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  1. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. The figures were motionless underneath the heavy rainfall, calm and tempered, as their black ponchos hid most of their features, but they all evidently kept their hands on their weapons, albeit with gun safety in mind, but they all were ready for a fight if any hostile situation would arise on their way to their destination. As their transport swerved, their stiff bodies move with it, almost as if the rain was a symphony, and they the conducting band. The relative busyness of the city was lost to the group though the horrible weather conditions made that understandable, as they passed by dozens of buildings, many of which had lights on. To reach the Brotherhood's headquarters, one must travel a good distance into the city first. The dying sun’s brilliance was further consumed by the large, black clouds in the sky, and the never-ending rainfall. Dusk would already be dark, but the rain just added to that. This autumn had truly been rainy, a carry over from the spring. The trip had been long, and even the cold hearts of the Black Knights of the Brotherhood of Steel were relieved that it would finally be over in a few minutes. The group in transport consisted of five members, their figures hidden by the protective rain gear, and the hoods they currently wore, but even with it, you could see their trademark, black-painted combat armour, bulging underneath their ponchos, as well as their protective gauntlets, ever-gripping their silenced R15’s, which they held to the side. Their transport was a four wheeled army jeep, coloured dark green with the symbol of the Brotherhood of Steel painted over it’s hood, with an LMG mounted behind the driver's seat, just in front of the passengers. The vehicle had it’s roof removed to accommodate the LMG, as well as the back extended to allow two passengers to sit, facing each other, leaning on the sides of the Jeep. It was being driven by a Knight, another sat in the front seat, just besides the driver, and two sat from across each other, just behind the mounted turret. The Knight manning the LMG kept his eyes on the road, gently aiming it from side to side. Unlike the rest she had her poncho’s hood down, revealing a full face special forces ballistic helmet, painted black like the rest of their armour, with a pair of red glass thermal goggles, and a gas respirator built into frontal part of the helm. The figure cautiously eyed the occasional looming object, and person before relaxing her trigger finger as soon as she knew they weren't a threat. The few people outside worryingly glanced at the dark figures, their helmets a sinister omen of the masses. Drip, drop, drip, drop. They went down the road for a few more minutes, their Jeep’s engine roaring and it's headlights piercing the falling rain, until the gunner spoke up, her voice being brought down by both the sound of rain and her helmets muffle. “We are approaching the gate, eyes sharp.” The Knight beside the driver spoke in a commanding voice, "Aye. Don't let your mind wander, and let me do the talking." They wordlessly acknowledged the order, as they drew closer to the large compound. The base was along the interstate, its large gate being flanked by two looming towers, each containing a spotlight, and sentry onto its vantage point. The entire compound was walled, it' sturdy defenses made from metal, with soldiers and robots manning the defenses, looking onto the outside world with guns pointed downwards. Beyond that, even from were they were, they could see an even larger tower with a radio antenna jotting upwards. Just as they were nearing the gate the spotlights on the two towers fell over the jeep and its inhabitants, but the dark figures remained unfazed. As if on cue, the Knight who stood beside the driver's shoulder started blazing in static. It was a shoulder-mounted radio. The man signaled for the driver to pause, causing the car to come to a whining halt. From the static radio came a voice, "In the name of the Brotherhood of Steel we order you to halt and identify yourself." The Knight responded right away, and without pause. "Knight Commander Vincent Almada, Black Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel. Me and my Lance are under the strict orders of the Elders of Chicago, and request entrance to your compound." He paused only a moment to say, "Clearance code, Iron Sigma 838993." The Knight brought down his communicator, and waited a second, before the metal gates began to slowly open. His communicator began to beep once more, causing him to bring it up. The voice from before echoed, nervously, "Understood Knight Commander. Sir, your clearance code checks out. You are free to enter. Steel be with you." As the gateway swung open, the Jeep resumed its journey. ** The Paladin Lord When Alan’s scribe assistant told him the main gate had radioed in that a squad of Black Knights had arrived, he cursed loudly enough that the assistant fled back to his desk. Which meant he only got angrier, as he had to call the scribe back in to tell him to show the Black Knights into Alan’s office. The scribe nodded, turned to leave, turned back to salute, and then finally left to show in the elite soldiers. If there was ever a time he wanted Sterling around, this was it. At the very least they agreed on their low view of the Elders’ personal thugs. The Inquisitors’ rivalry with the Black Knights particularly deep, and as his goal was to join that group, Alan had long ago cultivated his own grudge against them. Their skill and fervent hatred of mutants was undeniable, but he knew they were just the Elders’ way of undermining Barnaky’s leadership. The fact that the Elders had sent them here meant they were trying to undermine his leadership as well. They might as well have sent him a letter saying they no longer had faith in him or the Inquisitors. He heard the sound of boots marching down the hallway so he finished his fuming and straightened out his jacket. In came the black clad Knights, their helmets tucked under their arms and rain dripping off of their ponchos. Their leaders was a tall man, seemingly heavily built already, not even including his armour. His hair was chestnut brown, with bits of grey intermingling in a military styled buzz cut. He might have been handsome, if it wasn't for how grizzled the man looked, and his face was covered in horrific burn marks and scarred tissue. His companions were similar in appearance, but only one other had as ugly burn scars as the man, while the other two simply had singes here and their on their face. These were self-inflicted, a Black Knight ritual of scarring, or so Alan had heard. There was a woman with the group, not too bad looking, but like the others her face was ritually scarred with scorch marks, and her hair was done in a buzz like the men. They offered a Brotherhood salute, albeit one that was slightly half-hearted, their leader spoke, "Salutations, sir. You are Paladin Lord Ogawa? Alan sharply returned the salute. He wouldn’t let their disrespect make him lax. “I am. And you’re Knight Commander Almada. What brings your Lance to Wellstone?” The man drew from underneath his black poncho a circular metallic object, coloured bronze. He pressed the button which held what looked like a cut blue gemstone, causing a holographic heraldry to be displayed, a heraldry identifying the individual as someone who acted on the authority and will of an Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, and that authority went with them. "Ill tidings, I'm afraid." He said with a sinister undertone, "My Lance has been sent to deal with a certain Rebel Commander." His face was emotionless, as he drew forth a picture of a rather average looking man "The mark we hunt is a traitor, Gregory Thatch, alongside his associates before he truly becomes a danger to our crusade." Alan's eyes narrowed on Thatch's sketched face. Whatever he had in store was already in motion, and too late for this Lance or all the soldiers Alan commanded to stop it. "His reappearance must have frightened the Elders that they sent you, Commander." "Or perhaps it's the negligence and incompetence of this region's Officers that truly worry our Lord's. That and their inability to put down a single traitor and whatever degenerate cohorts he's conjured. With all due respect, sir." The Knight-Commander said sharply. So that's how this was going to be. "A single traitor? You're in for a rude awakening, I can assure you that. Those before me failed, and let this grow. You think you can lance Thatch like a wound and everything will end? The ex-Inquisitor Felix is with him. They've allied with criminal gangs. And that is only the beginning. This whole city needs to be purged, Commander, before this will end. If one trace of these rebels are left, we will have lost. That is what I'm dealing with, not the hunt for a single man." Before the man could interject, one of his fellows, spoke up, a much older looking knight, "If this man is such a threat, then passive-aggressive quipping and excuses to each other won't do us any good." He glanced around with a look of annoyance, before saying, "With all due respect, Knight-Commander, sir...i'll be quiet now." The man's face was just as mangled as the Knight Commander's, his hair almost completely gray, alongside his sizable beard. His voice was coarse and deep. The scorched