Chapter Text
“What makes one human?”
To be quite frank, when Joy meets Seulgi, she hates the other entirely on principle. Seulgi is an amalgamation of everything vile and sick and disgustingly non-human — so much so that Joy is torn between shooting Seulgi dead and throwing up her last meal. Maybe she’d do both at the same time.
(“Paladin Joy, may I speak freely?”
Joy looks towards the older girl who has oil smudged on her collar and is dropping down to kneel next to her. “Of course. You’re not an initiate or anything, Wendy. You don’t have to address me according to protocol.”
“Right,” she says, sighing. Joy watches her fiddle with a thread on the hem of her sleeve, and waits. “I think that… before we get to our home base, you should be informed of the others. This is coming from an honest place, mind you.”
Joy raises a brow. “My loyalty is to the Brotherhood, and Irene is my initiate. It doesn’t matter who she chooses to work with as long as it's not against the Brotherhood.”
The smaller girl rubs her neck sheepishly. “Yes, I suppose so. But. You see, there’s one companion of ours in particular we’re concerned you won’t, uh, like very much.” Wendy breathes in, deep, and Joy is curious.
That’s when Joy is informed of everything this… thing Seulgi is.
A healer, dedicated to dressing wounds and mending injuries. A companion, persistently sticking by Irene and Wendy’s side in any way that is useful. A researcher, intent on discovering new truths and age old facts that will drive them forward to reach their goals.
A friend, made from lines of code.
An abomination.
“I just don’t want you causing trouble back at Sanctuary Hills,” Wendy admits beneath the stairs in one of the rooms of Red Rocket. “Irene doesn’t need that kind of problem on top of everything else she’s dealing with.”
The soldier furrows her brows and looks back at Irene crouched over a map while fixing her weapons on the other side of their settlement, and Joy imagines a synth by the older woman’s side, ready to gut her when she least expects it. “You expect me to work with a thing like that? I’d be guarding Irene’s back twice as much, then.”
“You wouldn’t. Seulgi is… she’s someone who—”
Joy scoffs. “That thing,” she spits out, and she’s sure derision is clear on her face. “Is not a ‘someone.’ It's not a person.”
Wendy pauses and looks ready to put up a fight, then suddenly shakes her head. “Just… I'd appreciate it if you didn't make hostilities where they aren’t needed. We both would.” The smaller girl sighs, biting her lip.
Joy wonders if this woman is the only reason Irene has survived up until this point; with a voice that sounds like how sunlight feels and a brain too quick for any one person to have. It was almost criminal for someone to be so smart.
“I know you’re better than that, Joy.”
She looks over the smaller woman, hands strong from building and shoulders stiff from exhaustion, unable to deny that Wendy has a way with words just as she does with her hands. It’s no wonder both she and Irene won over Joy so easily. )
“I trust you won’t be questioning my choice in companions,” Irene remarks, and Joy snorts at just how good the older girl is at twisting things her way to make any move at all somehow against the vault-dweller and all Joy’s fault. Her and Wendy both; the diabolical duo. Charming.
Joy bites the inside of her cheek while Seulgi continues to smile, with her eyes shaped like crescents.
Those aren’t real eyes.
“If you have any injuries, no matter how minor, get yourself checked by Seulgi here.”
As if I would ever let that happen, she thinks, but nods anyway. Something tells her Irene can see straight through her lie when black eyes narrow.
The eldest among them takes her leave when Wendy calls for her yards away in this little old town, and then only Joy and Seulgi are left.
“It’s really nice to meet you!” Seulgi says cheerfully, stepping closer and grinning brightly. “You don’t look like you’re in any way harmed. That must mean you’re really really good at keeping yourself safe,” Seulgi says, “Which is a relief. Irene-unnie loves to jump headfirst into danger.”
Joy preoccupies herself with staring at h— it, cat-like eyes and smooth, perfect skin. The thing has an accent, weirdly enough.
“I think we can work well together, Paladin Joy. Hopefully not because I need to patch you up anytime soon.” The rumble of Seulgi’s voice is sweet like honey.
The two of them stand in the middle of one of the houses in Sanctuary Hills. It was a bedroom previously, later fixed and done up to be what Irene has informed her to be both the infirmary and Seulgi’s research room.
Joy doesn’t even dignify Seulgi with a response; only turns around to walk away. If it’s surprised or offended; Joy doesn’t bother waiting to see it be the case. She’s already out the door, steps slow and deliberate. She knows where she wants to go, but even if she didn’t, anywhere away from the freak would be good enough.
