Chương 30: Chapter 30: Facing Your Demons part 1
Facing Your Demons
Marcus Lincoln was in the ruins of Tenpenny Tower. He was covered in dirt and dust and was laying on his back trapped under some pieces of rubble. As hard as he tried he couldn't break free. Debris of concrete, rebar, wood, furniture, and the skeletal remains of the former residents lay scattered. The wind was gusting, blowing around dirt and dust everywhere. The sun was beginning to set under partly clouded skies. As he continued to try to free himself, he started to hear the sound of footsteps through the rubble. He quickly turned towards the sound and saw a figure walking towards him, carrying a rifle. Due to the sun's position, Marcus couldn't see who the mysterious figure was, he only saw black. But he was able to guess that the figure was wearing power armor, due to its size.
"Is this what you wanted?" the figure asked in a feminine voice. "Is this what you were looking for?" She said as she looked around at the destruction. "Was betraying everyone you knew, everything you stood for, everything you compromised…..everything you've done worth it?" The figure stopped, and was close enough so the sun was now directly behind her and Marcus could see who it was. Sarah Lyons. She glared at Marcus, eyes full of hatred. Marcus tried to speak, but couldn't muster the strength to.
The ground began to crunch under Sarah's boots as she began to walk towards him. "All hail the conquering hero." She began, reciting a poem she read long ago. "Let us remember him as our protector, and not the one who gave us this." She raised her arms outward, gesturing to the ruins of Tenpenny Tower and the remains of its inhabitants. "As our savior! And not our betrayer! Let us see him forever as how he was, and not how he is." Sarah slung her rifle onto her back and took out a pistol. "All hail the conquering hero. All hail The Lone Wanderer. The one who was supposed to save us all! But now I must save us," Sarah was now standing right on top of Marcus, "save everyone," she took the pistol in both hands and aimed at Marcus, "from you."
Marcus raised his free hand upwards to try and stop her, but it was of no use.
BANG!
Marcus shot up breathing heavily and in a cold sweat. It took him a moment for him to process where he was: he was lying on a run-down navy cot in the cabin of the Duchess Gambit. He sat up on the edge of the cot and held his head in his hand. The dream. That damn dream that had haunted him for two weeks. Marcus reached for his whiskey bottle, then tossed it when he realized it was empty. Drink had been the only thing that kept the dreams at bay, but even that seemed to be no longer working.
He could hear the hum of the steam boat's engine as it gently made it's way down the Potomac. After two weeks of languishing in Megaton, Marcus had to get out of there. After destroying Tenpenny Tower he had accepted (even welcomed) the fact that the Brotherhood would execute him, but when they spared him, he didn't know what to do. Three days after he was cast out he had nearly done it himself, but at the last moment, Marcus had shot his juke box instead. Maybe it was fear, or a stubbornness to not die that stopped him. I didn't matter. He was still here...alone. His friends (the ones had had left) tried to reach out to him. Charon came to visit, and told him that while Reilly was not happy about what he'd done, she was quote: "More forgiving then the Brotherhood". Marcus was great full, because his Ranger armor was the only set he had left after the Brotherhood stripped him of his. Before Marcus had limped back to Megaton, the Brotherhood had raided his home and took all his high tech weapons. Wadsworth protested, but the Knights simply deactivated the robot. All Marcus had left was his desert eagle, "Lucy", a few frag grenades and mines, his 40mm grenade launcher and Lincoln's Repeater. The only reason they didn't confiscate RL-3 was because the robot was still at the Satcom array when they arrived.
Though he appreciated the gesture, like everyone else, Marcus pushed Charon away. When the ghoul refused to leave, Marcus flew into a drunken rage and cursed Charon, calling him a useless zombie. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done, and Charon stormed out. The truth was deep down Marcus believed he was better off not having friends - they had a habit of getting killed around him. So after leaving Dogmeat with Billy Creel (Maggie loved the dog), he made his way to the Duchess after hearing Tobar's radio advertisement. When he arrived, he was met by a frantic woman named Catherine who begged him to go to Point Lookout and find her runaway daughter, Nadine. Reluctantly, Marcus eventually agreed - after she offered to give him a reward.