commander rolled his eyes, before muttering, "No. If you have the insolence to speak without permission, Senior Knight Florence, then do so." The Knight muttered, "We have the same objective, the elimination of this traitor and those that surround him to safeguard the Brotherhood we all serve. We will stand a better chance under a united front, pooling are skill, knowledge, and resources together. Without squabbling. Less it be used against us." Alan made a note to ask Sterling about the possibility of fracturing whatever alliances Thatch had formed. Doubtless the criminal elements weren't going to have the same ideals, but their lack of intelligence into the rebel operation made discovering any divisions unlikely. Something they should see about correcting. He acknowledged the more agreeable soldier with only a nod before turning back to Almada. "I will have rooms prepared for you in the officer's quarters, and of course you'll have access to all of our intelligence. As of right now we have connected Thatch to only the one attack, though other attacks in the area were likely perpetrated by his allies. Is there anything else you'll need?" "That arrangement is suitable." He gave a curt nod, "In the mean time, after we have a look at what you currently have on the man, we'll be running reconnaissance and see if we can find some of this traitor's associates." He did one final salute alongside his soldiers, before they hurriedly left the room. As the Elders’ Executioners left, Alan pulled from his desk a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a shot. This was the last thing he needed, another group that would try and take credit for whatever success he had in Wellstone. He took another shot and decided to turn in early, since it was already late in the evening. There were reports from Mayor Prassel and Chief Harrington to read, but those could wait until the morning. He did send a message over for the scribes to compile information on the rebels for the Black Knights. With some added rest he hoped he’d find some sort of breakthrough, or maybe just a way to distract the Knights long enough that he could find Thatch and Felix. There was no epiphany while he slept, so when he awoke the next morning he showered, dressed, and took his reports to the mess hall to read. He was among the first there, with a few of the night shift still eating dinner before they turned in. Someone brought him eggs, sausage, and tea, which he picked at as he read over the reports. Prassel’s was mostly inconsequential. There had been complaints from some merchants about the search for C-27 robot parts the Brotherhood had conducted, which unsurprisingly turned up nothing of interest. Prassel had fielded those complaints and was passing along the dissatisfaction, though Alan couldn’t have cared less. Prassel also passed along complaints of increased number of All-Seeing preachers on the street, who foretold doomsdays and offered their sight as forewarning to all who would listen. Apparently they were hoping to drum up more business in their fortune telling by preying on the anxieties people had. He would have to pass on a letter to their All-Seer, politely asking them to stop their preaching unless they informed people the Brotherhood’s victory was assured. Alan knew the bulk of the support for the All-Seeing came from the Emerald Gardens and Gold District. The Priory of the All-Seeing was mostly harmless, just a way to scam the rich out of their money. Even if the scam supposedly involved blinding the preachers, though Alan had his doubts they were truly permanently blinded. Chief Harrington’s report more consequential, but all the more frustrating for it. She hadn’t found the mole in Wellstone Security that leaked the identity of the double agents they had in the Forgotten Homes gangs. Harrington said she it was likely the officer had some connection to the Madsen Family, which was the alpha gang that kept the other Forgotten Homes gangs from tearing each other apart. No other entity in Forgotten Homes could coordinate and pull off something like that. She also said that she’d gone through their records and could find nothing indicating the presence of the Thatches or Felix in Wellstone. Alan wrote out his terse response, emphasizing that her job was to bring the Forgotten Homes gangs to heel, and to take whatever measures necessary to do so. The last report was from Sterling, an update on the background check of Clara Teasely. It had been several years since she’d served on the City Council, so that report wasn’t entirely up to date, but he said that in digging around he couldn’t find anything untoward. She’d been friends with General Stillwell for quite a while, and had kept his presence a secret quite dutifully. And most of her other friends, Like the Devereuxs and Rose Goldwyn, were close, if secret, Brotherhood allies. Sterling said that next he would look into Clara’s employees and then conduct a security review of the hotel itself under the guise of his Knight Commander Lowrie persona, to ensure it was safe. Alan was hopeful they could have the General moved in relatively soon. He didn’t want to risk some particularly zealous group of rebels making a move against the General. As he finished the reports Alan looked up and saw the Black Knights arriving for their breakfast. Their commander greeted Alan with a curt nod as they made their way down the serving line. Alan picked up the holodisk he’d had put together last night and walked over to where the Black Knights were sitting. He tossed it down onto the table and said, “That’s everything we have on the rebels. I can give you the brief version if you like.” He shook his head. "I'd rather hear the full story. Leave nothing out." "If you want that, fire up a terminal." Alan finished off his tea and set his cup on one of the Black Knights' trays. "The first rebel group set off a couple bombs, one conventional, the other a mininuke. It was led by Taylor Simon and Ben Fisher, members of the former criminal gang the Lucky Seven. We found them through another member, Little Grog. We killed Taylor Simon and found his black market arms dealer, but his compatriot Ben Fisher escaped. Simon's gang also killed a Paladin and took out a patrol squad, and since then we think Fisher and the other survivors have continued that. "Thatch came in more recently. We get a report of a C-27 needing deactivation in Forgotten Homes, so a squad and a scribe goes out. It's an ambush, the scribe gets captured. The ex-Inquisitor Felix does the capturing, which is how we learned Thatch was here. That and the planning it took to pull that ambush off. But there seems to be some connection between the criminal gangs in Forgotten Homes and Thatch. He was in their territory and would've had to have their help to pull it off cleanly. And right before that half those gangs identified and killed their Wellstone Security moles. Getting to him means going through those gangs, but everyone there is involved with them one way or another. "We don't have any intelligence, which means finding the heads of those gangs is nearly impossible. And if we starting pulling people off the street to interrogate, we'll lose support in the Steel District and Crossroads District. Fuckers don't know how good they have it under us, and they think the rebels will get them out of the slums. I plan on increasing the rewards for information, but that will lead to lots of dead ends from people with gold in their eyes. That's the situation as it stands right now. Thatch in the wind with something up his sleeve, the criminals hidden away, and Forgotten Homes as deadly to a Brotherhood soldier as the Lost Lands." "Degenerates,” the Commander seethed, gritting his teeth. "The situation is worst then what the briefing implied.” He admitted, "I was under the assumption the traitor was operating with a small group of followers. The reason for our deployment due to his individual skills, information, and the fact he was one of us. Not an entire cell, supported by a horde of criminal degenerates, well organized, with enough resources to scrounge up a mini nuke. Bah. We were given poor intelligence." He scoffed, taking a small sip of his coffee. He paused for a moment, briefly thinking something over. "I think public opinion is on the backburner of priority at the moment. If what you say is true, a bad situation can become a whole lot worst, if we do not cut off the rot before it spreads. But for now I'll have my intelligence specialist get into contact with the local contacts you have in those two areas, see if we can get any leads your men couldn't. We need to purge this infection." Alan didn't mention the faulty intelligence was his doing. A necessary safeguard against the Elders deciding to replace him or sending in their pets as they had. At least the lack of intelligence meant they only sent one Lance. "I would focus on the Forgotten Homes. Since Taylor Simon was killed, the only attacks in the city have been there. We need to find a way to undermine Thatch's support among the gangs." "Understood. We'll mount up as soon as we review your holodisk." He gave the man a nod, "Is there anything else we should be aware of?" "An Inquisitor is investigating others who bought illegal weapons from the same man that Taylor Simon did. But so far our leads on the rebels are in short supply." "Six hounds, one quarry. Interesting." He quickly finished his plate of