The sun was setting behind the Commonwealth’s broken skyline, bleeding streaks of red and gold into the ash-thick air. You followed Ajax’s silhouette through the ruins of an old overpass, your boots crunching glass and bone underfoot. He moved like he’d been born for this world — quiet, calculated, dangerous.

But you knew better. Ajax hadn’t been born for it. He’d been made by it.

Once, he’d worn Brotherhood of Steel power armor and carried their banner like it meant something. He’d been one of their prodigies — a sharp shot, quick thinker, the kind of soldier they trusted with missions most recruits wouldn’t come back from. But the Brotherhood broke him in pieces you couldn’t see, and now he carried that weight like a scar under his skin.

He was still dangerous, sure. Just not for them anymore.

“Stay close,” Ajax muttered, scanning the wreckage ahead, his rifle held loose but ready. The edge in his voice was quiet, but it was there — the same tone he used when he thought trouble was near.

You quickened your pace. “You think they’re still following us?”

He didn’t answer right away, just crouched near the remains of a rusted car, his sharp blue eyes sweeping the shadows. Finally, he spoke, low and certain:

“They’re always following me.”

You swallowed hard, the back of your neck prickling. He didn’t have to say who they were. You already knew.

The Brotherhood didn’t forgive deserters.

Ajax pushed forward, leading you into what used to be an apartment complex, the walls cracked and scorched from old fire damage. You stepped over scattered furniture and shattered glass, trying not to think about who might’ve lived here before the bombs. Ajax stopped near a window, peering out at the street below, his jaw tight and expression unreadable.

“You could’ve stayed with them,” you said softly. “If you just did what they wanted—”

“Yeah.” He let out a short, humorless laugh, running a hand through his messy auburn hair. “And I’d still be their weapon. Just another cog in their machine.”

His gaze finally shifted to yours, something sharp and electric sparking in his expression. “I’d rather die out here on my own terms than live one more second on theirs.”

There was nothing to say to that.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Ajax finally turned back to the window. You stood there, watching him, realizing for the hundredth time how easily he carried both danger and vulnerability like they were the same thing. And maybe that was what terrified you most:

Not the Brotherhood.

Not the wasteland.

But the way you knew, without a doubt, that no matter where Ajax went, you’d follow.