(“Remember, don’t ever be fooled by how human-like they are. They’re machines; they don’t feel anything. Do not ever forget this.” )
Joy just hopes Seulgi functions well enough to make sure Irene gets out of her adventures alive, though she doubts Wendy would let the thing get within a mile radius near Irene if the mechanic thought Seulgi was anything except loyal.
(There’s something going on between those two. Irene walks in the lead but always with Wendy’s hand in the middle of her back; Wendy crouches over a project but always with Irene next to her, so close that their thighs touch.)
Joy runs a hand along her arm when she reaches a secluded spot; it’s one that has a good view of the bridge leading to the settlement. She feels goosebumps spring up on her skin in response to the cold, yes, though mostly a reaction to the feeling of bare skin against bare skin. She misses her power armor and the familiar smell of grease and sweat; the dizzying scent of hard work.
Something only humans can achieve.
She's heard questions about the Brotherhood, carried along the grapevine both now and back before she'd officially been initiated.
(“They're hypocrites. Hating technology yet using power armor— who are they trying to fool?”
“If they really cared about humans then there would be no people killed by their soldiers. But look at that. Surprise, surprise.”
“It's almost scary how obsessed they are with rules and protocol, it's almost like a cult. A—” )
The Brotherhood of Steel only goes as far as improving human abilities, like a drug. A power up. Just a little boost. The things that keep it together are human values: trust like family, love like brothers. Loyalty above else, for the survival of the human race.
Creatures like mutants and synths and ghouls deserve nothing less than extermination.
Joy will wait it out, for Irene. For Wendy. Seulgi deserves death— or whatever its counterpart is for machines— and Joy wants to be the one to take her out, once Irene and Wendy’s goals are reached and finalized.
It’s either they keep her in the equation and on their team, or Seulgi. They cannot possibly have both.
She inhales the irradiated night air and looks up to the evening clouds, thinking of the Prydwen flying high in the Commonwealth sky like an all-knowing brother. A guide for the lost. A home for the daring.
A god.
~☢~
Joy was never recruited into the Brotherhood of Steel.
Or, well, she technically was — but there was never any question about children of soldiers having their paths paved for them.
Joy was one of many, born while her father was a Knight-sergeant and her mother a Knight-captain. She didn’t see them often enough to form a real connection, because Knights were ground soldiers and being on the ground meant always being on the move.
At five, her parents became mere names; etched in honor with titles like A strong father and A dedicated mother written in small print below A soldier whose sacrifice will not be forgotten, as if their relation to Joy was an afterthought. She had forgotten their faces in the span of months.
Joy never really had parents.
Instead, she learned everything from the scribes, impersonal as they were.
Super mutants are down for the count once you break their legs. Sentient ghouls are contaminated and do not deserve mercy. Deathclaws are one of the worst of the bunch.
But they don’t come anywhere close to synthetic humanoids.
(“Synths were made to impersonate and mimic humans; to kill us off one by one until no one is left. The human race will fight back and it’s with the Brotherhood at the forefront.”)
Joy never formed her own belief system.
She woke up and there it laid, hers for the taking. It was handed to her, passed down generations; conveniently placed on a silver platter labeled I am a child of the Brotherhood and this is what I believe.
~☢~
“Hey.”
Joy has practically memorized the intonation of Irene’s voice, especially after traveling countless miles with its owners objective on her mind, that when the older woman calls for her she focuses all her senses on her almost immediately.
She turns in her place next to Wendy, by a radio station, to face the vault-dweller clad in clothes fit for the world outside their humble safe-houses in Sanctuary Hills. Seulgi is beside Irene, smiling as per usual.
“You need me, soldier?” Joy asks, standing up and completely ignoring Seulgi. Wendy steps forward too, wiping her hands down from tinkering with the radio.
Irene nods. “I do,” she says, and Joy is sure she’s not imagining the way Irene’s eyes avoid Wendy’s. The adventurer then lifts up her Pip-Boy to fiddle with something. “Is fifteen enough time for you to pack up?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. We’re going to Goodneighbor.” Irene nods, eyes set stubbornly on her. “You and I w—”
“Goodneighbor? ” Wendy cuts her off, and Joy almost takes a step back. Wendy looks furious.
Joy steps back, alarmed and concerned.
