Shattered Steel Part 1: Gravestone (Fallout Roleplay)

[The Good Doctor]

The Sheriff

Lawrence woke early enough to see the dark grey clouds swallow the rising sun. The soft orange rays disappeared before they could light up more than the eastern horizon, while the brilliant green streaks of radiation cast a strange hue on the waking city. Lawrence had seen a similar sight before, but he had only seen The Great Storm at a distance. Though the radiation storm hanging over Wellstone wasn’t as threatening, he found it much more oppressing being inside the storm. He turned away from the window just as thick raindrops started to patter against it.

He shared the room with Guillermo and Reyna, but they were both still asleep, so he slipped into the bathroom. He got in the shower and felt more refreshed than he could remember. Even last night’s shower hadn’t been so nice, as ready as he was to simply fall asleep after walking for miles. But this one felt soothing and sapped all the tension from his muscles and bones.

After being told about what the Brotherhood’s lands were like, he was still surprised at how technologically advanced South Union was, and how normal everyone seemed to treat running water and electricity. Lawrence wasn’t sure if it was more like stepping into the future or the past. The vault he grew up in was the past, that he was sure of. It was the last vestige of the people that came before, and the world they built and destroyed. And even though Wellstone and South Union stood amongst the ruins of that same world, they had built something new. Lawrence could hope this was the future, humanity’s future, but he wasn’t quite sure yet.

Still, standing in a functional shower in a hotel with clean sheets and electricity, you could forget the world outside and live in how nice the moment was. He certainly wasn’t thinking of the radiation storm as he lingered in the shower. But upon exiting the sight of the darkened sky outside was an immediate reminder that no matter how nice things seemed, much of the world was still a wasteland.

Lawrence dried off and looked at himself in the mirror. He’d only had a thick brown mustache upon leaving Texas, but now it was connected to a full, dark brown beard. His hair was long enough he had to sweep it back off his forehead and ears. He’d need to get that cut, as well as get his beard shaved. He dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a red, faded button down long sleeved shirt. By the time he was done he could hear talking from the bedroom. He left the bathroom and both Reyna and Guillermo were awake.

“Guess we won’t be going out today,” Reyna said. “Any idea how bad it is out there?”

Lawrence could’ve pulled out his mom’s old Pip-boy to check, but he didn’t use it much at all, so he shook his head. “No. I was gonna go see who else is awake. If Kim is I’ll ask her.”

“We finally get somewhere we can rest easy and now we’ll be stuck inside all day,” Guillermo said.

“I imagine it’ll be gone tomorrow. I’ll talk to Maxine and see what her plans are,” Lawrence said.

He left and went down to the end of the hall, where the staircase led to the third floor rooms and down to the first floor rooms. Kim, Ezekiel, and Abbey were on the third floor, while Maxine, James, and Linda were on the first. Lawrence climbed up to the third floor and knocked on the door there, loud enough that if someone was awake they would hear it, but soft enough it wouldn’t wake someone. After a few seconds Kim opened the door.

She was dressed but her hair was tangled and it didn’t look like she’d showered. She had her Pip-boy on and a notebook in hand, and a chair back behind her was turned facing the window. Ojo the eyebot sat behind her in the corner, deactivated. Kim stepped out into the hall, as Abbey and Ezekiel were still asleep.

“What’s the rad count?” Lawrence asked.

“I can’t get an exact number without going outside but not too high. I’d recommend using some Radx pills if you go outside, though,” Kim said. She had an excited tone to her voice, which she always had when discussing something scientific.

“What do you think caused it?”

“It’s hard to say for certain, but it’s likely there’s a highly irradiated area somewhere to the south of here. Based on the wind patterns I observed yesterday and today I would guess the source is almost due south, maybe slightly southeast. The radiation count here yesterday and along our route south of here would suggest the storms are infrequent.”

“It moving fast enough to clear out by tomorrow?”

“I would think so. Without going outside it’s difficult to tell how large the storm might be, but based on the wind speed and the movement of the clouds I think it’ll be gone by tomorrow morning at the latest, so likely it’ll move out overnight.”

“Thanks. Reyna and Guillermo are up. I figure we’ll get some breakfast soon. You’re welcome to join. The others, too, if they wake up.”

“Oh, alright. Yeah, I probably need to eat. It had slipped my mind since I started taking notes on the storm.”

“Yeah, I spent some time looking at it myself. You ever see the Great Storm?”

“No, but I heard plenty about it. Some of our scientists were studying it for the Republic. Have you seen it?”

“Yeah, once. When I went east for good I figured it’d be my only chance to see it, so we swung up towards Outpost. We never even made it that far, since you can see it from miles away. Looked like the world just stopped at a wall of black and brown and grey.”

“Sounds fascinating. I would like to go someday. I can’t imagine what technology might have produced it.”

“Maybe you’ll get a chance after we return.”

