John stayed low, moving quick and quiet. He picked out good cover and firing positions as he went. Squelch broke twice, Acheron stood ready to engage. John crawled on his belly to the edge, peering down the steep slope.

The stink of a gasoline fed barbecue wafted from behind the house. A raider in a blood stained, pink apron manning the grill. Jeering and cruel laughter brought his eyes to a large group, gathered around something. He moved to get a better look, knowing the sadistic nature of the human shaped animals.

A group gathered in what would have been the garden of a large house. John grew more anxious with every yell and cheer. He pulled himself up a tree to get a better look. He saw the raiders gathered around a concrete lined hole in the ground. At the bottom lay the source of the entertainment.

A pale radscorpion, the size of a car wheel, hissed and clacked. Its opponent, a wolf like dog, not even fully grown. John felt his grip on the branch tighten as he zoomed in.

The radscorpion skittered at the pup, snipping at its face and ears. The pup bared its fangs, trying to scratch at the carapace. A sharp yelp amused the raiders as the pincers clipped the tip of the dog’s ear clean off. The dog bit off a pincer in return, leaving its side exposed. The curved barb jabbed, piercing the dog’s side. The pup sank its fangs into the segmented tail, shaking until it ripped free. The radscorpion bucked and scrambled, getting nowhere on the curved concrete.

A cheer went up as the radscorpion oozed viscous slime and stopped moving. The sadistic joy faded quickly as the dog slumped to the ground. The branch broke in John’s hand.

Screeching mole rats took their turn in the pit. John moved to follow the raider that retrieved the pup. He was heading for the barbecue.

John felt an uncommon rage. He knew he had to wait. He didn’t.

John skidded down the steep embankment, staying low till he reached the side of the house. He drew his pistol, screwing on the suppressor. He stopped at the corner, so close he could hear them.

“Too bad, he was a fighter.” One sneered.

“Yeah, well he’s dog meat now.” The raider in the apron lifted a cleaver over the barely alive pup. John pressed the suppressor to the back of his head. He left it there just long enough to register, then squeezed the trigger.

He advanced on the second stunned and spattered raider. John put his arm across his throat, pinning him to the wall while pumping rounds into his chest.

John turned, pushing his back against the dead weight as he reloaded. The savage entertainment kept the others busy. He glanced round, seeing the pup still breathing. Thinking on his feet, John let the second body down easy and kicked over a fuel can. He scooped up the dog and kicked over the barbecue, sprinting as the gasoline pooled.

“Rosie, I need medical assistance.” John got back to his position as the raiders tried to save their ill gotten loot from the burning house.

“Are you hit?!” She sounded panicked.

“No...it’s a dog. A radscorpion got at it.” He started to dress the wounds as best he could. “Please Rosie.” John could feel himself lose his composure.

“Wait one.” Rosie sounded displeased.

“Go for Whirlwind.” Charlie broke in over the comm.

“I got a forty pound dog stuck by a radscorpion, please advise?” John could see the dog’s breathing slowing.

“What colour was the radscorpion?” Charlie’s question threw him.

“White, small too.” He taped up the dog’s ear.

“That’s good, venom glands aren’t fully developed. Can you start a fire?” She asked.

“...Yeah.” John looked over his shoulder at the inferno claiming one wall of the house.

“Crush up some charcoal, mix it in water. Get him to drink as much as you can, then keep him warm.” Charlie had a hint of hope in her voice. He got the sense it was his benefit.

“Solid copy. Thanks, out.”

“We’re a go.” Rosie came over the comm. John wrapped the dog in his coat and lay prone, his rifle aimed.

“Ronin, go.” John let rip a tight burst of fire from his assault rifle, dropping two as they coughed and wheezed.

“Acheron, go.” The distinctive crack rang out, picking out head shots in chaos.

Between the fire coming in from all angles, the flame and shifting smoke, the raiders fired in all directions. All except one, not that it would have done them any good.

Styx burst through the smoke in his armour as if appearing from nowhere. Rosie leapt from his back. Sword in one hand, pistol in the other. Her duster flared as she span, slicing limbs and silencing screams with point blank shots.

Rapid fire pinged across the power armour. Styx threw the broken body from his grasp and turned on his foolish attacker. He grabbed the terrified raider, lifting him off the ground. The back of his head burst open as Acheron put a bullet through it. “That still counts as mine!” Styx roared, laughing as the final few raiders started to run.

“They’re mine.” Rosie cast the blood from her sword with a deft flick of the wrist. She took two steps before slipping into the dreamlike state.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

In the blink of an eye, Rosie streaked past the fleeing raiders. Dust and smoke trailing in her wake. One of the three dropped, blood tipping from his neck like water from a bucket. His head rolled past her as she turned back. One of them pulled a pistol and fired. Rosie twirled round the bullet and took his arm. He dropped to his knees, screaming.

“You cut off my arm bitch!” He screamed through gritted, rotten teeth. Rosie walked past him. The tip of her blade aimed at the last raider, lying on the ground.

“What do you want?!” The last raider pleaded, trying to push himself backwards on his hands and heels.

“To talk.” Rosie replied casually. The other raider spoke up.

“We’re not talk—” Rosie spun and took his head off, letting it fall by his arm.

With the threat handled, John kicked over a barrel used as a campfire. He grabbed a charred piece of wood and bolted up the slope. He found the pup still breathing. He crushed the wood into powder in his fist and mixed it in his water canteen. To his surprise and delight, the pup lapped at the water in his cupped hand. “They were about one thing, you are a fighter.”

John carried the dog down in his coat. He avoided the now fully engulfed house, finding the raider tied to a chair. Rosie scowled, Styx laughed, Acheron gave him a tub of homemade salve. Then the attention turned back to the raider.