Irene pinches the bridge of her nose, and Seulgi blinks. “It's nothing personal. It's— wait, Wendy. Wendy.” Irene calls for the woman who's walked into the house. The eldest clicks her tongue and directs her gaze towards Joy.
“I can wait. Go get her,” Joy offers kindly and Irene nods before following the mechanic.
(There's something else going on between those two. The silence between them is mountains too high and sea trenches too low at the same time; too big, too loud. Nothing like how Irene and Wendy are— or used to be; small bodies tucked together with whispers of secrets between them.)
It takes a beat before Joy realizes she’s not alone in the garage. Well, she is, if one counted only humans. But she counts everything that has the capacity to kill, and one is staring right at her with curious eyes.
Joy’s lips pull back into a grim line.
“Are you helping Wendy with that radio? She’s been at this for a while,” Seulgi remarks, stepping next to the soldier while keeping its sight on the device on the table. “It would apparently be a great gift for Irene-unnie.”
The taller of the two crosses her arms, but doesn’t respond.
“I’d hoped to help once before, but… I’m not very good at patching machines together.” Seulgi’s laugh sounds like bells. “Isn’t it ironic that I’m better at handling organic things like viruses and bacteria than technology when I myself am made of the same hardware? At least I used to be.”
Joy frowns at the last part, but instead of questioning the synth, she peels her eyes off Seulgi’s side profile.
She huffs through the awkwardness of avoiding conversation with a synth that’s too insistent on it.
(“When encountering a synth, one should communicate with them as little as possible,” the scribe lectures. “These monsters prey on your emotions; taking them for themselves and twisting your thoughts until you don’t know which way is up and suddenly you have the barrel of a gun against your head.”
“Scribe,” a child begins to ask, Joy’s classmate for two years now and the most inquisitive among them. “How do we know our friends aren’t synths? Is there no way to detect them?”
The scribe straightens their posture. “Only trust those of the Brotherhood. Everyone else is likely an enemy.”
“What about if someone from the Brotherhood is a...” — synth, too? Joy finishes the thought in her head. What do we do then, when we’ve dined with them and cried with them and fought alongside them?
“Then we must kill them. No single life is more important than the future of the human race. There are no exceptions.” )
Irene returns not a moment too soon, when Seulgi is done poking and prodding at the radio parts. “Change of plans,” the adventurer says, and if she sounds angry, Joy is unable to tell through the blank mask Irene is fond of wearing. “The three of us will head for Diamond City— Seulgi will stay at Home Plate while Joy and I leave for Goodneighbor.”
Joy nods, and Seulgi tilts her head. “What about Wendy?” Seulgi asks, and there’s an emotion that passes over Irene’s eyes, but Joy is too slow to decipher it. “Will she stay here?”
The smallest among them sighs. “Sanctuary needs her more than I do,” she remarks almost miserably. “So. Let’s leave in thirty? Pack for a long trip.” Irene commands more than requests when she speaks, and she does it as if there's no room for any argument. Joy likes this side of Irene. The eldest straightens her posture before taking her leave from the small garage.
“It would be nice if Wendy finishes the radio before we get back, wouldn’t it?” Seulgi asks.
She answers before she can even think about how this is the first time she will directly address Seulgi in the weeks they’ve been around each other. “It would be,” Joy agrees, looking away and ignoring how Seulgi looks when the synth’s face lights up with a grin.
They leave for Diamond City soon after and arrive at Home Plate within the week.
~☢~
Joy was saved by a synthetic humanoid, once, when she was twelve and her long limbs were outgrowing her reflexes and easy climbs into abandoned buildings suddenly became life-threatening situations.
She’d been on a mission to salvage metals and junk fit for crafting— something like a hazing ritual to see the children fit to explore the Commonwealth and serve the Brotherhood that way. It was on the fifth floor of an office building that was more garbage than concrete.
The Joy now, early in her twenties and used to the length of her extremities, would never have made the same mistake her child-self did, alone and practically naked without armor because bitter old men would rather children die from their own carelessness than possibly ruin an important mission.
For this one in particular, Joy was tasked to explore an abandoned building and scout; then gather any important materials worth anything. For the good of the Brotherhood.
She was hunched over a huge pile in the corner, watching out for the gaping hole on the floor by her side. There was one shiny motor piece that her arm was still too short to reach— or so she thought. She moved a knee forward and hit a jagged piece of glass that made her hiss, sitting back and slipping. It was a flimsy metal board she put weight on on that tipped and sent her over the edge of the hole in the floor.