Lawrence said goodbye and then went back down to his room, where he told Reyna and Guillermo a condensed version of what Kim had told him. Mostly to confirm they’d be stuck inside all day. He left them to get ready and went down to the first floor, where James, Linda, and Maxine were staying together. That hadn’t surprised Lawrence, and he suspected they’d had more conversations about whatever was in St. Louis. The radiation storm meant James and Linda couldn’t go out and ask around like Maxine wanted them too. They’d have to wait for tomorrow. Which meant Lawrence wouldn’t be following anyone today, and he supposed that was fine. It’d be nice to have a day mostly off his feet.

Lawrence walked quietly on their floor and leaned in close to their door. Sure enough he heard some talking, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. But it told him they were awake, so when he knocked and it took them a few moments longer to come to the door than it should have, it was just another confirmation they were hiding something.

Maxine answered the door. Behind her Lawrence could see Linda and James sitting at a table with a map spread on it. He couldn’t see what map it was or where they were looking at.

Lawrence said, “I talked to Kim and she said we’ll be stuck inside all day unless we use some Radx pills. You said we’d have today off and we’d all talk tomorrow. I guess this storm means you’re changing that.”

Maxine gave a slight nod. “Yeah, I guess it does. We’ll have tomorrow off and we can all talk after that.”

“We’re going to breakfast over in the main building if y’all want to join.”

Maxine turned around to see what Linda and James thought, but Lawrence could tell she wasn’t really asking them. Which meant it was a surprise to her and him when James shrugged and said, “I am getting hungry.” Linda just took another drag on her cigarette and nodded in agreement.

Maxine said, “We’ll be there, then.”

Lawrence gave a lopsided smile, happy they’d be joining everyone else. “Alright. See y’all soon.”

Maxine shut the door and Lawrence left, going over to the main building by himself. He knew everyone else that was coming would show up eventually. Outside the rain still came down in large, heavy drops, while thunder and lightning cracked overhead. The main building was on the northwest corner of the lot, while the building the Texans were staying in was just to the south of that, and another building with rooms to rent was on the northeast corner of the lot. The two buildings with rooms to rent were roughly the same size. All the buildings had the same faux-wood metal style, painted a tan color and with a skillion roof style, all slopping to the south. The southern part of the lot was all grass but Lawrence could tell by the presence of some of the remaining concrete it had probably been a parking lot.

He hurried across the yard so as to avoid his exposure to the radiation, but he did take a second to see if Pancho and Lefty were safe. The brahmhorn was laying down beneath a lean-to in the southwest corner of the small pasture, where the rusty old sheet metal and trees kept most of the rain from bothering the animal. Pancho and Lefty were joined by a brahmin, and Lawrence guessed that meant the other building was housing a caravan crew as well.

Lawrence entered the main building, which was much more nicely decorated than the traveler housing. He couldn’t quite tell what the building had been before the war, but he could tell that it looked much the same now as it did then. There were still plush couches and soft leather chairs spread out in the main living area. Off to the side was a sun room with tables and chairs set out for breakfast. The sun room had once been in a porch with windows from floor to ceiling, but the glass hadn’t survived and evidently cost too much to fully replace, so only a strip about head high around the room still had glass, while the rest was affixed with metal. No one else was around, though Lawrence could hear the proprietors fixing breakfast in the kitchen.

Around the living room were paintings and hand carved statues of animals and abstract shapes. While Lawrence thought they had some aesthetic appeal, they didn’t really interest him. What he was drawn to was bookcase set into the wall behind the piano. The piano was old and didn’t look like it’d been used recently, though Lawrence didn’t know how pianos worked so he couldn’t say whether or not this one still did. But the books were certainly in good condition, and there were plenty of them, almost a hundred Lawrence guessed.

His father had been an avid reader, and after their family had established themselves in Horse Head, he went back to the vault with a few people to gather as many of the books as he could. Lawrence’s dad had used those books to teach the children of Horse Head how to read and what the pre-war world had been like. Because of that, Lawrence’s education didn’t change much after leaving the vault, and he came to enjoy reading as his father had, though not quite on the same level of voraciousness. When Horse Head was raided and captured, only a few books had survived, and Lawrence still carried a few of them with him in his backpack.

Lawrence was so lost in reading spines of the books to see just what books this library held that he didn’t hear the woman enter. She came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a raggedy old towel.

“I thought I heard someone come in,” she said. Lawrence recognized her from the day before. She and her husband owned and ran this place. The woman was in her sixties, it looked like, though she didn’t seem nearly as wrinkled as most people that age. Benefits of living in a place like Wellstone, Lawrence guessed. She asked, “The rest of your crew gonna join you for breakfast?”

“Yes ma’am. I’m not one to sleep late so they’re all still getting ready.” He motioned to the books. “Quite a collection y’all have here.”

She smiled and nodded, revealing some pearly white teeth. Also something Lawrence didn’t see too often, someone reaching that age with all their teeth, and them being that white too. “We used to have more. Upstairs was the real library. But we’ve traded some over the years. The Artistes wanted most of them.”

Lawrence smiled apologetically and asked, “The who?”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you folks aren’t from around here. The Artistes are just south of here. They’re real intellectual types, always collecting books and paintings and anything they consider ‘high culture.’ They pay more than anyone else for things like that.”

