Moving Out

Date: 11/02/2224

Location: Lafayette Medical Center → Foot Route to University

Today we move on foot. No theatrics. No shortcuts. I told Colby Voss we’d be heading to the University on foot—no vehicles, no signatures, no broadcasts. He nodded, flat and efficient.

“Stay out of trouble,” he said. “There are unfriendly beasts in those stacks. Not all of them wear teeth where you expect.”

Larry, predictably, exploded out from wherever he’s been hiding and screamed the moment he heard beasts.

“SUPERMUTANTS! I KNEW IT! I TOLD YOU THEY’RE HERE! I TOLD—”

Colby turned to him slowly, the kind of look a man gives a rat right before he shuts the crate. He spoke dry, surgical:

“Hey! Stop screaming and start walking, or I’ll trade your theatrics for a quiet hole in Texas faster than you can spin a story.”

Larry’s mouth dried up mid-sentence. He tried a comeback—a half-baked jab—only for Colby to cut him with a line that landed: a personal note, pointed and direct. Larry’s color left him. The fear that walks with him like a shadow went quiet.

Clancy clapped both hands once, loud:

“Look — we gotta go. Fellas, let’s run.”

I raised a hand. “Whoa.” Firm, measured. “Lead isn’t a shout, Lieutenant. We move controlled. You want lead? Hold your pace and your breath. We’ll go when I say go.”

Colby shrugged a shoulder as if the argument were some trivial court case. Before he left he offered the sort of conditional brotherhood that pays with weight:

“If you need me, I’m here. My mom should be by shortly—she’ll introduce herself. When you get back, say hello.”

I gave him the noncommittal nod. “Do what you must.” His presence is a tool; he’s a station, not a signal I trust.

Pinball buzzed, impatient and practical:

“Sir. Let us skedaddle. Trajectory: University. Efficiency mode: engage.”

Then Colby glanced at Larry again, eyes narrowing like a blade folding shut. He spoke the thing that set the thin air on edge.

“You’re Larry Breaux, correct? There’s a bounty out in Texas with your name on it. One flick of a comm and you’re wanted. Don’t make it easier.”

Larry went pale and small all at once. “Yes, Sir Knight Voss. I will behave.” He folded into himself like a man with no other trade.

I watched the exchange and measured the thresholds—the ease with which fear can be weaponized, the way leverage changes posture. This is why I operate the way I do: railroad the chaos into predictable rails.

Larry tried one last thing as we organized—voice hopeful, like a child asking for candy.

“Chief — I fixed the suit. Can I… can I take the power armor? Just for the way there? I got it running.”

I looked him over. The man wants armor like a drowning man wants rope. But armor is not trust you strap on; it’s consequence. I kept my voice even.

“Leave it here. We pick it up on return. We travel light. You don’t wear other people’s tracks as a disguise. Not today.”

He sulked but accepted it. Fear needs a leash; today, we kept it short.

We stepped into the street. Clancy tightened his pack and steadied himself—eager, but disciplined under watch. Pinball swung into position, servos humming like a hymn. Larry shuffled at the back, hands empty, eyes loud.

We walked the route on foot. No radio squawks. No name drops. Just the track beneath our boots and the quiet that keeps men alive.

—The Big Chief