eggs and downed his coffee before standing up. "If there's nothing else sir, good day to you." Alan offered a nod as his wordless goodbye and left the mess hall and the Black Knights behind. When he returned to his office he amended his response to Chief Harrington, directing her to begin rounding up as many members or suspected members of the Untamed gang as she could. He wanted to know the extent of their cooperation with Gregory Thatch, and he didn’t care how much the gangs of Forgotten Homes hated the Brotherhood. They had long hated them, even more so now after he shut down their brothels, but he was past caring about the feelings of criminals. He finished the orders and gave it to his scribe to typed up and send, and an order to have Clara Teasely invited to his office for a meeting today. With Sterling’s report on her finished, he wanted to talk to her sooner rather than later. He spent the next hour reading additional reports from patrols monitoring activity on the outskirts of Wellstone. Nothing new or suspicious on that front, unfortunately. That occupied his time until there was a knock on his door and in walked Ms. Teasely, short, thin, and dark, still beautiful into her early middle age. “Ms. Teasely, thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” Alan motioned for her to take a seat. She wore a pair of blue pants with thin white stripes running down them, simple loafers, and a white blouse. Her light jacket had the same pattern as the pants. “Please, call me Clara,” she said with a friendly smile. When she sat she was relaxed, leaning onto the armrest, in contrast to Alan’s rigid posture. “This was an unexpected pleasure, to be invited to your fortress. To what do I owe this meeting?” This was only the second time Alan had met Clara, the other at Tim Lucky’s steamboat party. Her friendliness was infectious, though she seemed a bit flighty and unserious. He suspected that was an air she put on, the way some women did to seem unthreatening and put the men around them at ease. “It’s about General Stillwell. After the recent attacks, I’ve been considering your offer to have him move into your hotel.” Her eyebrows shot up as her smile dropped and she grew more serious. “I’m still glad to have him, though the circumstances are disheartening, to say the least.” “Quite. To ensure his safety, we will be conducting a security review of your hotel and your employees. We’ll be sending a group to have a look around, and we’ll look into your employees to make sure none of them have any criminal records or dangerous affiliations.” “Of course, of course. Whatever you need to do to ensure the General’s safety. I’m more than happy to help with anything you need.” “A list of all of your employees and how long they’ve worked for you would be a good start. I’ll also ask that you make no hiring decisions without our approval going forward.” “I will get that to you as soon as the end of today. You’ll be happy to hear I increased my security staff, in light of the rebel attacks. And I have someone with medical training on staff. My intent was to help my guests feel more comfortable, but it seems like this will help keep the General safe as well.” “That is good to hear. I will not have made any final decisions on the matter until these reviews are completed. I’m sure you understand the need for careful consideration and discretion in this regard.” “Do I need to do anything to help keep your security review discrete? I can bring your men in through the back entrance and ensure there are few people on duty at that time.” “That would be helpful. We’ll not be sending in a large group, likely one man to conduct the review.” “I also have six Protectrons. I could turn control of them over to you, if that would be of any help. I just ask that you don’t station any soldiers within my hotel.” “If we have control over the Protectrons, I think we could avoid that. I might station a couple more there, but I would keep the soldiers on patrol outside. I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention if I can help it.” “And I will be sure to keep this quiet. Any employees I tell will be after you’ve vetted them, and only if you agree they should be in the know.” Alan smiled and relaxed a little. After Sterling’s report, and her continued assistance, he felt that he could trust Clara with the General. Her employees might be a different story, and he hoped that their backgrounds would be clear of anything suspicious. If there’s anything a hero of the Brotherhood like General Stillwell deserved, it was to retire in comfort and peace. Alan thanked Clara, who once again offered her help, before she left. Once she did his scribe assistant poked his head back through the door and said, “Paladin Lord Ogawa, Chief Harrington is here requesting a meeting.” Alan motioned for her to be shown in. This was unexpected, but probably what he should’ve asked for to begin with. Better to sort out this mess with Wellstone Security now than for them to continually undermine his efforts through their corruption. The Chief was a tall woman, only slightly shorter than Alan, with short red hair and a mean fighter’s face. She leaned forward on the chair, hands tightly gripping the back. He narrowed his eyes at her and asked, “Do we have a problem here, Chief Harrington?” “Of course we’ve got a fucking problem. We’ve had a fucking problem since before I was here, and unless we do something we’re always going to have a fucking problem.” She ground her teeth together and stared into the middle distance in a way that told him her issues were not with him. “Is this about the mole?” “That one and a dozen others. I can’t make a fucking move in any direction without someone running their mouth to the nearest criminal. Do you want to know why?” He nodded and she continued. “My officers make their money one of two ways; payoffs from the gangs or stealing from them. Some stations steal chems and then turn around and sell it themselves. You want to know who supplies those Gold District parties? My officers. They might get some higher end shit from somewhere else, but if they need chems in bulk, they talk to their friends at the Gold District Station, who get the chems from their friends in the Steel District. They march into Forgotten Homes and take whatever they can find. Which means I have to break up fights between them and the Forgotten Homes officers, who are all on the payroll of the gangs The only reason we were able to bust down the brothels is because I knew there’d be hell to pay from you. That didn’t go over well with the gangs and the officers in the Homes are feeling the pressure for it. “I saw that you want us to crack down on them, go after the Untamed, but I’m telling you right now, we’re not going to get anywhere close. Even if you use the officers from the Steel District like I did for the brothels, the gangs’ll be tipped off.” Alan knew the corruption in Wellstone Security was bad, especially in the Homes, but he had no idea things were so dire. Another area where Paladin Commander Kelman’s laziness or incompetence was continuing to cause him problems. “Why have you not detailed this before? Either to me or my predecessors?” “Fat fucking chance I’m going to tell the man who walked in here at the head of an army that none of my officers can do their jobs. What would you have done, if I told you then? Removed me on the spot. I thought I could fix it, thought taking down the brothels would change something. But this has been going on too long for me to fix without your help.” “Do you have any solutions in mind?” “Transferring has disrupted it in the past, but there’s usually a lot of pushback.” “We’ll deal with the long term at another point. Right now I want to focus on how we can capture members of the Untamed. They’re the ones that worked with Thatch and I’m more concerned with the rebels than corruption in your ranks.” “We can use the Steel District officers. They’re always willing to bust heads in the Homes. But the Untamed are too deep in the Homes for us to make a move without them knowing.” “We’ll need a distraction. Something big that will draw attention away. I can send some squads to try and arrest members of the Madsen Family. We’ll send the Homes officers with them. I don’t expect they’ll find anyone but that will draw attention away from you taking officers and moving against the Untamed. I may be able to provide some help in that regard as well.” It would be good practice for the Black Knights in operating in Wellstone, and maybe serve as an olive branch. “We’ll have to pull officers from around the Homes in advance, which will tip off the Madsens, but I think it might work.” “Don’t use the Steel District officers, though. After the brothel business they will be eyes on them. Would the Crossroads Station be up to the task?” “They’re in the racket of offering protection against shit leaking in from South Union, which all things considered could be worse. They’ll be fine.” “I’ll contact you when everything is ready. Until then tell no one. When we do this, I don’t care if you have to drag every man, woman, and child in their territory from their homes. I want to know who helped Thatch with the ambush, understood?” Harrington nodded, and Alan dismissed her. The Brotherhood was already hated in the Homes, and frankly he didn’t care. The people there had been ungrateful for far too long, and this was the cost of their insubordination.