"We'll be arriving at Point Lookout in a few minutes." Tobar, the owner and captain of the Duchess Gambit, announced as he entered the cabin.
Marcus nodded as he stretched.
"Couldn't sleep, hu? Ah well, you just need time to get your sea legs, is all."
Marcus ignored the man's statement. "What can you tell me about this place?"
"Well, Point Lookout was the site of the Point Lookout State Park; a tourist trap before the war. It had a boardwalk, rides, all kinds of attractions. It was also a favorite of Civil War enthusiast. The bombs didn't hit Point Lookout, but the fallout left it's mark. Most of it is covered in swamp land, and it's inhabited by mutants we just call Swamp Folk. They're a by product of radiation and...poor breeding."
Marcus listened as he cleaned his repeater. "Are there any settlements?"
"A few scattered about; the largest is Pilgrims Landing near the boardwalk where we'll be docking. When you get there you should check out Madame Panada's House of Wares. It's the biggest general store at the Point. Be careful, though, Swamp Folk aren't the only things to worry about. There's a lot of feral's in the swamps, and we have occasional visits from pirates and smugglers. I guess where your from they'd be called Raiders."
Marcus cocked back his rifle and aimed down the sites. He knew how to deal with Raiders. "Do they take caps?"
Tobar nodded. "Oh yeah, but the real wealth is in the punga fruit that grows here. It's the only food source that takes radiation out of your system. A lot of people come here looking to make a fast buck and haul back what they can, but that swamp has a habit of swallowing people up." Tobar watched as Marcus checked over his desert eagle. "Say ah, you never told me your name."
Marcus slapped in a magazine and released the gun's slide. "You're right, I didn't."
Tobar shrugged. "Suit yourself. I understand; a lot of people coming here wish to remain anonamis..." Something outside caught the man's eye. "Holy shit!"
Marcus stood up and looked out the port hole. "What is it?"
Tobar headed for the bow of the ship, and Marcus followed. "There's smoke coming from Calvert Mansion."
Marcus looked out over the horizon and got his first glimpse of Point Lookout. He could see the old boardwalk was mostly in tack, but in desperate need of repairs. Closed shops and game booths lined the once busy tourist attraction and seemed surprisingly untouched compared to structures in the Capital. A large Ferris wheel was still standing; a ghostly reminder that this was once a place teaming with life. Off in the distance, Marcus could see a non-functioning lighthouse, and just off to it's left a large plum of smoke was rising towards the sky. "Does anybody live there?"
"Yeah, Desmond Lockheart. He's a ghoul who was some big shot around here before the war; and he's a mean sonofabitch! He must've pissed the wrong people off this time."
Marcus continued to stare at the smoke. Might as well check it.
After the Duchess Gambit was tied up, Marcus disembarked the boat and slowly made his way past the boardwalk and headed inland. An errie fog hung low over the streets, and Marcus could only see a few feet in front of him.
"You do not belong here..."
Marcus spun around in the direction the voice came from; his repeater at the ready. The voice was feminine and had a heavy accent, and Marcus could hear light foot steps approaching. A moment later a hooded figure appeared through the fog, and Marcus tightened the grip on his rifle. The figure stopped and removed the hood - revealing the face of a young woman with black hair. "...he who wanders alone."
Marcus studied the woman carefully. She looked and sounded like an old world gypsy fortune teller. "Who are you?"
"My name is Madame Panada."
Marcus lowered his rifle. "Tobar told me about you. He said there was a settlement here and you owned a general store."
Panada nodded. "I did, but the settlement is gone. Most of the people were taken by the dark heart. The others fled."
