FFF - Help the pilot

You better move fast.

The suit is huge and unspeakably heavy. You’ve never seen or operated something like this, but you understand the idea. If it’s broken or doesn’t have sufficient power, the wearer might as well be in a coffin.

There’s a strange, staticky noise. It must be the pilot trying to say something, but this suit is totaled. It takes you several moments to find the manual releases, which are all hidden and difficult to manipulate. Fortunately, you are wearing gloves.

Still, it takes the better part of a minute to find the last switch.

There’s a loud hiss and the suit’s might, somewhat scary-looking helm, rises slightly. You lift it heavily out of way, and a cascade of golden hair comes with it.

The sweaty, breathless woman inside stares up at you looking… shockingly friendly. She tries vainly to blow a few hairs off her face.

“High,” she says.

“How do I get you out?” you ask. “We have to go.”

“I scared him off,” she replies confidently.

You glance upward. You are worried about whatever that thing was, but you are more worried about those weird penis women.

“It’s there. Pull that tab,” she says, jerking her chin at something just out of sight. You reach into the breastplate and find it, giving it a yank.

There’s another hiss and the breastplate that you’re kneeling on splits in two. You tumble to the ground as the armor opens with a groan. The woman inside unfolds her body. She wears a tight, brown bodysuit that, if not for the sweat stains, would have been quite flattering. She’s quite a beauty, not that there’s time for that.

“Let’s go,” you say, beckoning. “We have to leave. They’re coming.”

“Who?” the woman asks, stretching, then tossing her hair back. “Oh, them.”

You whirl to see pale figures charging into the clearing. Gunshots so loud and close that they make you jump and stab your ears painfully ring out and you look back to see the blonde with a chunky pistol with a brown grip in her hand. She fires six shots, and six of the pale women fall. But more or coming.

She frowns. “Oh,” she says. “There’s more.”

Lots more. You scoop up your rifle and lunge past her, running in the opposite direction. Standing and fighting is no good, and this woman just made things ten times worse. That’s the loudest gun you’ve ever heard.

She dashes past you. This woman isn’t just a good shot, she’s light on her feet as well. You spot a particularly thick cluster of trees and take your chance, diverting to hide in the dark. The blonde joins you. Crouching in the shadows, she points up. She wants to climb the tree. You shake your head; doing so will make noise. Your best chance is to stay still and quiet.

“Oh, hell,” she says, and you look up at what she’s noticed: a copperhead with a mouth the size of your torso. Before you can react, the blonde shoots it in the mouth with that pistol. Blood and teeth spray all over you both, and the sudden noise and action make you flinch and fall down.

Great. So much for hiding. Wiping blood off, you scramble to your feet and push the blonde to keep going. You lose track of time as you hurry through the dark forest with no light, doing your best to interpret the sounds of the creatures on your tail.

You manage to lose them in the dark, eventually. It was a brutal pursuit. Your legs burn and you’re wheezing. Even the blonde is out of breath. You’re kneeling behind some rocks covered in slimy swamp moss. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark. You’ve escaped those things, but you don’t know what else is out here. You haven’t forgotten whatever this woman was fighting against. On top of that, you are completely lost. Even in daylight, you wouldn’t know how to get back to the lake or that place. Well… maybe you could if you could see the sun, but it wouldn’t be easy. You were on the run for at least half an hour. You covered a lot of ground.

The blonde has finally understood the need for quiet. She says nothing and points. There’s a shape in the gloom. You follow her, moving in a cautious crouch, until you’re close enough to see what it is: the remains of a house. It was once a large house, but now it’s just wreckage. There was a fire here, long ago. There’s even the burned-out remains of an automobile. Someone lived here.

It's been long enough since you’ve heard those things nearby. You light up your Pip Girl to see by, finding that the blonde is already picking her way through the remains.

She stands with her hands on her hips, frowning down at the charred debris and thick carpet of ancient ash, which has become a crust on everything. You continue to watch as she moves around, measuring her steps as though looking for something. Finally, she kneels and you join her, watching in fascination as she uses a bit of blackened metal that she found to scrape the ash crust away. There’s something underneath: something metal.

Intrigued, you draw your knife and help her. Working in silence, you uncover a trap door of some kind.

“I’ll be damned,” she murmurs, looking as though she wants to laugh. She seems so relaxed and carefree. The door is locked with a spinning combination handle. The blonde uses her revolver to tap around the door several times, then sticks the piece of metal into the gap, wedging it. She lies on her side with her ear to the door. Touching the piece of metal, she gently turns the handle.

It takes her more than ten minutes, but she gets it open. You are awestruck by her competence. With just her ear and the vibrations from a piece of debris, she was able to crack something so serious. This isn’t Vault-Tec, but it’s similar.

She opens the trap door, letting out old, musty air.