Mutually Assured Destruction || Yandere!Soulmates X F!Reader

Familiar Face

Garcia planned to give her marching orders to the Rangers the next day, but you'd already packed up and decided to go hunting that very night. You told no one where you were going or what you were doing, least of all Garcia. You didn't want them to worry.

If you died in this fight, then that was fair. Bad karma had a habit of catching up with you. No matter who you were, the universe was gonna get you.

There was quite a distance between Fort Valiant and its besieged neighbors. You spent the next week killing your way through dozens of Ghouls on your way to Redd River Valley.

Water was the number one priority. The Fort had a stockpile of bottled water but, even with strict rationing, that wouldn't last longer than about a month. Starvation was a slow process, but this heat, without a drop to drink? That killed fast.

You stole ammo and better weapons as you came across them, leaving the bodies of their previous owners to rot in the sun. You even took a light set of armor from one of the women your size, stowing it away in your pack for later, if an infiltration mission came up.

You'd come across the odd vehicle on the road, but mostly dodged them and their drivers. Being run over by a truck or turned into swiss cheese by a car-mounted turret were two ways you did not want to go.

All the while, you kept your mind on the goal --liberating the Valley-- rather than the blood you needed to shed to accomplish that goal. Better not to think too long or hard on the path you were cutting through of people that had once been just like you but weren't anything anymore.

The masks made it easier. Not knowing the different faces of your victims before you put a bullet in them helped.

Why did the Ghouls wear masks though? As someone who used to wear one yourself, you wondered if there was a part of them that remembered who they used to be and if they were ashamed. You certainly were.

Come to think of it, you were wearing a different disguise now, weren't you? You'd traded a tiger mask for a cowboy hat, a pair of aviators, and a paisley bandana.

You liked to think you were on the side of the good guys --the side of righteousness-- now... But you didn't know what you would do if you were faced with an opponent you recognized.

And, of course, that's when you did.

You'd just happened across the Big Maybelle Racetrack, an old pre-War racing course. The locals never had any use for it, but the Final Ghouls certainly found one.

Death racing. It had been a common form of entertainment for the gang since before you left. It was barbaric and, honestly, one of the reasons you took your leave. You repeatedly pleaded with Uma to put a stop to it, but she shrugged off your concerns, said Kali liked using it to test members' loyalties. Who were you to take that joy away from her?

The gang was going to hell in a handbasket, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. All you could do was jump ship before you got yourself killed.

Your only regret was you couldn't take anyone with you when you did. You left behind a few good friends in the Final Ghouls. Friends like--

"Mad Mel is currently in the lead, followed closely by Machinegun Kev and Eager Artie," the Ghoul announcer called out over a loudspeaker. The gang members all gathered around the track let out a deafening roar.

Mad Mel? As in, Melanie?

No, no, it couldn't be her! The gang's turnover was astronomical. There's no way she could still be alive after all these years.

Yet what else did you see but a split-dye hanging out the window of a black Jeep, wielding her signature bubblegum pink sniper rifle.

"Jesus Christ," you breathed, putting down your binoculars. What was this? Some kind of sick test of your morals?