The chair sat on the very edge of the concrete lined hole. Rabid mole rats getting a taste for raider by feeding on a body Styx tossed in.

“What happened to the traders?” Rosie asked calmly.

“Traded ‘em.” The raider sneered, amusing only himself.

“Details.” Rosie prodded her scabbard into his shoulder, tilting him back.

“Three days ago. Gutter took ‘em south, came back with a sackful of chems the next day.” The buck toothed creatures jumped and gnashed. “That’s all I know!” He pleaded, too terrified to move. Rosie eased the chair down.

“Why not head to The Grand? It’s a few hours from here.” Rosie asked a considered question.

“Management blacklisted us. Besides, Jones pays double the price in chems.” The raider’s remark made everyone tense up. Apart from Rosie. She calmly walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Where’s Jones?!” She yelled, holding the chair lower than before.

“I don’t know! I never met him!” He thrashed and screamed, frenzied mole rats nipping at his head. She held him there, demanding an answer he couldn’t give. “Please! You said you’d let me go!” The raider begged. No one had any sympathy for those who preyed on travellers on the road. Least of all Rosie.

“You’re right, I did.” Rosie released her grip. The chair tilted back agonisingly slowly, dropping the raider into the pit. Wood and bone broke on impact. His screams were soon replaced with the sound of chewing.

“That was a nice touch.” Styx complemented Rosie as they walked back to the road, offering a mechanised fist for her to bump.

“Thanks. I’ve never seen anyone in armour move that well.” Rosie bumped fists, returning a compliment.

“Hey.” John took exception, although his focus stayed on the dog, wrapped in a blanket slung over one shoulder.

“Where is your armour again?” Rosie needled him, knowing the answer.

“Deathclaw ate it.” John kept walking with Rosie as Styx stopped. “Well tried to eat it, then we dropped a dozen drums of napalm on it. Sara’s got me a new one.”

Back on the road, they divided up the raider’s loot. Hoping the packs might bring closure to some. Trying not to think about the fate of their owners. Styx hopped out of his armour and started propping up the bodies he’d dragged along. Four in total, all of them missing something. He took a sharpened screwdriver from the waistband of a legless body then pushed it through one of their business cards. With one swift blow, Styx drove it into the torso.

“Too subtle?” Styx asked as he hopped back in his armour. “Almost forgot.” He stomped back over to the grizzly warning sign and crouched on one knee. An audible wet, popping crunch sounded as the mechanised hands closed over the two remaining heads.

The rest of the journey passed without incident. John gave the pup more water laced with charcoal and slathered on the stinking green salve. Above all he tried not to get his hopes up.

“We got this from here, get that one home.” Acheron patted the dog gently, forcing a smile for John’s benefit.

“Thanks Brother.” He and Rosie said goodbye and cut through the woods to the Rest.

He burst through the door, Rosie still catching up. John got the fire going, dragging his armchair closer to the hearth. He laid the pup on his lap, still breathing and unconscious.

Rosie strolled in, still savouring the day's events. “Are you hungry?” She asked, laying her gear on the table.

“Yeah, I could eat.” John sat back and watched as Rosie set a pan going, meat sizzling away. She poured a pair of large whiskeys into mugs and brought them over. She took a long glance at the dog, John knew the look. The look she had when operating the system in her eyes. Rosie gently stroked the dog, but didn’t say anything. John didn’t ask.

“Cheers.” She clinked his mug and took a gulp of hers. Rosie sat cross legged by the fire, cleaning her sword. “You did good today. Solid plan, thinking on your feet, taking charge. I’d follow your orders.” She smiled. “If I didn’t outrank you.”

“I had a good teacher.” John deflected, he’d acted on instinct. A scratching at the door preceded a gentle knock. “Yeah?” He called out. The door opened and the resident wolf like dog rushed in, sniffing and licking the pup.

“Sorry John, dog wanted in…” Robco saw why. “Bringing home strays from the road is a bad habit.” He got a laugh from John, covering his worried look. “What happened?”

“Raiders had him fighting for sport.” His anger left the moment they weren’t a threat, a troubling sense of what could drive such cruelty in its place.

“You get them?” Robco asked with a knowing grin.

“Yeah.” Rosie sheathed her clean sword with a pleasing clack. “Who wants a sandwich?”

They ate and she went to bed. John lied and said he’d be in soon.

Something woke him before six, licking at his face. John stirred, muscles stiff and stinking. Then he saw what woke him. The pup, weak but awake and alert. He took him outside, although he guessed from the smell it was too late anyway. He didn’t mind.

The pup took a few steps on shaky legs, cowering under John’s chair as someone approached. “Morning John.” Grimm appeared on his first lap for the morning. “Who’s this?” Grimm knelt, extending a hand for the dog to sniff. Luring it out with gentle scratches.

“He doesn't have a name yet.” John thought it easier if the pup didn’t make it through the night.

“Dog needs a name John.” Grimm stated the obvious.

“What about Dogmeat?” John thought Grimm might yell at him.

“That’s the worst name for a dog I’ve ever heard.” Rosie stepped out, following Grimm’s lead with the dog. It brought a smile to her face, mostly from relief.

“What about Fenris.” Grimm used a word neither of them knew. “The great wolf destined to kill Odin come Ragnarok.”

“I like it.” John patted his thigh, repeating the new name in a soft voice. The dog responded. He walked slowly, curling up on top of John's feet.

"You ready?" Grimm asked Rosie, keen to get back to his routine. "Yeah, I..." Rosie paused mid step. John saw the look and knew. "Solid copy, inbound." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Brandon needs us. X-ray is a go."