To be honest, the fall didn’t hurt. It was not unusual in her line of work— but the piece her knee hit moved the mountain of heavy junk down her way; her still unaware of the danger because of the metal board that impeded her view.
That was when the synth came, and the weight of several blocks of wood and metal and even bits of concrete were blocked by industrial arms and wiring that sparked in places Joy was not used to seeing. Now, she would recall this incident and understand that it was a Gen 2 synth, made of metal and wires and programmed to protect; like a butler or a slave. That was why it saved her.
The thing eerily stared at her, mouth torn off, and Joy stared back at the mannequin-like appearance, all plastic skin and limbs that were already half broken— joints containing loose wires that would electrocute her if she touched them.
(“Synths are nothing but machines. They don’t feel anything. Whatever reactions you get from one are mere imitations. They are not us and they are not with us. Anyone who goes against the Brotherhood deserves death.” )
She left as soon as the coast was clear, bringing back to the base two empty hands signaling a mission failed and the memory of eyes that didn't blink.
~☢~
Joy learns that Seulgi is literally a well-oiled machine when Irene and the soldier get in trouble on the way back from Goodneighbor.
Irene is almost inhumanly fast, but the Deathclaw was both actually inhuman and much, much faster. Even just a second to reload might as well be an opening as long as eternity for the creature.
Joy felt like she was miles away when the smaller woman fell from a swipe at her back that started at a shoulder blade and ended at her hip, though in reality the distance was mere yards. The trip to the stadium felt like light-years with Irene dripping blood the entire time; Joy just about sprinted the whole way with her coat tightly covering the smaller woman.
The vault-dweller passes out on Joy’s back two hundred meters from the gates.
“ Seulgi! ” Joy hisses as soon as she opens the door to Home Plate. Her knees give out once Seulgi rushes to her side.
“What happened to the pack stimpaks I gave you?” the synth quickly asks as they heave Irene onto the couch, face down so her back doesn’t get grazed.
“I— We—” ran out, she wants to say. We faced a storm coming back and got to shelter too late. The rads were too high. The cave was infested and it was too dark. We weren't prepared. Joy knows she needs to explain so Seulgi will have the information it seeks, but her hands are shaking and her throat is closing up and Irene is fucking bleeding out on the living room floor.
Despite her delirious speechlessness, Seulgi seems to understand and gives her a look. The— healer— quickly gets a stimpak from the nearest drawer right under the coffee table built by Wendy herself.
Better safe than sorry, Wendy had told Joy when the latter asked about the extra storage, the former coating the table with stain that turned it the color of a burning sky.
Oh fuck, Wendy. Wendy is going to murder her.
“Are you hurt?”
Joy shakes her head while her eyes roam over Irene’s skin, bruised and cut and jagged and horrifying. It was slowly getting less traumatising to stare at with Seulgi’s deliberate hands carefully assessing the degree of injury all over the huge wound, yet it was still done at a painfully agonizing pace.
She doesn't catch how the synth furrows its brow at her, though she’d later reason that she was too busy making sure Irene was alive for her ignorance. She'd never forgive herself if…
“Is s-she—”
She's behind Seulgi, who's kneeling by the couch where Irene is splayed out, so she doesn't see the face of the— medic — when it responds. “Please take a drink from the cooler, then clean yourself up.”
Joy is still stuck in her place, Irene’s cry echoing in her brain.
“Paladin Joy.”
She stares at her blood-covered fingers, the red tint now dry, and remembers the panic of hands slipping from all the blood coating Irene’s skin.
(“Irene!” Joy screams, her legs moving faster than they'd ever had in her life.
No, no, not Irene too. Not like this.
The smaller woman— the fastest and strongest person Joy has ever come to know— has enough strength to raise a shotgun in between the Deathclaw’s eyes.
And Irene never misses.
Joy follows it up with another five shots before it falls and Irene groans from the fatigue.
“Joy— I can't.” Irene wheezes, and only now does Joy notice that there's too much blood dripping. Irene's normally flexible body has never been so stressed and stiff.
That— she's not going to—
“Joy,” Irene pleads, reaching out, but there's too much blood and the smaller woman’s hands are slipping out of her grip. “J—” )
“Paladin Joy.”