  2. The Sheriff Lorena was always perfect in his dreams, which was why he hated them. She stood in the faint morning rays of the sunlight, looking over the side of the bridge to the murky, muddy waters beneath, her soft black hair falling over her warm brown face and deep brown eyes. In the dream she turned to look at him, smiling her friendly smile, the one that got people who might’ve only respected Lawrence to like him as well by simple association with her. They laced their fingers together and her hands were just as roughened from work as his, though they never felt like it. In the dreams her perfection was evident, nothing amiss or out of place. That simple fact always reminded Lawrence that these were dreams, and that Lorena was gone, that the version he saw wasn’t real. He was awake now. He always woke up immediately after having a dream about her. Something about the falseness of his dreams caused him to lose any desire for sleep. He quickly dressed, pulling on his jeans and a grey button-up shirt. All his combat armor was packed away along with his bandana, goggles, and duster, the accouterments of wasteland travel, not fit for city living. He picked up his hat and walked into the hallway of their western Crossroads District hotel. Without a destination in mind he walked the halls until he found himself in the courtyard of the place, the building wrapping around the overgrown flowers and untrimmed trees like a protective embrace. Reyna was there, sitting on a bench. She wore a black leather jacket and jeans, her brown boots tied up over the bottom of those. Her hair was cut short and slicked back out of her face. She was leaned over, elbows on knees, a cigarette dangling from her hand. That was odd, as he’d never known her to smoke, and he’d known her for a couple years before the expedition set out. Not well, but as acquaintances, enough to observe any smoking habits she had. Or so he’d thought. Possibly sensing the strangeness of the act, she moved to stub it out but came up short when she saw him. Her light brown eyes lingered on Lawrence’s face. He knew what she saw, because it was mirrored on her own face. Memories of the dead, of lost loved ones. A desire to accept it and keep living and guilt for thinking you could. She reached into her pocket to pull out another cigarette. He took it and she lit it for him with her own. Lawrence sat and smoked in silence. He tried to think what Lorena would’ve done here. She was always better at talking with folks. Kindness came naturally to them both, but expressing niceness with words seemed to elude him. She’d had a way with people, even her small talk endearing and never perfunctory. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, deciding that was the closest he could get in his own straightforward way. Reyna leaned onto one elbow and turned towards him, her eyebrow arching in mild surprise. “Do you?” “I suppose we should. It’s what my wife would’ve done, and she always had a better grasp of these things.” “Yeah, mine too. Laura didn’t hold anything back. What she wanted, what she felt, what she had to say, she was as open a book as anyone I’ve ever met. I always admired that, and afterwards noticed myself not holding things back so much.” “It was real easy for Lorena to sit down with a stranger and walk away with a friend. I can tell what someone is feeling or thinking but talking to them about it, I can never find the right words.” “You know, they didn’t have it all figured out.” It wasn’t a harsh statement. Reyna’s tone was loving, even. It was the same line of thinking that led Lawrence to hating his perfect dreams. “Some people aren’t talkers. They just want to be seen, I guess.” Lawrence tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette as Reyna did the same. “Actions speak louder, sometimes.” “It’s not quick or easy, but we’ll get through it,” Reyna said. “At least we aren’t alone.” She leaned on Lawrence and he leaned on her. The contact, the reminder he had a friend who knew what he felt, was nicer than he could’ve imagined. He raised an imaginary glass. “To friends helping you get through it.” They clinked together their imaginary glasses and laughed at themselves before falling into companionable silence. Lawrence checked the courtyard and the walkway that overlooked it, and didn’t see anyone, but when he spoke again he did so in Spanish anyway. “Someone broke into my room last night and stole the pictures and film. They were waiting for me when I got back, told me to leave it alone.” Reyna jerked away and stared at him. “What? You can’t say something like that so casually.” “I don’t exactly know how to lead into the fact the Brotherhood or police one sent somebody to threaten me at gunpoint,” Lawrence said. Reyna rolled her eyes, but it was a playful gesture to ease some of the tension out of the conversation. “What’re you going to do?” “I don’t see how I have much choice but to do what he asked. He found the copies I hid at the hotel in South Union and took the film too. What do you think?” “I think you’re right. At least you burned that place down. Are you going to tell the others?” “Yes. They should know about the danger I’ve put them in.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Not like you could’ve known just how corrupt the Brotherhood or police are.” “I should’ve. After all we’ve heard it was naive of me to think otherwise.” Reyna, resigned, shook her head “I’m starting to think we should’ve gone back to Texas.” Lawrence nodded and let the conversation die. He didn’t consider filling her in on what might be going on at Clara’s. Whatever it was, he didn’t think it was nearly as dangerous as the photographs and the Brotherhood’s ire were. Not to mention he didn’t know exactly what was going on yet, and he knew that everyone was looking forward to these jobs. They had their final interviews with Clara today, but it was almost a given they’d be moving into the hotel before the sun set. He didn’t want to risk his friends’ lives by messing with the Brotherhood, and he wasn’t about to upend one of the few good things they had going because of mere suspicion. He was determined, though, to figure out what was going on at that hotel. He needed to know the truth about whatever it was they were walking into. Over breakfast he filled the others in on what had happened the night before. “Those bastards,” Ezekiel said, a white-knuckled grip around his cup of tea. “We’ve got to do something about this.” Next to Ezekiel Kim had gone pale, her eyes wide and hands trembling slightly. Ezekiel’s righteous anger abated when he noticed, and he reached over to take her hand. Between them staying and now the rulers of the city threatening them, Lawrence didn’t judge her one bit for being afraid. “What’s there to do?” Abbey said. “We’ve got no proof anymore. And even if we did, how would we get them out there?” Kim nodded, her fear abated somewhat. Lawrence saw in the shift of her expression, from fear to concentration, her usual coping mechanism. This was a problem, but a logical one, something she could work out to keep her mind off the danger lying behind it. “To print enough to publicize it would require something on the scale of the newspapers’ operations. But without the photographs or film we can’t do that. No names, no other evidence. The only reason Lawrence isn’t dead is because they came to the same conclusion. That he doesn’t pose a threat. Which means we should be safe, as long as we drop this as they suggested.” “I’ve read those newspapers,” Reyna said. “There’s not a chance in hell they’re printing something critical of the Brotherhood.” “Y’all are worrying too much,” Guillermo said. Lawrence could tell his nonchalance was a cover for his own worry. “Lawrence isn’t dead, we’ve got new jobs, and we’re about to move into a place nicer than any of us has ever lived in before. This is just a bump in the road.” Ezekiel looked like he wanted to say something but Kim squeezed his hand and he stayed silent. Lawrence said, “We should probably get going to Clara’s. Don’t want to be late.” With that everyone broke off to finish readying up and then made their way to Clara’s Casino and Cabaret. ** It was a couple hours later when it was finally Lawrence’s turn to be interviewed. The Texans had all started out waiting in the office of George the hotel manager, next to Clara’s office. One at a time she called them in and she talked to each of them for about half an hour. Kim had gone first, followed by Ezekiel, Reyna, Abbey, and finally Lawrence. After their interviews the preceding group members were led downstairs to the cabaret for lunch, so Lawrence didn’t know the content of their interviews, though seeing them walk by he didn’t notice anything amiss in his companions. Guillermo, already hired, was busy downstairs practicing with the other singers. George walked by, leading Abbey downstairs, which meant it was Lawrence’s turn. Without waiting for someone to call him in he walked Clara’s office and knocked on the door. She told him to come in. When he did it looked the same as it had the day before, with Clara seated in her chair and a pot of tea on her desk. Of course, it wasn’t the same, because Lawrence knew behind the wall to his right was a hidden elevator shaft. He made a conscious effort not to glance that way. “Would you care for a cup?” she asked as he took her seat. “No, thank you.” He’d taken it as a courtesy last time but he wasn’t feeling particularly courteous today. Their previous conversation still left Lawrence with more questions than answers. She’d read him easily and thoroughly, but he knew he’d always been an open book. Most people who’d known him for any length of time generally considered him honest and trustworthy. And Clara was right, he was good at reading people. It was what he saw in Clara that gave him cause for concern. The woman behind the desk was a different one than he’d seen out in the casino talking to guests and laughing at their bad jokes, and was a different one from the Clara her rich friends probably knew. That begged the question, which one was real? Or maybe none of them were. Between the secrets the hotel and its owner hid, he wasn’t sure what to trust. “An interesting way you’ve gone about this,” Lawrence said. “Not letting us talk to the people you’ve already interviewed.” “It raised some people’s guards, to be sure,” Clara said. “Others were more comfortable with the unknown. I expect you know which of your friends were which.” Lawrence nodded. Kim curiosity and Abbey’s love of venturing into the unknown would’ve