Marcus gave this strange woman a sideways look. "Dark heart. What is that?"
"It is an evil that corrupts the soul. It traps it's victims in their own nightmares, and causes them to loose their will. They act as though they are awake, but they are not."
Marcus continued to stare at Panada with a confused look. "Okaaaaay! You said the people fled. Where did they go?"
She pointed North. "They fled deep into the swamp; to the Turtle Dove Detention Center. It was a P.O.W camp during the Great War. They all be held up there."
Marcus checked the old world map on his PIPBOY. This detention center was definitely a hike, but there was a chance Nadine was there. He would have to check it out - after investigating this fire at Calvert Mansion. "How did you know who I was?"
Panada approached him. "The fates told me a great warrior who wanders alone would arrive. They said he has slain many an enemy...but his heart was broken and empty." She raised her index finger. "They said though you have won many battles, victory has defeated you."
As Marcus listened to the gypsy, he came to a conclusion: this woman was completely out of her mind. "Riiiiiight. Well, it was very nice...and strange to meet you. Good luck." He turned and quickly headed towards Calvert Mansion.
Madame Panada just shook her head.
"Come and get it you fuckers!" Desmond yelled as he fired his combat shotgun at another tribal, blowing her head off. Since last night the brainwashed disciples had been trying to storm the ghoul's mansion, and both he and his attack dogs had managed to hold them back. Now they had breached the main entrance, and were pouring in despite the constant fire from Desmond's defense turrets. The two-hundred year old ghoul reloaded his shotgun just as a tribal swung an ax at his head. Desmond rolled out of the way, dodging the fatal blow, and repaid the tribal by blowing a hole in his chest.
An explosion in the mansion's main entrance got his attention, and Desmond could see half a dozen tribals lying on the ground dead. A lone figure wearing green body armor appeared in the main doorway, raised a repeating rifle, and fired three shots in rapid succession. Each shot landed between the eyes of a tribal, and Desmond's would be rescuer entered the mansion.
Desmond took aim with his shotgun and opened fire, killing two more of the surprised tribals. Two more were dragged to the ground by his attack dogs and had their throats ripped out. He spotted the green armored stranger take cover behind a pillar to avoid being shot with a double-barrel shotgun. Desmond took out the stranger's would be killer with two shots from his own shotgun. He didn't know who this man was, but the ghoul would take all the help he could get.
Marcus saw the shotgun wielding tribal go down, and he quickly raised his rifle and took out the last two who had fallen back inside a dinning room. Once everything was quiet, Marcus joined Desmond behind his make shift barricade.
"I don't know who you are, but if you want to survive, we will have to work together." Desmond said with a low-gravelly voice.
Marcus stood next to the ghoul and began reloading his rifle. "You're welcome."
His sarcasm was not lost on Desmond. "Oh I'm sorry, were you expecting gratitude?"
Marcus glared at the ghoul. "A little."
"I'm sorry, but I tend to have a lapse in manners when brain-dead fuckers are trying to kill me! Now focus! There will probably be another wave any second."
Marcus finished loaded his repeater and cocked it. "And why would I stick around for it?"
Desmond sighed. "Of course! No one does anything for free, do they? Alright kid, tell you what. You see these weapons?"
Marcus took a quick look around. Desmond had quite the arsenal: assault rifles, frag grenades, a minigun, even a flame thrower were in the room.
"These are only a fraction of what I have stored underneath this place. You're free to help yourself to it, if we get out of this alive. Agreed?"
Marcus nodded.
"Good. Now load up on ammo, they'll be here any second."
The battle turned out to be more intense then Marcus had imagined. The tribals mindlessly charged at them from three directions, and the suicidal attacks nearly overwhelmed the two defenders. Marcus had to use everyone of his weapons, even his knife, before the battle was over. His Ranger armor was covered in blood, and Desmond's suit had more then a few rips in it.