Seulgi is in front of her now, pushing a drink into her hands before wiping her arms down with a wet towel as soon as the soldier blinks out of her stupor. Irene is on the couch with her back bandaged up and the floor wiped clean of any blood.
The drink helps calm her nerves, although not as much as seeing the color return to Irene’s cheeks. That was too much —
“Blood,” she gasps out as Seulgi pushes her into one of the armchairs. “She— That was a lot.” Her hands are still shaking.
Seulgi makes a sound of agreement, then throws the towels into the laundry area of their little base in Diamond City. “Stimpaks cause dehydration, and because you and Irene-unnie both finished an entire set of my modified ones, the two of you are on the edge right now. Please drink, Paladin Joy.”
Joy shakes her head when Seulgi comes closer with another drink. “Irene needs your attention more. I c-can take care of myself,” she says gruffly, taking the glowing bottle.
The synth’s eyes check over Irene’s prone form before it sighs then nods, proceeding to the cooler kept under locks and bringing out a blood pack to presumably deal with Irene's blood loss. “No need to worry so much. She's in stable condition,” it says calmly, smiling at Joy. “Now that I’m here, she'll be alright.”
Seulgi is a synth— Joy knows this— but that doesn't mean her words have no effect. Seulgi was the one to see them off before they left for the week-long travel, with Wendy busy in Sanctuary Hills, and Seulgi was the one who'd brought relief back into Joy’s system as soon as she saw the medic.
(She's been missing for an entire week now.
Protocol dictates that every soldier of the Brotherhood of Steel has to report by radio every day, and Joy’s companion hasn't checked in for seven.
Joy grits her teeth and stares at the point of her partner’s last known location, at an outpost.
No, not my partner. Not since she'd been assigned this mission and I've been stuck here at the Prydwen.
“I’m requesting for a team to be deployed. The location is a strategic advantage— we've no other stations around it for miles. I—”
Her commander, gruff and strong as steel, raises a hand to stop her. “Bring it up with the Elder.”
Damn it. Joy bites her lip. She can't show emotion now, not when so much is at stake and one wrong move could be the denial of a team to save her.
“For your sake, I hope you succeed in convincing him. However, that won’t be difficult.” His eyes lock in at the mark on the map, almost faded from how often Joy runs her fingers over it. “You have my sponsorship for deployment.”
Joy stills. “Commander—”
“The Brotherhood will want its soldier back, Joy. The Elder will grant it.” He straightens up and crosses a hand over his chest. “Ad Victoriam, sister.”
She nods and stares at the map.
Wait for me.)
Joy looks up into eyes colored a deep hazelnut that are nothing like Irene’s inky orbs nor Wendy’s stark honey ones, feeling her nerves give way all the same.
“Paladin Joy, please get some rest,” Seulgi says gently, tilting its head, and Joy finally lets out the breath she'd been holding. “You've done well. Thank you for taking care of her until now.”
She pauses briefly, taking in Seulgi’s tranquil stare, then nods. “I will. But is it okay if I stay here?” With you two. In case Joy wakes up in a panic— because she's sure the sight of the two of them will calm her down immediately.
“Of course.”
Joy lets out another breath, nodding and settling back into the cushion of her seat. She closes her eyes slowly; taking her time to fall asleep to the calming sounds of Seulgi’s steps all around her and Irene’s strong and steady breath filling the air.
~☢~
Her companions exchanged a look between themselves as Joy frantically whispered to herself, calculating distances and time and the last known location of where Yerin radioed in to report before a radiation storm hit them.
They found a cave right before the wind changed. There were no immediate threats other than the radiation, but their refuge kept most of it out, so everyone took this opportunity to slip out of the power armour they had been wearing for days on end.
She bit her lip and looked around at the tired faces of her crew— Hayoung looking exhausted and grim most of all. The younger woman started to shake her head, but Joy looked away.
“We can’t leave her. We can’t stop.”
Joy said it as much for Hayoung as she did for herself. The rest of the deployed soldiers, who were trying desperately to figure out how their supplies would last if their commander was this persistent, never judged. The Brotherhood knew relationships among soldiers best— that human connection was never to be taken for granted and never to be sacrificed.
The scribes may preach that no single life was worth all of this, but Brotherhood soldiers were not sheep. They knew what mattered.
Hayoung wraps her hand around one of Joy’s wrists to steady her. Another soldier leans into the warmth of an older who caressed his hair. In the corner, the two youngest under Joy were seated shoulder-to-shoulder.