led them to embrace the surprise of it. Ezekiel’s skepticism and Reyna’s wariness would’ve kept their guards up. “I suppose you found that a useful way to learn about us.” “I did.” Clara said. She seemed more relaxed today. There was less of the coy smile and she wasn’t even watching him like she had been the day before. He didn’t know if it was real or an affect to put him at ease. “But you and I have already talked at length, so I would like to know what you can tell me about your friends? I’ve met them and talked to them, but I don’t know them like you do. What jobs would suit them?” If they were going to work here, Lawrence wanted them to be in jobs they were good at, and didn’t see that harm in telling her that much. “Kim is the smartest person I’ve ever met. You got any machines that need upgraded or running inefficiently, she could fix that.” Or too loud hidden elevators. “Ezekiel’s a damn good doctor. But don’t expect him to cover up overdoses or accidents for you. Reyna’s observant and good at staying hidden. She should’ve been in the casino the other night trying to catch folks cheating. Abbey is tough and good at coming up with a plan and adapting when she needs to. She should probably be in charge of something.” “Thank you. Both Rodge and I had our thoughts but it was your opinion I wanted before I made any decisions.” “Did those thoughts include why you’d be turning the safety of your hotel to people you barely know?” She leveled an amused look at here. “I thought it was simply my generosity, helping out a few newcomers.” “You said you wanted my opinion, well, there it is. The others may not want to look sideways at a gift, but this all seems too sudden for my liking.” “You’ve surely noticed Wellstone is experiencing some unrest at the moment. I want my hotel and its patrons safe and protected. The fact you and your friends made it all the way from…” She paused, and gave him a knowing look that said she knew they were from Texas, but was choosing to keep that secret for them. “Wherever it is you’re from means you’re certainly capable of guarding a building. And it means I don’t have to worry about you and your friends’ allegiances causing me any headaches. I don’t want this war to end up on my doorstep.” If she’s worried about her employees being rebels, animosity towards the Brotherhood runs deeper than I thought. The spread of attacks into Forgotten Homes certainly supported that. None of this explained why she had a secret elevator. But from the way she talked, he was leaning toward the explanation being criminal activity. Maybe helping her rich friends keep their illicit rendezvous discreet. He’d already seen the sordid activities of the Gold District denizens firsthand, and so knew that was a strong possibility. “I suppose that explains the increase in security as well.” “Precisely. The Protectrons were more than enough for peacetime but not when the streets of Wellstone become a battlefield. Are you satisfied, or are my motivations still suspect?” She asked the question plainly, clearly understanding where Lawrence’s worry was coming from. If nothing else, he appreciated she didn’t think his questions were unreasonable. “I’d apologize but you should know this is what hiring me will get you.” “And it is the precise reason why I am hiring you.” She rose, and Lawrence did the same. “Now, lets join your friends downstairs for lunch and we can tell them the good news.” She seemed genuinely excited at the prospect, and Lawrence’s suspicions abated slightly. He might not trust her completely, but he didn’t get the sense she had any ill intent with his friends. “One thing we haven’t discussed it what I’d be doing,” Lawrence said as they left her office behind. “Well, you’ve shown a knack for detective work. Clearly.” Clara gave him a droll smile. “I don’t see any reason why you should stop that. Things go missing, people act suspiciously, and Wellstone police are wholly unreliable. Pre-war hotels used to have their own detectives, and I don’t see why I can’t as well.” Lawrence couldn’t help but smile at the idea. “I’m not going to say no to that.” He thought over his past conversations with his new boss. He was good at picking out when someone was lying, and he felt like Clara was being mostly honest when they’d spoke. The problem was he could tell she was a damn good liar, and he wasn’t sure if he was overestimating his own abilities by thinking she was being honest. It was clear she was hiding something in her hotel, and for the moment that would be enough to keep him wary. They joined the rest of the group downstairs in the cabaret right as lunch was being served, which he assumed was as Clara had planned it. She did need some technological work done, which Kim was happy to do. Ezekiel was less enthusiastic about being the doctor on call to her admittedly well off patrons, but she pointed out that his work here could fund any work he did in the Steel District and Forgotten Homes, and he came around to the idea. Reyna liked the idea of stalking the poker tables to catch folks cheating, and Abbey was grateful to be Clara’s new head of security, already expressing some areas she thought needed improvement. Lawrence had to admit, in this regard Clara was doing right by him and his friends. After lunch they went back to their hotel in the Crossroads and gathered their things to move into Clara’s. On the way back, Guillermo mentioned the idea of a celebratory dinner, which was when Ezekiel and Kim remembered they’d run into Richard not too long ago and had talked to him about getting together for dinner. They all decided to combine the two, and through one of the hotel servants sent an invitation to Richard and his girlfriend at the Post Office. With their scant belongings in tow the six of them filed into Clara’s through the employee’s entrance on the eastern side of the building, and then piled into an elevator that whisked them up to the thirteenth floor. When it softly dinged their new home was revealed before them. The floor was a square, though all the rooms fell along the outer edge, as the hotel was ‘hollow,’ a column of space between the northern and southern wings. Most of the hotel floors were horseshoe shaped, with only the first, second, thirteenth, and fourteenth a complete square. The Texans’ rooms were situated on the southern wing of the building, while some of the other employees were in the northern wing, and in the rooms along the western wall. There were six rooms along the southern wall, one for each of the Texans, though Kim and Ezekiel would be sharing. Lawrence took the first. The chances of someone sneaking up on him were lower the closer he was to the elevators and staircase. Guillermo took the next room, followed by Reyna, Abbey, and then Kim and Ezekiel taking the other corner room. Lawrence’s room was spacious, with the bed tucked away against the wall on his right and a seating area with a couch on the far wall beneath the windows, where a radio sat on an end table as well. To the immediate right was the bathroom, and the immediate left a small table and set of chairs. The entire room looked about as new as anything he’d ever seen. It was certainly clean enough to look brand new. Upon closer inspection he could see where the bed frame was chipped and had been repainted, where the lights were a bit of a mishmash, and that the radio had been repaired a few times. It made the place feel less sterile and more welcoming. He went about unpacking his few meager belongings, the first time he’d really unpacked since the trip began. On the dresser he sat his straw cowboy hat, and put into the drawers his extra clothes, his combat armor, and his duster. On top of that he sat his badge. Onto the table next to the radio went his mother’s old model 2000 Pip-Boy and his father’s books. He pulled the roadraptor talon necklace from beneath his shirt, to remind himself it was still there. It was the closest thing he had to a nervous tick, and only ever showed up in private. It and the scar on his cheek was a reminder of Lorena saving him from the damn thing. He tucked it back in, tossed his bag into a chair, and left to see how the others were getting along. They all took some time to check out each other’s rooms, though they were not much different. Mostly in whether they had couches, chairs, or some combination of the two. They didn’t have any plans besides dinner, and they wouldn’t start work until tomorrow, so they all went down to the bar to pass the time. It was an occasion to celebrate, after all. They talked about plans for what they’d spend their first bit of money on, now that they were looking at a more permanent place to stay, though at the moment the only one who had ideas firmly in mind was Kim, who wanted a terminal to be able to better analyze the data she and Ojo had collected. Soon enough evening came and they gathered out front, where they’d told Richard and his girlfriend to meet them, and decide from there where they wanted to eat. They were all a little buzzed, but it was a celebration and a reunion, so he figured the night would only be all the better for it. He didn’t think Richard would mind too much that they’d gotten a head start. After a short moment Richard arrived with Aly at his side. He wore a nice leather coat now. Even though it covered his upper body and upper legs one could see that from knees down he was still wearing the same beige outfit underneath as when they had first met him. Aly was dressed plainly by comparison, in faded jeans and a dark green hoodie. "Hi," said Richard with a friendly smile, while also raising his hand to greet them. "Already having fun without us or are you always this tipsy nowadays?" “Got started a little early, is all,” Guillermo said, grinning. Everyone greeted Richard, and then he introduced them all to Aly. She seemed like a nice girl who was genuinely enthused by the fact that they had come from such a distant land. Her eyes were alert with interest, telling Lawrence that she really listened to their names and what they had to say, and didn't just feign it like so many other locals. ”Nice to meet you,” Lawrence said. “Since you’re the local, I figure we’ll let you decide where we should eat.” "Shit, I eat anything," she said, which was hard to imagine considering her small frame. "Got a whole mess of riverfood shacks here in the market. Catfish, mander, yappies, you name it. Seein' as y'all work in that place," she pointed at Clara's, putting on a somewhat impressed look as she did, "... I'm guessing y'all can afford a decent steak too if you