"If you're still waiting for that thank you," the ghoul said as he caught his breath, "don't hold your breath."
Marcus stared at the ghoul. 'This guy is a real asshole', he thought. "Actually, I just want those guns you promised me."
Desmond grabbed his shotgun. "Humph. Follow me." The ghoul led Marcus down a long staircase leading to the mansion's basement. When they arrived, the only thing Marcus saw was old furniture and junk.
"Is this a joke?" Marcus asked.
"Relax." Desmond approached a pedestal with a vase on top of it, and to Marcus' surprise, he pushed the vase into the marble. Marcus noticed there were three more pedestals; one in each corner of the room, and Desmond began pushing them in some kind of memorized sequence. When the last one had been pushed, a secret door opened inside the basement wall, revealing an even larger room. Desmond led Marcus inside, and it was filled with ammo boxes, MRE's, AK-47's, dragunov sniper rifles, PKM machine guns and RPG's. As he stood in awe of the arsenal on display, Marcus also noticed the Chinese propaganda posters hung on the walls.
"What is this place?" Marcus asked.
Desmond opened a locker and began to take off his torn jacket. "Before the great powers blew themselves up, they spent years playing cloak and dagger games against each other. The Chinese sent spies and sleeper agents into this country that were to be the vanguard for an invasion. This bunker was to be the main safe house for the state of Maryland."
Marcus looked at the assortment of weapons in the bunker. There was more then enough stored down here to start a war. "Were you one of them?"
Desmond stared daggers at Marcus. "Do I look fucking Chinese to you?"
Before Marcus could attempt an answer, Desmond slammed the locker shut and put on a new jacket. "No. Those of us with brains knew the end was near; it was just a matter of time before the politicians fired their nukes to prove who had the biggest dick. The man who owned this mansion, Professor Calvert and I were business partners before the war. We came up with a plan to play both sides against each other, with the ultimate goal being our survival." A slight grin appeared on his face. "Hu, I admit it was fun watching them chase each other around; giving each side just enough information to keep them in the dark. Calvert allowed the Chinese to build this place, but they never got the chance to use it. We made an anonymous tip to Uncle Sam, and the little commies were rounded up and sent to the Turtle Dove Detention Center. No one knew about the bunker of course except for me and Calvert."
Marcus listened to the ghoul with a mixture of intrigue and disgust. "So what happened to your friend?"
"I got wind the little bastard was planning to betray me, so that he could keep everything for himself. I got him first." He looked around the bunker. "This place protected me from the fallout, but not enough to prevent this." He waved a hand over his face.
Marcus shook his head and snorted. "You're a real piece of work."
Desmond took a few steps towards him, and stared Marcus dead in the eye. "Who are you to judge me, you little shit?"
Marcus had no response. As much as he hated to admit it, the ghoul was right: who was he to judge anyone. The Lone Wanderer walked over to the assortment of weapons and began examining an AK-47. "So why do you think those tribals attacked you?"
"How the fuck should I know! Those brain-dead idiots all follow that old bastard Blackhall."
Marcus placed the AK on a bench and began opening ammo boxes. "Blackhall? Who's that?"
"Obadiah Blackhall; the last descendant of the Blackhall family. He lived in a mansion, Blackhall Manor, on the other side of the Point. About a year ago he shows up with this book, I don't know what the fuck it's called, and the next thing I know, people are worshiping him like he's a fucking god."
"So these tribals are what...part of some cult?"
"They weren't always mindless savages, and they sure as hell never dressed like stand-ins in a fucking Tarzan movie. They were settlers here, decent folk. They never bothered me, and I never bothered with them. Now most of them have been brain-washed by that demogodding fuck, and those that don't join him are killed or never seen again."
Marcus remembered the words of the mysterious gypsy woman on the boardwalk. "That Madame Panada spoke of something called the Dark Heart. She said it took control of people."