“I know,” her second-in-command replied, gently smiling. “We won’t stop. Not even if it kills us.”
Joy chuckled. “Famous last words?” The hand around her wrist adjusted to hold and massage the commander’s neck, working out the kinks. She merely closed her eyes.
“Yerin is fine. We’ll find her. She’s just like us,” Hayoung said. Joy stepped closer as they hunched over the map together this time. “Too stubborn for her own good.”
~☢~
She wakes with a warm hand on her cheek. Lashes giving way to the darkness, she lethargically assumes that it’s already quite late into the night.
“I transferred Irene-unnie to the bed upstairs.” Seulgi’s palm is warm and its whisper rumbles through the air like velvet and wind chimes at the same time.
“Alone?” Joy questions, head fuzzy from rest and voice cracking from tiredness. “I could've helped. Not light.” She’s practically slurring her words.
Seulgi smiles, the moonlight shining on a perfect face. “She was already conscious.”
Joy blinks, one half of her refusing to believe that Irene could be alright after only hours and the other half of her relieved that she was safe. Then again, Seulgi was a literal robot designed specifically for catering to injuries. She lets her stiff shoulders relax and the buzzing in her head to keep quiet.
“—Told me not to wake you,” the synth continues, though Joy didn’t hear the rest of it. Its hand leaves Joy’s cheek and settles on its lap from where the synth is seated on the sturdy coffee table. “But you looked a little uncomfortable here.”
She is— a little bit— but knowing that Irene is safe gives a lot more room for relief than exhaustion in her. “I’m alright,” she ends up responding, adjusting her long legs on the small armchair.
Joy doesn’t know what makes her say what she does next.
“This isn’t as bad as where Irene made us camp during the radiation storm that passed.”
Seulgi places h— its chin on its hands, as if it were a child listening to someone give them a bedtime story. “Yeah?”
Joy gulps, feeling some sort of unnamed emotion simmering in the middle of her chest, like she was about to cry from something as stupid as Irene recovering.
No, not stupid, she thinks. Relieving. Because if Irene had ended up like...
“Yeah,” Joy replies after a while, trying her best to shrug off the shivers that spread throughout her body. Instead she lets herself find comfort in tracing the edge between shadows and light that curve their way over Seulgi’s encouraging face. “Yeah, it was hell. I’m glad we got out of there.”
The synth smiles, gentle and genuine. “Me too. I’m glad you made it back home safely.”
Joy wants to be honest. Seeing Irene down for the count was too jarring— a scene coated in fears Joy thought she’d long forgotten. She wants to say that coming back and seeing Seulgi as soon as she got here was… it was…
“Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done had you not been waiting for us here.”
Seulgi grins. “You should thank Wendy. It was her idea to have me here. You’re the best at making sure Irene comes back in one piece, but...”
“You’re the best at making sure she’s alive and kicking when things go wrong.”
The soldier is surprised to see a playful look on the synth’s face. “We make a good team, right?” it asks, laughter ringing under the light tone. “You and me. And then there’s Wendy.”
Joy snorts. “Wendy’s job is to make sure we’re not running around like fools and getting into trouble.” This time Seulgi laughs out loud in response, and somehow the sound eases the tension that wrapped itself around Joy’s limbs completely, freeing them at last.
Seulgi’s laugh is a good sound to listen to. In her battered and exhausted state, Joy decides that she wouldn’t mind hearing her laugh again and again.
~☢~
Condolences.
Joy didn’t hear them. She boarded the Prydwen with what was starting to look like permanent internal damage in her body from radiation and several dog tags in her satchel. The two in her hand read Yerin and Hayoung, respectively.
She stepped into the quarters.
“Paladin-commander Joy, here to report, Elder. Retrieval mission was a failure,” she said when the Elder allowed her to speak. “Paladin Yerin had been deceased for approximately fourteen days— three hours after her last radio transmission— when we arrived.”
Joy tried her best to recite what was mandatory after a mission, even if it was a failed one. Hayoung is dead, she let herself think. As well as everybody else.
“You’re telling me that there was interference from the Institute?”
She nodded. “Paladin Hayoung and I faced two Coursers.”
But only I survived, went unsaid. The dog tags in her hand weighed feather-light but the feeling in her chest grew to what felt like the size of the Prydwen itself.
“Is it their skin? Their gender, their body? Is it their consciousness? Or is it that they want to believe that they’re the only ones who can feel?”