wanna go down to Jogan's. Best brahmin grill this side of the river. Least outa the ones I've been to." "Don't let this place fool you," Abbey said. "I've eaten shit that would turn your stomach inside out. Most of us have." "We were on the road until very recently," Reyna explained. "You can thank Guillermo's golden pipes for our glitzy new digs. And Lawrence's nose for trouble." Lawrence lifted his chin with pride at the comment, while Guillermo did a mock bow. Lawrence said, "If you'll lead the way to Jogan's, we can treat you two to something nice." "It ain't far." Aly took the lead and started west, with Richard by her side. They chatted along the way, and Aly acted as something of a quasi-tour guide, pointing out a few landmarks and asking if they'd heard this or that but if history along the way. A couple blocks away, they came upon a medium-sized wooden building with a sign that read 'Jogan's Roadhouse'. It didn't look like much, but judging by the smell and the decent crowd visible through the windows, the cooks inside knew what they were doing. It wasn't long before they were seated and a round of drinks ordered. As they waited for those to arrive, Lawrence turned to Richard and Aly and asked, "How'd you two meet?" "We met while I was robbing her family workshop on all its bottle caps." Richard sounded quite serious and genuine but he avoided eye contact as he sipped his glass of water that he had poured for himself as they waited for the drinks. "Richard the gentleman thief?" Ezekiel said, the sarcasm plain in his voice. "That's a far cry from the way we found you, elbow deep in a deer carcass." "It's a shame how the city corrupts the young and impressionable," Guillermo said with mock sorrow. "And next I'm gonna steal all the toaster in the Gold District." It became increasingly obvious that Richard had trouble keeping a straight face and serious tone. In his buzzed state, it took Lawrence a moment to realize what Richard had said. "Did you say you stole all of their bottle caps?" "When I was out west I heard that some people used them as currency," Abbey explained. "I didn't realize you were such a traveler, Richard." "I am from the far northwest. Once met a trader that accepted bottle caps as a currency. Don't know why. I find bottle caps as a currency rather unwieldy." "Yeah, seems stupid if you ask me. Not sure how you'd go about having different values if it's all just caps," Reyna said. Kim cleared her throat a little and asked, "Are you from Wellstone originally, Aly? Have you done any traveling around the Belt?" "Born and raised," she answered proudly. "And I've never left, unless you count the Arenas and places like that. Most people don't." "Seems to me that if you're going to live in one place your whole life, you couldn't do much better than Wellstone," Guillermo said. Their drinks came, and everyone placed their food orders, with amounted to everyone ordering steaks on Aly's earlier recommendation. As the waitress left, Reyna said, "What're you up to these days, Richard?" "I work as a mailman." Richard sounded almost a little bitter about the fact. "You might see if The Lodge has any work, since you've got experience hunting," Abbey said. "Me and Reyna did a job for them. It was-" "Fucking crazy," Reyna said. "-really exciting," Abbey finished her original thought. "You worked for the lodge?" Aly's eyes went big. "What did you hunt?" "It wasn't a hunt." Reyna was grinning widely and shaking her head in disbelief. "We captured a snapper," Abbey explained, sharing Reyna's grin. "Lured it into a cage and hauled it back to their little zoo. Damn thing nearly bit through the bars of the cage and escaped, though." As Aly, Reyna and Abbey discussed The Lodge Richard turned to Lawrence and Guillermo. "How are you people holding up?" Lawrence shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Never gets any easier but this time didn’t hit as hard as some others.” "You don't seem like you're going to continue the caravan business now that that one eyed woman is gone." “Ours was more of a path-finding trip than trading expedition. None of us were really on the mercantile side of things. We can find plenty of other things to guard that don’t require trips through the Lost Lands.” "Why did you go there anyway?" Lawrence considered the lies he might tell, but he didn’t see the point now. “We were looking for some folks we thought might be enslaved there. It was a stretch, all things considered.” "Yeah, that seems like searching for a needle in a haystack." Richard paused for a second as he got a thoughtful expression. "Why were these people so important that you traveled all the way from the far south to find them?" "They were friends and loved ones of Maxine and the owner of the caravan company. Those of us sitting here didn't know this was a rescue mission until we got to Wellstone. We decided to help Maxine find them when we found out." "Noble. Though if it's one thing I've learnt in my travels it's that the world doesn't really reward people that try to be heroes." Richard looked a little weary for a second. “I think it’s worth the effort anyway.” Lawrence wondered if that made him a hypocrite, considering he was letting go of the fight club pictures. But he knew he hadn’t let it go, not really. It still ate at him, and if the opportunity came, he’d set it right. It wasn’t worth pursuing and dying over in the meantime, though. Guillermo jumped in then, perhaps seeing the introspective turn in his friend’s demeanor. “Tell me, Richard, do you have any long term plans here in Wellstone?” "Uhm, let's see... Become a world famous spy, get filthy rich and then retire to an island." Richard gave Guillermo a stupid smile. "Actually I'm just hoping to find a good enough job that I can at least be part of the middle class." “I still think you should give metal working a shot,” Lawrence said. “That sword of yours speaks to some skill and I doubt amongst all those artisans across the river there’s many that can match what you can do.” "I'll try." Richard paused for a second. "Also that sword was not made by me, but my father." “Did leave a lot of family behind, where you’re from?” Guillermo asked. "Yeah. Rather big family. For better and worse." “Why’d you leave?” Lawrence asked. "I guess you could say a series of unfortunate events happened." Lawrence raised his eyebrows but kept silent. If Richard had wanted to talk about it he wouldn’t be so vague. He listened to Aly talk about some of the Lodge’s more notable exploits, with Kim mostly and Ezekiel some occasionally chiming in to ask about certain creatures she mentioned. That inevitably led to Kim holding forth on her ideas on their mutations, and the others talking about the scariest thing they ever ran into. Richard mentioned his run-in with a deathclaw, and Aly told them of some monsters she’d heard of out in the Lost Lands. Lawrence got to pull the roadraptor talon necklace out and tell of the time Lorena had saved him, which led to some sadness as he explained to Aly who she was. Richard broke the tension by joking about how Lawrence’s idea of scary was an oversized chicken, which he didn’t mind. Better not to linger too long on those memories at a celebration dinner. Their food arrived shortly thereafter, and the steaks were as good as Aly had promised. After their waitress took their empty plates away and everyone ordered a last round of drinks, Lawrence asked Aly, “Kim and Ezekiel said your family owned a robotics shop. You real interested in robots or just something you were born into?” Aly shrugged. "Neither, really. Garage is only a few years old, but that kinda stuff: computers, robots, what have you, it's more my brother's thing. I mostly just clean the place." “What does interest you? Can’t imagine you’ll want to clean the place forever, as fun as it sounds,” Reyna said. "I dunno," Aly answered, "Still gotta figure that out." "Well if you're also any good at cooking you got the housewife skills down," said Richard in a clearly joking and teasing fashion. "I never said I was good at cleaning the place." “It took me a while to settle on the luxurious career of a guard,” Reyna said. ”And I’ve done just about everything under the sun in my time,” Guillermo said. He added with a sly grin, “Including some jobs that were less than honest.” "Oh yeah?" said Aly, "Like what?" Lawrence noticed Aly was eager to shift the conversation away from her and to someone else. It was subtle, but the quickness with which she asked Guillermo and the touch too curious tone gave it away. Of course, Guillermo was happy to oblige. “I always had a silver tongue which made some folks more than willing to part with their money. Petty scams, nothing serious. I soon found out people liked my silver tongue for altogether different purposes, and I used to be a looker back in the day. I do live to entertain and please, after all. I was maybe not discerning enough with who I slept with, though, which landed me in a bit of hot water. Though that may also be because I robbed a few houses of the rich folks who hired me.” He shrugged and added, “What can I say, they should’ve tipped better.” "I'm guessing that's why you joined up with a caravan going far far away," said Richard, his voice a little humorous but not enough to be joking. Guillermo nodded and said, “You’re exactly right.” It was a good thing they’d been run out of town, too. The trek east had sobered Lawrence up from the years drinking his life away, and meant they were long gone when Old Paso was sacked. Lawrence had enjoyed his time there with Guillermo, fuzzy though the memories were. Being on the other side of the law more often than not certainly put some things in perspective, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy helping Guillermo rob a rich asshole’s house every now and then. Their bill was soon brought and the Texans covered it, since Richard and Aly were their guests. Afterwards they all left and made their way back toward Clara’s. Guillermo continued his tales of the scams he’d pulled off and the times he’d been caught, which kept everyone entertained. About halfway there Richard and Aly said their goodbyes, heading south into the Crossroads, while the Texans continued on their way. That night they had a restful night’s sleep in the soft and comfortable beds of their new home. This new situation felt like a dream to Lawrence, and he tried not to think about the mysterious intruder and secret elevator. He was thankful for what he and his friends did have and that was what he focused on as he drifted off to sleep.