Desmond laughed. "Yeah, that's what all these superstitious idiots call it. They think Blachhall has some kind of magic powers. Personally, I think it's bullshit! He probably gets these people so fucked up on drugs, they either become a mindless slave, or a drooling vegetable. Well, if they want me, they're going to have to drag my rotting corps out of here."
"What about those Swamp Folk I've heard about? Does Blackhall control them, too?"
"Nobody controls those freaks! But for some reason, they won't attack Blackhall or his followers."
"Why?"
"I have no fucking idea, okay! Those inbred-ed fucks attacked just about everything and everyone since the beginning of all this. They believe in the same voodoo shit as Blackhall, and they too, probably think he's a god."
Marcus continued to open up ammo boxes, and began loading his grenade launcher with 40mm rounds he discovered. "I'm looking for a girl named Nadine. She's about sixteen, white skin and red hair."
"Yeah, she came by just before the attack. She was a smart-mouthed brat and I told her to try her luck at the detention center with the rest of the hold-outs. If you're looking for her that's probably your best bet, but if you want to get out of here alive, you're going to have to kill Blackhall."
Marcus finished loading his launcher. "Trying to get me to solve your problem for ya? Sorry, I'm no charity."
Desmond glared at Marcus and crossed his arms. "You don't get it smart ass! Blackhall owns this shit hole, and now that you've killed his people, he's going to be gunning for you. You're only chance of getting out of here is to take him out."
Marcus slung the grenade launcher on his back, and picked up the AK-47. "If he gets in my way, then I'll kill'em.
Deciding that stumbling through a dangerous swamp at night was not the smartest course of action, Marcus slept at Calvert Mansion and headed out at dawn. The dense vegetation coupled with the strange sounds of the swamp gave Marcus an uneasy feeling. Feral ghouls seemed to come out of nowhere, and for the first time in his life, Marcus actually began missing the Capital Wasteland.
A shotgun blast off in the distance got his attention, and it was quickly followed by the sound of a pistol being fired. Marcus picked up the pace, and soon the gunfire was getting louder. Staying hidden in the tall brush, he spotted a girl wearing a black merc outfit and brown hair, running for her life. Her left arm had been hit with buckshot, and her only weapon was a Chinese shanxi type 17 pistol in her right hand. It didn't take long for her pursuers to come into view. Based on the descriptions Desmond gave him, Marcus knew these were Swamp Folk. One was a Scrapper armed with a double barrel shotgun, and the other was a Bruiser armed with an ax. The skinny Scrapper raised his shotgun and fired again, missing his target. The woman dove behind a tree, and struggled to reload her pistol.
Marcus quickly got as close as he dared without being seen, and got down on one knee. Raising Lincoln's Repeater, he activated his VATS and targeted the Scrapper's head. The rifle's .44 caliber round scored a direct hit, and the inbred mutant's head was blow apart. The Bruiser spotted Marcus and immediately charge. "I'll get you!" The creature yelled.
Marcus took aim and fired three rounds into the mutant's chest, causing him to stumble, but the creature kept coming. Marcus quickly stood up straight, activated his VATS again, and put two rounds into the Bruiser's head. Once both targets were down, Marcus came out from cover and examined the grotesque mutants. The Bruiser especially reminded him of the mutants he saw in an old horror movie called: "The Hills have Eyes". He remembered that movie gave him nightmares for a month.
The woman, clutching her wounded arm, made her way over to Marcus. "Oh thank God you came! I prayed the good Lord would rescue me!"
Marcus didn't respond. Placing his rifle down, he removed his first aid kit. "Sit down."
The woman sat down on a log, and Marcus began treating her wound. "Thank you. My name is Marcella, I'm a missionary from the Commonwealth. I was on my way to the detention center to bring them relief supplies."
Marcus ignored her as he injected a stimpak into her arm.
Marcella winced. "What's your name?"
The Lone Wanderer hesitated before answering. "Marcus."
Marcella smiled. "Thank you, Marcus."
