Pvt. Abner (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
remnantrecruit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ravenrock2020-05-22 07:37 pm
remnantrecruit) wrote in ravenrock2020-05-22 07:37 pm
(no subject)
Time & Place: A.) Washington D.C., 2274 | B.) Enclave-controlled Detroit, 228X
Description: A.) Bellamy and Abner’s first mission together | B.) The Gang Solves A Murder
Content: It’s Fallout, you know the drill
A.) Introductions
This is a retrieval mission. One of our own, a traitor to the cause. You'll be accompanying Agent Rook. He has the details, along with a photograph of the target. Your duty is to assist with the retrieval and protect your superior from any harm in the process. You'll be meeting him outside the main gate at 0600 tomorrow. Do you understand? Good boy.
It was a quarter to six when Abner took his position by the gate, folding his arms tightly over his chest. February was fucking cold, and his civilian disguise didn't offer much in the way of insulation. At least they'd given him a scarf—as much to hide the shock collar as anything else, but it kept his face warm. He pulled it up to cover his nose as he scanned the area.
There. Someone else was emerging from the bunker. Smaller than him, almost child-sized. Was that supposed to be his superior? He stood at attention as the figure approached, just in case.
- - -
B.) Whodunnit
Abner remembered in flashes. Blood. Bruised knuckles. The sight of someone’s face being pummeled into a wall, over and over until it looked more like a crushed melon than a human head. And before that—a whisper in his ear, a voice he didn’t recognize, saying words they weren’t supposed to know.
Do you remember your training?
So yeah, he’d definitely killed someone. That wasn’t the important part. The important part was that he hadn’t done it alone. Someone, somewhere, had the controls to his brain. And that was blatant misuse of Enclave property.
He’d turned himself in immediately, of course. Fully cooperative. Now all that was left was to sit patiently in the interrogation room, hands folded on the cold metal table in front of him, waiting for the detective to ask his questions.
Description: A.) Bellamy and Abner’s first mission together | B.) The Gang Solves A Murder
Content: It’s Fallout, you know the drill
A.) Introductions
This is a retrieval mission. One of our own, a traitor to the cause. You'll be accompanying Agent Rook. He has the details, along with a photograph of the target. Your duty is to assist with the retrieval and protect your superior from any harm in the process. You'll be meeting him outside the main gate at 0600 tomorrow. Do you understand? Good boy.
It was a quarter to six when Abner took his position by the gate, folding his arms tightly over his chest. February was fucking cold, and his civilian disguise didn't offer much in the way of insulation. At least they'd given him a scarf—as much to hide the shock collar as anything else, but it kept his face warm. He pulled it up to cover his nose as he scanned the area.
There. Someone else was emerging from the bunker. Smaller than him, almost child-sized. Was that supposed to be his superior? He stood at attention as the figure approached, just in case.
- - -
B.) Whodunnit
Abner remembered in flashes. Blood. Bruised knuckles. The sight of someone’s face being pummeled into a wall, over and over until it looked more like a crushed melon than a human head. And before that—a whisper in his ear, a voice he didn’t recognize, saying words they weren’t supposed to know.
Do you remember your training?
So yeah, he’d definitely killed someone. That wasn’t the important part. The important part was that he hadn’t done it alone. Someone, somewhere, had the controls to his brain. And that was blatant misuse of Enclave property.
He’d turned himself in immediately, of course. Fully cooperative. Now all that was left was to sit patiently in the interrogation room, hands folded on the cold metal table in front of him, waiting for the detective to ask his questions.
no subject
With that—and with no acknowledgement of the misplaced plural—he folded his legs and pulled the tray of food into his lap. The novelty of getting people food on a regular basis hadn’t worn off yet, but he tried to pace himself this time, trusting Anderson not to take it away from him. Still hot. He’d miss it when he went back to IVs and raw meat, but he knew that was all he deserved.
He slid the empty tray back across the floor when he was done, wiping his hands on his pants. “Thank you, sir. And...I mean for everything.“ Food, shelter, kindness—it was almost overwhelming. Almost made him feel like a person.
And, most concerning, a tiny part of him didn’t want it to end.
no subject
"My father was the child of vault dwellers, right out of the Detroit Vault. My mother's mom was from the vault, my grandpa Enclave. Dad always taught me a good American is kind. Mom taught me a good American is strong in their own way.
"Glad I pulled off being a good American to them," and not some fucking stranger who beats up people to, what? Prove she can? A dim glimmer of an idea strikes him then. He'll just have to keep it to himself. Maybe he can talk to the guy in city hall to make it work.