  3. The Divine Order seems like it’ll be on both Yornar and Dales’ bad sides which would probably not end well for him
  4. I didn’t know we had more than one vote so I went Tacitus. I would’ve voted for Titus or Yornar if I’d know. For Tacitus it’s not because I have any specific plans to kill him but he’s reckless enough I feel like it’s practically inevitable This is why I’m gonna throw in a big twist where he becomes immortal because no one expects him to make it
  5. I read Czar’s post several days ago so sorry for the delay in comments
  6. Anything involving souls is where my vote was going. Yornar won our because of sheer quantity.
  7. For Lawrence the Pastimes of the Rich and Famous quest just ended, and the New Digs quest he got is one of those short connective quests that basically only says "Go to your new home in the Market District." Of course, the note "Find out what you can about your new boss" on the No-Tell Hotel quest suddenly seems much more ominous...
  8. @The Good Doctor just finished your post
  9. The Paladin Lord The Brotherhood of Steel’s officer Halloween party was the only thing that could make Alan wish for a rebel attack. Without any of the costumes or decorations of the civilian parties lighting up the Wellstone night, it was a plain affair. He’d sprung for higher quality alcohol, but the amount of that it would take for him to enjoy himself would render him unconscious. It all seemed so pointless. For the civilians it served a clear purpose of reinforcing the fact it was the Brotherhood’s power that allowed for such frivolous holidays to exist. But the Brotherhood itself should be concentrating on catching the rebels, not milling around and having awkward conversations with each other. At the moment Alan was stuck between two of the Paladin Commanders that were part of his force. Kara Wiley was the older of the two. She had dark skin, with her black hair pulled so tightly back behind her head that it drew back her hairline and the skin of her face, reinforcing her severe expression. The other commander, Bruce Kelman, probably should have been bald. His hair was blonde but his pale head was clearly visible through his thin hair, especially because he had it buzzed so short. Alan thought the man should embrace it and shave it all off. It might make him look more serious than he did. Kelman was the commander of the Brotherhood forces in Wellstone before Alan arrived. He was friendly with a few of the Elders in Chicago, at least in his own telling. Though Alan knew that relationship wasn’t really a friendship, there was no doubt that Kelman was much closer to the Elders than he was Barnaky. Wiley was a more complicated story. She had served as Alan’s subordinate for sometime, though it was only on this mission was she his second in command. His previous second in command, a staunch Barnaky supporter like himself, had been suddenly promoted and given his own command somewhere to the east of Chicago. The timing of that promotion and Wiley replacing him left Alan suspicious about where Wiley’s allegiances lay. It was the softness of the Elders and their lackeys that had allowed the rebels to reappear in the first place. They dallied too long in not wiping out the mutants, always dragging their feet and slowing down Barnaky’s mission. They lacked the zeal necessary to accomplish what needed doing, and all that led to was death and insurrection. “-isn’t that right, Paladin Lord Ogawa?” Wiley asked. “Hmm?” Alan only half-hoped his confusion covered up his annoyance. “We were discussing General Stillwell’s Colorado Campaign, and I mentioned that you witnessed a few of the battles there,” Wiley said. “I’d have participated in them too had I only been older. Stillwell’s Colorado Campaign is the textbook for fighting the rebels. Ruthless, efficient, with no hesitation,” Alan said. “Maybe it would be a good idea to have him speak to the soldiers,” Kelman said, though he did not sound entirely enthused by the idea. “A few years earlier, maybe. I’m afraid his mind is not up to such a task,” Alan said. “Is it safe to have him living in the city?” Wiley asked. “I worry about the rebels turning him into their own version of Anne Red.” Alan threw back what remained of his glass of whiskey. “They would be fools to make a martyr of him. And I don’t think murdering a nearly senile old man would garner them much sympathy.” Still, Alan had considered that the rebels might do something to that effect. It might be worth moving him somewhere more secure, here to the headquarters, or even Chicago. He recalled Clara Teasley’s offer to let the General stay in her hotel. Alan supposed that would be more comfortable than the headquarters, and he would likely prefer it to uprooting to Chicago. Putting him up in the hotel would require some background work, though. Alan supposed that was just the right level of importance and need of someone covert that he could justify asking Sterling to do it. If that meant Sterling couldn’t spend as much time doing other work, well, all the more time for Alan to be the one to find these rebels. Wiley and Kelman continued to discuss the fall of the MLA, having now been joined by a few Paladins. Alan left to refill his glass. The crowd was thick but parted around him as he made his way to the makeshift bar set up in the officer’s mess hall that was hosting this party. There was no bartender, so he refilled his own glass of whiskey. He took a sip and topped it back off when something out the window caught his eye. The mess looked out on the main yard, and across it Alan could see the building that housed his office. The small rectangular window to his office glowed bright yellow. It could have been his scribe assistant still working, and probably was, but it offered enough of an excuse for him to leave the party behind and go check it out. His absence would surely be noted, but he didn’t care at this point. With a whiskey glass in one hand and his plasma defender in the other, he crept through the shadows toward his office window. It was not, in fact, his assistant, and neither was it Alan simply forgetting to turn the light off when he left earlier. It was Inquisitor Sterling Welles, dressed in the same ‘Knight Lowrie’ disguise he’d used to attend Tim Lucky's steamboat soiree. A simple Brotherhood jumpsuit, piecemeal ceramic and metal armor, and a rectangular mustache, though not as thick as the last time he’d had it. Alan holstered his weapon, left the window behind, and walked around to enter his office. Once inside he saw that Sterling had poured himself a drink from the bottle Alan kept locked in his a drawer and he had his boots propped up on the desk. “I was hoping you’d show.” “Bold of you to expect me to notice and come over,” Alan said. “I knew you’d be leaving the party early, and I was content to wait once I discovered your stash. Not so bold, really.” Sterling, despite his disguise, still wore his infuriating half-smile. The plain arrogance of it always grinded on Alan. Alan took a seat behind his desk and sipped his drink. “Is there something you needed to tell me?” “I decided against killing the gang involved in the fighting ring. They don’t have any proof against the people who were involved. Instead, I took the place of the Knight Commander who was offering them protection. In exchange for his life, the gang’s leader is going to float to other criminals that he still has his friend in the Brotherhood. Given members of the Lucky Seven turned rebel, there may be other former criminals acting as rebels.” “You think someone will bite?” “It’s worth a shot. If it doesn’t pan out, I can kill off the leader. And even if I don’t, he’s got nothing but names on the spectators to his fight club. He’s knows he’s not strong enough to be in the blackmail game, and no one will believe him without some other proof.” Alan took a long drink and rubbed his temples. The business with Robert Devereux and the fight club was the last thing he’d wanted or expected. It shouldn’t have gone unnoticed. But the gang operating it was from Junker Town and the Knight steering patrols away from it was stationed on the western outskirts, while the rebels were keeping most of the attention focused on the south and east. Both the Knight and the gang had found and exploited a blind spot, only the first of many this business with the rebels would create. Worst of all, there were fucking pictures. Chief Harrington had turned the copies she was sent over to Alan, but he suspected it was not the last he’d hear about it from her. She was too righteous in her own way to abide by the wealthy getting away scot-free. With the rebels active, the law could not apply to everyone equally, Alan knew. Someone like Robert Devereux, a major munitions