He finished bandaging her arm and stood up. "You said you were on your way to the detention center?"
Marcella nodded. "Yes."
"Good. You can show me the way."
Marcella carefully stood up. "Okay, it's the least I can do. Listen I...don't have anyway to repay you so..." she reached into her satchel and pulled out a book. "...here, take this."
Marcus took the book and examined the cover. It had the words "Holy Bible" written on it. "What's this?"
"It's the word of our Lord and Savior. That's why I came to Point Lookout, to spread the good..."
Before Marcella could finish, Marcus tossed the bible over his shoulder, and the book landed in the muck of the swamp. "I don't need your words, lady. And your god didn't save you, I did! Now let's get moving before more of these things show up."
Marcella's jaw dropped open, and she stared at Marcus with a mixture of shock and confusion. Clearly he was not the man she thought he was. "Fine." She said while trying to control her anger. "This way." She picked up the mud covered bible and stormed off with Marcus following.
Even though it was located deep in the swamp, the Turtledove Detention Center turned out to be a good place for the remaining residents of Point Lookout to hold out. The area was surrounded by a barbed wire fence, had three watch towers, several bunk houses, a medical shack and a large administrative building. Though long abandoned, the camp was in surprisingly decent shape, and after fixing the breaches in the fence, the Point Lookout refugees had managed to hold off Blackhall's tribals for weeks. As Marcella and the Lone Wanderer approached, the missionary ducked behind a tree, and Marcus did the same.
"There it is up ahead. Now they don't know you so let me go first."
Marcus nodded, and Marcella raised her hands and stepped out into the open. "Don't shoot! It's me, Marcella!"
Jacob Humboldt, an African-American Civil War enthusiast, was manning the guard tower when he heard the shout. Taking out his binoculars, he could see the woman standing in front of the gate with her hands raised. He quickly waved to her. "Nice to see you, Marcella. Come on in."
Marcella put her arms down. "I have someone with me, so hold your fire."
"Alright. Tell him to come out so we can get a look at him."
Marcella turned to Marcus. "It's alright, come on."
Marcus cautiously walked out into the open, and when they were given the all clear, he and Marcella entered the camp. Once inside they were met by throngs of people who looked like they'd been through hell. Marcus counted just over forty people - half of them women and children. Marcella opened her satchel and began handing out canned food and provisions to the starving refugees, but it was apparent to Marcus she didn't have nearly enough. Some of the people thanked her, and a few said "bless you" to the missionary, while others just snatched the food and ran.
Marcus felt someone tugging on his armor, and when he looked down he was staring into the eyes of a nine year old girl. "Do you have any food, sir? I'm so hungry."
Marcus stared at the malnourished girl, and without saying a word he reached into his pocket and handed her an MRE. The girl's face lite up a child's on Christmas morning. "Thank you, mister!' She ran off, and Marcus watched her go.
The entire scene was not lost on Marcella. 'Maybe there is hope for this one', she thought as she walked over to him. "I wish there was more I could do for them."
Marcus didn't say anything. Marcella watched as the refugees began opening and preparing the provisions. She turned to Marcus. "You're welcome to join us for dinner."
Marcus didn't acknowledge her. He just stared at the faces of the refugees; none of whom matched Nadine's description. Another dead end. "No." he reached inside his armor and pulled out another MRE. "I've got my own. There's an empty tent over there. I'll be inside if you need me."
As Marcus walked off to eat alone, Marcella watched him and shook her head. She couldn't figure this strange man out. On the surface he seemed lost and angry, but then he also showed signs of compassion.
"Looks like we live to fight another day, Marcella." Plik, one of Point Lookout's few non-feral ghouls said as he approached her with a plate of food. "Who's the new guy?"
"He calls himself Marcus. He saved me from some of the swamp folk over near the trash heap. I've never seen anyone shoot the way he did before."
