idiot . a rather fitting description , considering his idiotic , reckless act of rushing into a horde of feral ghouls with nothing but a volcanic rage and a dream of questionable origin . it's a miracle he's still in one piece , but it's only a matter of time before his luck will run out . thankfully , six quickly comes to his rescue before that can happen , and slices through the pile of ghouls that are clawing at him , eager to devour him whole . they cut through the walking corpses like a knife through butter , and once all that remains is carnage , gus takes a second to take a deep breath as he lays on his back , attempting to come back from the rush of adrenaline that kept him alive .
it takes him a moment to get up to his feet . the courier scolds him by slapping his arm , but he doesn't fight it , fully knowing that he damn well deserved it . it was a lapse of judgement and nearly cost him his life . he should very well be dead right now . he's lucky to be alive , and damn lucky that six likes him enough to keep him around . he recognizes that , in any moment , they could easily end him if they wanted to , just like those ghouls . though , he finds that he doesn't fear them for it ... he admires them for it .
for a second , all he can feel is embarrassment for allowing his anger to get the best of him , especially in front of someone like six , whom he's taken a liking to ... unfortunately more than originally planned . his head hangs , although not for long , only to be interrupted by more growls by the remaining horde inside .
with another deep breath , he pulls out his 10mm from his holster , picking off them one by one with a couple shots here and there . he doesn't allow the courier to leave his peripheral vision , making sure that they don't get into trouble like he just did .
the rest of the encounter goes as smoothly as it possibly can . with nothing else left living within the train car besides the duo and their canine companion , gus slowly moves further inside , scanning the environment for any loot left for the picking .
he doesn't find much , but he does find a footlocker with some ammunition and a can of pork n' beans . picking up the can , he stretches out his arm towards six , motioning for them to take it .
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ" it's all yers , six . "
something shifts—clicks—a sudden change of gears. uninformed rage churns the survival instinct, so often defined by violence & butchery, rises to the surface. the less human the creatures appear, the easier it becomes to keep them at a distance. they don’t scream. they don’t protest. they hurl their bodies forward with a weighty disregard for safety or self-preservation, bones snapping, jaws stretching past their limits as ligaments strain & tear.
in truth, the courier defaulted to rage more readily than anything else. it sat deep inside them, familiar & difficult to define as entirely unwelcome; being forced to surrender control. the serrated blade rend (tooth-like edges biting without pause) an appalling disruption that catalogs every way a body can be torn apart [..] even when they fell still, it did not always mean they stopped. physicality as it debases them, brimming with the devolving rage as it eats into the sense of self.
heavy-handed; they retrieved the food from gus, tucking it away without thought as they dropped down from the gutted train carcass onto the gravel-choked tracks below. old-world places like this are often overrun with ghouls, keeping to the shadows & lingering far from the settlements— consented, knowing exile.
“ leave them, ” they breathed, calloused hands resting on the chain-link gate that led down into the subway. there would always be more. the courier lived by a simple creed: live & let live (where possible). rex panted beside them, tongue lolloping as his snout brushed along the outside of the courier's leg, following along, cool metal transition from the neck hinge snagged the leather & a rumbling half-purr crept up from his throat.
“ ...but if we have to, ” one hand closed around the long broken lock of the fence, rusted through from radioactive rain. dirt-stained fingernails flick the clasp of where the key latch slides to obscure it & they peer briefly into the ominously juddering lights of the subways maw.
“ th-think we can get what we need... ” words hesitate, stalling; a deep frustration at the way their mouth translates the misfires from the prickling disfigurement of the skull. a vague gesture toward the ground-level station— floor disseminated with skeletons, blurred beyond recognition by decomposition; mulched bursts of once-colorful paper ground into the dirt & despairing concrete. their attention turns, a tight whistle echoes from the purse of lips as rex bounds up the stairs to the station, nails stripping & scratching the besmirched, sodden flagstones.
you haven't told him the truth, have you? guilt inches, flinching at the sight of you. the ache in your shoulder has turned to something else. you can't function without med-x. has he noticed? the arm that you hold, almost uselessly tucked & impassioned in every agonizing movement. you know about rot, courier. it lives in you.
theartofmadeline
discoholicmusic
romaincrisis
ellievsbear
