, what are you in here for?"
Altan glanced over at her, his tone flat. "You first."
She frowned, paused for a moment, then grinned teasingly. "Prostitution." When Altan didn’t respond, she sighed and leaned back. "No, really. I’m a hooker. They charged me with that, but the truth is, I got caught banging the husband of some Upper Deck broad.”
Altan nodded, his voice steady. "I just killed a man."
The woman’s eyes widened, and he gave a faint, hollow chuckle. "He threw a bottle at my sister."
"That’s... a bit of an overreaction," she murmured, her tone softening.
"Maybe. But I’ve had a hell of a week—actually, two weeks. Lily—that’s my sister—is more important to me than anything else in this world. You’ll find me dead before I let anyone hurt her without consequences."
The woman fell silent, then raised her hands in a placating gesture. "Alright, alright. I get it." They sat quietly for a moment, and then she spoke again, her voice warmer now. "It’s kinda sweet, though." She smiled faintly. "I’m Mary. No last name."
Altan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Altan Cooke. Pleased to meet you, Mary."
Mary’s lips curved into a playful smile. "Well, aren’t you polite? If we get out of here, you should come find me in the lower decks. The Muddy Rudder’s where I hang out. I could show you a good time."
Altan let out a short laugh and pulled his shirt off. Mary’s eyes flicked to the shirt, then back to him, a surprised look flashing across her face. "Right here?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, I'm flattered, but—"
Altan cut her off, tossing the shirt her way. "Put that on. You’re indecent.”
Mary raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. She shrugged the shirt on and pulled her legs up underneath it, letting out a soft sigh of relief.
"Alright, alright, I hear you," she said with a smirk. "Guess you’ll just have to track me down if you want it back." Her grin softened a little, and she added more quietly, "But seriously... thanks. It gets a little nippy down here.”
Some time passed in silence until a stern-looking woman entered the brig, flanked by two guards. She addressed Mary first. "How many times must we have this conversation, Mary?" The younger woman flinched and lowered her gaze to the floor.
The stern woman continued, her tone laced with frustration. "You're skating on thin ice. Mrs. Harrington has a lot of influence—" She muttered something venomous under her breath, "-and even if her husband’s mostly to blame for seeking you out, you should’ve known better than to get involved with yet another married man." She paused, exhaling sharply. "You're free to go. But try to make smarter choices, alright? If I have to deal with this again, you’ll be off the ship. Understood?"
Mary’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to protest, but a stern look from the woman silenced her. "Yes, ma'am. I’m sorry, ma’am," she mumbled, her voice laced with shame.
The woman turned her gaze to Altan, her eyes unwavering. He met her stare without flinching. "And you," she continued, her voice firm. "I’m Chief Danvers, head of Rivet City Security. Earlier today, you shot and killed a man. Is that correct?"
Altan nodded. "You're missing some context, but yeah, that's the shape of it."
Danvers' expression hardened at his nonchalant tone. "Enlighten me, then. What context am I missing?"
Altan’s eyes darkened, his voice steady but edged with anger. "The bastard pissed off my little sister, then hit her in the head with a bottle after she gave him a piece of her mind. I reacted." He let the silence stretch before continuing, his tone turning more controlled. "Was it an overreaction? Maybe. But I’ve spent the last two weeks shooting, getting shot at, and barely holding it together. A day ago, a super mutant threw me into a car with a missile launcher and almost killed me. And then I get here, to this ‘bastion of law and order,’ and some jackass thinks it’s okay to throw a bottle at my sister for calling him out?" He paused, his breath coming heavier now, the tension in the air thick. He took a moment to compose himself, trying to rein in the fury simmering just beneath the surface.
“Two weeks of hell,” Altan muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Danvers. “Two weeks of keeping her safe, and this is what it comes to.” He exhaled sharply, meeting her gaze with quiet intensity. “Yeah, it was an overreaction. I’ll take full responsibility for my actions. But Lil—Delilah, my sister—she’s innocent in this. She’s a good girl, a hard worker, and smarter than anyone gives her credit for—even me. Especially me. Whatever punishment you have in mind for me, just leave her out of it.”
Danvers arched an eyebrow, then let out a sigh. “No need to be so melodramatic, Mr. Cooke. You’ve been cleared, thanks to witness accounts and, shall we say, extraneous circumstances. But make no mistake. You and your sister are on thin ice.” She paused, her gaze sharpening as she met his eyes. “I expect nothing less than the best behavior from you both going forward.”
Altan blinked in surprise, but before he could respond, Danvers leaned in, fixing him with a stern glare. “You may not understand the uniqueness of your situation, Mr. Cooke, but if your target had been anyone else on this ship, you'd be floating facedown in the Potomac by now. We do not tolerate murderers on this vessel. Do you understand?”
Altan nodded, and Danvers continued. "Good. Keep your head down, and we should have no further issues. Now, Corporal," she motioned toward the holding cell door, and the guard to her right stepped forward, unlocking it with an ancient, blocky key.
Altan stepped out, followed closely by Mary. As they were escorted through the brig, Mary spoke up quietly. "Hey, uh... you mind if I come with you?"
Altan glanced back at her, noticing the way she wrung her hands. A smirk tugged at his lips. "That eager to give me my shirt back, huh?"
She flushed, averting her eyes. "Maybe. But, seriously. I’ve got a bit of a... reputation on this boat. You seem like an alright guy, and it'd be nice to hang out with someone who doesn’t expect anything from me."
"And how do you know I don’t?"
She paused, meeting his gaze. "I’ve been doing this since I was fourteen. Trust me, I know. And honestly? I’m not looking for anything complicated. Just someone to talk to for once."
Altan blanched, "Fourteen? Shit."
She smiled softly, voice quiet. "Yeah. Wasteland doesn’t care how old you are. You learn quick how to survive."
Altan went quiet, then nodded. "Alright. You got anything else to wear, though? I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea, least of all Lily. I’d never hear the end of it."
Mary laughed, her demeanor lightening. "Don’t worry. I’ve got that covered. C'mon, I'll show you where my room is.”