merchant, was too important to the city’s economy to get rid of. Devereux hadn’t needed to kill himself, because Alan wasn’t planning on brining those in the pictures to justice. The last thing Wellstone needed was economic unrest because several business leaders were going to jail and upsetting the balance of things. In Alan’s estimation, those who supported mutants were the real enemy, and he could deal with the idiot rich later. Besides, the pictures were a bargaining tool he couldn’t afford to just throw away. “I sent the Knight Commander back to Chicago,” Alan said. “Made up something about a promotion so no one catches wind, but once he’s there they’ll deal with him. The one place we cannot abide corruption is in our own ranks.” “I also located the detective who took the pictures,” Sterling said. “I suspect he kept the negatives, so I’ll find and take those.” “Bring them here once you find them. This information is too sensitive to have out there,” Alan said. “I think I’ll keep them. You have your copies, and I’ll have mine. I may need them for leverage in the future and I don’t want to have to break in here every time I do,” Sterling said. “Anything else to report?” Alan asked after another drink. He was going to need to keep his personal bottle out after this. “An update from our friend in Rockmasha Turf. His presence continues to keep the locals in check, and he does not expect any resistance to appear anytime soon. Sometimes I wonder if I made the wrong decision going the covert route.” “An Inquisitor with a reputation certainly has its advantages. Any word from the others?” “Nothing new to report. If there is I’ll let you know. Until then, I have some film to find.” Sterling rose and finished off his drink. “Wait. Once you’re done with that, I need you to look into Clara Teasley and her hotel for me. I’m considering having General Stillwell moved there for his safety. He’ll be more comfortable there than here, but I want to make sure he'll be safe." “We would have done some background work on her when she was on the City Council. I’m sure I can dig those reports up, and see if anything else stands out. Any other orders, Paladin Lord?” Alan answered only with a glare, and Sterling left the office with a smirk on his face. Alan’s party of one continued after that and through half the bottle, until he fell asleep in his office chair. ** The Sheriff It was late when the party ended, so Lawrence hadn’t gone to talk to Clara at all. He had questions but he knew she wouldn’t be giving any answers. Criminal activity seemed like the obvious answer to hidden elevators and talk of going up against powerful people, but then you don’t hire a former sheriff who you admire for his morals and honesty if you’re a criminal. Unless you could tell that sheriff was more devoted to justice than blindly following the law. After how he’d helped out Liz, Clara might safely assume that. Besides any potential criminal involvement, it was more disconcerting that she could’ve pegged him like that already. Of course, he knew that there was much more to her than met the eye. She was more used to pretending than being honest, and like her hotel, a rich facade hid secrets. On this night all the people of Wellstone were wearing masks, but unlike most other folks, Clara’s would still be on when the sun rose tomorrow. He and the Texans walked together back to their hotel rooms on the west side of the Crossroads District. The night air was cool and crisp, though heavier with humidity than the fall nights back home. People were stumbling their way home as laughter rang out down the streets. A stranger would not be remiss to think there was no war going on in Wellstone. In this part of Wellstone it was easy to forget there was a war, until the Brotherhood patrol standing on the corner outside their hotel came into view. The Texans did their best to ignore them and went up to their rooms. Lawrence unlocked his door and stepped inside. The air felt strangely stagnant, as if all the furniture in the room had inhaled and was holding its breath, so he crossed the room to open the window. He’d only taken a couple steps when he realized he wasn’t alone. Nearly silent breathing and a slight rustle of clothing were audible in the stillness. Without looking he knew the intruder was standing in the corner behind the door, where the moonlight from the window didn’t reach. The lamp was on the other side of the bed from Lawrence, so he couldn’t turn the light on. Lawrence never hesitated on his way to the window, which he opened. He didn’t want the intruder to know he knew they were there. He stood breathing in the night air and trying to collect his thoughts. If they had a knife and meant to kill him they’d have to try and sneak up on him, but as he listened the intruder stayed in their dark little corner. If they had a gun there was the problem of someone hearing the shot, especially with the window open. There was the possibility of a suppressed weapon, though. But if they’d meant to shoot him, they could’ve done it already. He could jump out the second story window, but the fact he was still alive meant this wasn’t a simple hit job. Which meant they wanted to talk before they killed him, or this visit was to scare him. Either way he wasn’t going to find out looking out the window, so he wheeled around and looked into the dark corner. “What do you want?” The intruder took half a step forward, so that the moonlight landed on the long, thin barrel of a suppressed small caliber pistol, probably a .22. Lawrence couldn’t see any of the person’s features. A man’s voice like a smile said, “That’s an interesting accent. Not from around here, are you, detective?” Calling him detective was either a slip up or intentional, as it meant the intruder knew him from helping out Patricia Devereux or Vanessa Van Silver. Of course, he hadn’t exactly been well known as a caravan guard the first time they were here. “I’m not.” “We have that in common,” the intruder said. His voice was conspicuously accent-less, but with a charming edge to it. It was slightly muffled too, which was odd. But Lawrence detected a hint of interest in the man’s tone, as if Lawrence being an outsider was more than a simple curiosity. “You haven’t answered my question,” Lawrence said. The intruder’s other hand rose into the moonlight, revealing the film and copies of the fight club pictures Lawrence made for himself. “I found the pictures you’d stashed back in that shitty little hotel in South Union. Clever, but I’ve been doing this too long to overlook something like that.” Lawrence grunted in displeasure, which was all he had to say. “Let this go, cowboy. If any of the people in these pictures knew they existed and that you took them, you’d come home to find more than a twenty-two waiting for you.” Lawrence had only given Patricia pictures of Robert, and even then ones that only showed his infidelity, not the fight club. Wellstone police and the Brotherhood were the only ones who got pictures of everyone involved and what they were involved in. The intruder was here on behalf of one of those groups. Or both, given the control the Brotherhood had. “Not sure I could do anything without those pictures.” The man stepped forward into the light and slid the photos and film inside the pocket of his brown jacket. He was Lawrence’s height but slimmer, his movements quick and fluid. A brown fedora hat covered his hair and shadows hid his eyes. A plastic mask of a carved pumpkin covered his face. Behind the mask’s tortured expression Lawrence could see the man’s smirk. It was a coyote’s smile, sly and mocking. “That’s the right idea.” The intruder moved to the door without taking his eyes or the gun off of Lawrence and then left. Lawrence leaned backward on the windowsill and let out the breath he’d been holding. Without those pictures there wasn’t much he could do. He didn’t recall the faces well enough to figure out who was at the fight club, and no one would just take his word for it. Which was why he was still alive, he supposed. Without those pictures no one would believe him. Between finding himself in the Brotherhood’s sights for taking those pictures and learning his prospective knew boss was hiding something big, criminal or otherwise, Lawrence thought that braving the Lost Lands again didn’t sound so bad after all.
  10. I think he’s looking for a living partner, Doc
  11. The closest connection to Halloween I can think of for my posts (including some stuff that’s not up yet) is they sorta revolve around the theme of masks, of people hiding their identities, motives, etc. Which fits with a celebration where people are pretending to be other people or hiding who they are
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