"Then you've obviously never seen me shoot, darling." Rip Smithy, an arrogant gun for hire said as he joined them. In an attempt to keep the feral ghoul population at the Point down, Plik would invite people to go on quote "safari" in the swamps to kill as many ferals as they could. Rip Smithy had accompanied him on his last outing, but because of Blachhall's tribals, the mercenary found himself trapped like everyone else.
"Marcus?" Plik said. "You mean...Marcus Lincoln?"
Marcella shrugged, and Smithy caught a glimpse of Marcus just as he went inside the empty tent. "That can't be Lincoln; he's not tall enough!"
Plik was not about to give up. "Yeah, yeah it must be! The Ranger armor. The crack shooting! I'm telling you that's the Lone Wanderer!"
It was as if a light bulb went on inside Marcella's head. The Lone Wanderer. She definitely heard that name before. "I thought the Lone Wanderer was some big hero in the Capital Wasteland."
"He is," Plik said, "or was. I heard something...pretty bad went down and he was run out of town or something. That could explain why he's here."
Marcella stared at the tent that Marcus had retreated to. She had a feeling the pieces were starting to fall into place. She turned to Plik and Smithy. "Tell me about him."
Marcus sat on a cot in the empty tent, staring at the image of Amata on his PIPBOY. He carefully traced the imagine of her face with his finger, trying to remember what her skin felt like. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the taste of her lips on his - but instead all he could remember was the feeling of her blood on his hands...
"She's very beautiful."
The sound of Marcella's voice made Marcus jump off the cot, and he quickly turned off the image. The fact that she was able to sneak up on him like that made Marcus uneasy.
"Who was she?" the missionary asked.
Marcus turned his back to her and didn't answer at first. Finally, he let out a sigh. "Her name was Amata."
Marcella took a couple of cautious steps towards him. "She was very special to you, wasn't she?"
Marcus looked over his shoulder for a moment, but he did not answer. Marcella nodded. "It's alright; I understand if you don't want to talk about it. Tonight I'll say a prayer for her."
Marcus made a clicking sound with his tongue and rolled his eyes. "Well you're a little late - she's dead!"
"It's never too late to pray for the dead, Marcus."
Marcus turned to face her. "Ah, yeah it is! They're fucking DEAD!"
Marcella maintained her composure despite his anger. Marcus stomped over to a small table and began cleaning his AK. "Tell me about Blackhall. How is he controlling people?"
"His power comes from the Krivbeknih."
Marcus looked at her as if she had three heads. "The whatewhatin?"
"The Krivbeknih. It is an ancient and evil book that must be destroyed."
Marcus continued to stare at her in disbelief. "A book? Are you serious?"
"Yes! With the Krivbeknih Blackhall has the power of the Dark Heart; an ancient evil heathen creed that gives him power over almost anyone. When I first arrived here my goal was to spread the Word of our Lord to the people here; to try and get them away from their superstitions. But when I discovered that Blackhall had the Krivbeknih, I knew the Lord sent me here for a higher purpose: to destroy that evil book once and for all."
Marcus shook his head. "Is everyone here FUCKING insane!"
For the first time, Marcella's face showed a hint of anger. "You can mock me all you want but I am telling you his power is real. I have seen it!"
"Lady, the only power this guy has is the ability to manipulate people with fairy tales and a shit load of drugs. His powers are no more real then your god."
"Oh my God is real, and whether you believe it or not he is here with us...Lone Wanderer."
Marcus slammed the AK down on the table and pointed his finger in Marcella's face. "First of all...DON'T call me that!" He lowered his hand. "Second, if your god does exist, then why did he do all of this?" He spread his arms out and looked around. "Why, after creating this world in six days did he then nuke it! Was he bored!"
"God did not destroy this world, Marcus. Evil, proud and corrupt men did that."
