|| @hubflowcr | From: Atom Callahan ||
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.” The breathy mantra carried Atom sliding around another street corner, nearly careening into a broken down pickup truck. ED-E followed close behind, sweeping low close to the ground. The eye bot turned to fire a few quick pot-shots at their robotic pursuers, then reversed to follow the courier again. One of the synths fell on broken legs, but the rest clambered over rooftops and broken walls and trucks like an angry infestation.
There had been less synths a minute ago. Atom could’ve sworn. But the architecture of the Boston Wasteland had too many buildings; too much concealed space. You never knew what was hiding within crumbling walls. They had spilled over like a boiling pot, leaving the courier little choice but to flee. (It had been couriers, plural, a minute ago. Ulysses and him had split up to halve their forces. Shit load of good that had done. Now he would have to find his bastard travelling partner again after this was over.)
Atom recognized this stretch of land, he realized. Their journey had taken them in a loop, and now he could just make out where the edge of southern Boston let way to open water; the low swoop of land that led out to the stone fortress of the Castle. He remembered speaking to some members of the Minutemen some weeks ago; been made aware of their base of operations, and it seemed strange that he hadn’t come across any patrols on his wild dash between the buildings here. Maybe they had spotted him and fled to the safety of the Castle.
He leaned back against the wall of the last building between him and the fortress, looking across the open land dotted by dead trees. He would have to make the dash through the open if he wanted to make it; and he needed to catch his breath before he tried. For every second he wasted, however, another second-gen synth appeared on the rooftop of another building within view of the Castle, dotting the landscape dangerously.