"Well he sure as hell didn't stop it now, did he? He stood by and let it happen, just like he stood by and let Lucy West get gunned down! Just like he stood by and let my father get shot to death by a genocidal maniac! Just as he stood by and watched as the only person I ever loved DIED IN MY ARMS!"
Marcus stood there inches from Marcella, his fist clenched and his body trembling with rage. To her credit, the missionary didn't back down. She was finally beginning to understand the lost soul standing before her. Marcus was a man who had seen too much...and more importantly, had lost too much. Marcella's calling was clear: she had to try and bring him back from the brink. "Do you think you're the only one who suffered? We've all lost somebody, Marcus. But it is in our darkest hour, when we must have faith."
Marcus snorted. "Yeah well...you can keep faith in your fairy tale," he reached over and picked up his AK, "I'll keep faith in this."
Marcella sighed. "Those who live by the sword, will die by the sword, Marcus."
Marcus rolled his eyes. "Any more bumper sticker slogans you want to try on me, lady?"
Marcella bit her lower lip. Even her patience had it's limit. "Only one. You may have lost faith in God, and you may have lost faith in yourself, but I haven't! I believe God has a plan for you, Marcus. I believe you were sent here to stop Blackhall and destroy the Krivbeknih."
"Lady I'm here to find some runaway girl, bring her back to her mother and collect my reward, that's it!"
"That's bull and you know it! Like it or not, Marcus, God still has a plan for you."
Marcus got right in her face. "Oh really? And what plan is that, hu? To make me into a killer? Because that's all I've done since the day I crawled out of that Vault, lady. I've killed HUNDREDS of people! And what did your god do for my troubles? He took away everything that meant something to me. If this is your god's plan then I don't WANT IT! ANY OF IT!" He backed away and took a moment to compose himself. "Do you know where Blackhall and his tribals are?"
Marcella crossed her arms. "They're main ritual site is located underneath the Ark and Dove Cathedral east of here." She snorted in disgust. "It's his way of further mocking God. You must listen: as long as he has the Krivbeknih Blackhall is indestructible. You must get it away from him so that I can use the obelisk to destroy the book."
Marcus shook his head and laughed. "Okay, lady. If it makes you feel better, I'll bring back your scary book, alright. After that, I'm going to put two bullets in Blackhall's head, get Nadine if she's still alive and get the hell out of here." With that, Marcus stormed out of the tent.
Marcella leaned against the tent's post and sighed. "God, give me strength." she whispered.
Marcus reached the Ark of Dove Cathedral just before dusk. The closest he managed to get without being seen was the cemetery located about a hundred yards away. The church was surrounded by a large brick wall and a locked iron gate. Marcus could see several tribals guarding the perimeter, and he cursed as he tried to figure out how he was going to sneak in. His answer came just after the sun went down, when the church bells began to ring, and Marcus watched as more then half the guards went inside. Deciding that stealth would be better then brute force, Marcus buried his grenade launcher, repeater, AK and Ranger armor in the cemetery before quietly advancing to the wall. Sneaking up on a lone guard armed with a sledge hammer, Marcus used a move Charon taught him and snapped the guard's neck. After hiding the body in the bushes, he dressed himself in the tribal's clothing, (wrapped rags around his PIPBOY to hide it), rubbed a little mud on his face, and managed to talk his way inside the church. It seemed all you had to say to this people was "you seek enlightenment", and they would trust you.
Marcus carefully made his way inside the church. Nearly all of the tribals, over eighty people, had gathered inside and were on their knees; their hands open and facing upward as they chanted in a language Marcus couldn't understand. Deciding to play along, he stayed in the back of the church, got on his knees, and mimiced what they were doing. At the front of the church, near the alter, a man dressed in a long, black robe and hood appeared from a side room, and slowly walked to the front of the alter. Facing the tribals he removed his hood, reveal the face of a Caucasian man in his seventies. He had red make-up on his face in the same manner as the tribals, and he wore a neckless containing varying types of bones. 'That has to be Blackhall', Marcus thought.
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