“How did you decide what to keep?”

“Well, I suppose we just kept what we thought people might like. And they didn’t buy the things they already had copies of.”

Lawrence nodded and the woman disappeared back into the kitchen. He spent a few more moments looking at the library. It was strange to think that this once would’ve been a small collection of books, and now seemed like a treasure trove. He didn’t even open any of the books, but simply looking at their covers and the vast array of topics covered was enough to occupy the time until the rest of the Texans arrived.

Guillermo and Reyna arrived first, followed by Kim, Ezekiel, and Abbey, and then finally Linda, James, and Maxine. Lawrence was surprised at how different everyone looked after a bathing and getting a good nights sleep. Not to mention that he’d grown used to each of their wasteland travelling outfits. Dressed much more simply, they looked less threatening, almost normal.

Still, no one would mistake them for people that grew up in the relative comfort of a place like Wellstone. Too many hard and weather-worn faces, except for Kim, and maybe Guillermo. His grin and carefree attitude would lower most people’s guard. Upon walking into the building he set upon the piano. After trying a few keys to gage which ones still produced a bit of sound and not a dull clunking, he played a three-note tune. It was simple, really, something from the middle of the piano’s scale, but still unexpected.

“You can play the piano?” Lawrence asked.

“Not really,” Guillermo said. “But I heard a woman play that same tune once. I remember it well enough to play that much, at least.”

“What you’re doing up here with us when you can play an instrument, I’ll never understand,” Abbey said.

“Surely you know better than all of us the allure of travelling. There’s not much fun to be had cooped up inside some Germantown casino playing for drunks,” Guillermo said. “Plus, even my ego could only stand that sort of praise for so long. I might get too full of myself.”

“Oh, like that would ever happen,” Reyna said.

Lawrence laughed along with her and Abbey while Guillermo gave his best self-depreciating grin. They all went to sit down and by the time they’d pulled a few tables together to make one long enough to seat all of them, the woman and her husband came out with the breakfast.

It was the best meal any of them had since their last one in Texas. It wasn’t complicated, just biscuits, gravy, and brahmin sausage with some fruit juice and milk. But it was much better than hardtack and jerky and water that left a bitter aftertaste from the purification tablets, which is what they’d been eating for breakfast for the past couple months.

The conversation at breakfast was mundane but genial. Even with the storm outside dropping rads all over the city, the Texans were in a good mood. Linda, James, and Maxine still sat at one end of the table in their own group, but they laughed when someone made a joke and didn’t converse only with each other. Lawrence had to remind himself they were still hiding something from the others, and that he was going to spend tomorrow trying to figure out what that secret was. But there was a bit of doubt creeping into his mind. He didn’t like they were keeping a secret, but maybe it wasn’t as nefarious as it seemed.

The rest of the day the Texans relaxed inside, most of them staying in the main building. After Guillermo played around with the piano a bit more and discovered he couldn’t play anything other than that three note tone, he and Lawrence played Spades with Abbey and Reyna. Then they played the old couple that owned the place and got their assess kicked. Guillermo joked they were using some code to communicate but they were just in tune the way veteran partners were. Maxine and James jumped in for a few games, and Lawrence and Linda teamed up to face them.

Kim and Ezekiel spent the day studying the rad storm and looking at the library, subtly flirting in a way Lawrence was sure no one but he noticed. After playing enough hands that the day was mostly over, he joined them in reading through some of the books, though he sat far enough away they still had some privacy. The rest of the day went like that, people enjoying the fact they didn’t have to do anything, and relaxing. Lawrence kept busy enough that by the time night fell it had snuck up on him. He figured it was probably the clouds that did it, causing him to not notice the sun was actually gone since he hadn’t seen it since sunrise anyhow. He went to bed with the moon barely peeking out from behind the thinning clouds.

He again woke early the next day to find Guillermo and Reyna still sleeping. This time, though, he dressed without showering. He didn’t want to wake them, or any of the others. He grabbed some jerky from his backpack, momentarily debated grabbing his snub nosed pistol before deciding to leave it, and instead grabbed only his sheriff’s badge and a couple gold coins. He left as quietly as he could and was reasonably certain he hadn’t woken anyone.

Lawrence went over to the main building. It was a little after seven he reasoned, so it was safe to assume the owners were awake. They were again busy making breakfast. After they offered him some and he declined, he asked if they knew of anywhere nearby that might be open and sold clothing. They pointed him to a place just down the street. They said it wasn’t officially open this early but if he knocked they were sure to take his business.

Lawrence thanked them and told them that, if the others asked, he was off to explore the city. He wanted some alone time. They understood and said they’d pass the message along.

The clothing store wasn’t open but the owners were happy to take his money. He bought a simple knee length black trench coat. It wasn’t so cold that one was necessary, but since he was going to spend the day following James, any sort of disguise would help. He also bought a black pre-war flattop military style hat, heavily patched in varying shades of black fabric. He wouldn’t normally have worn that but it’d help as a disguise. And it was cheap enough he didn’t think twice about it.

He left and took the long way back to the Scholar’s Rest, circling around the block and then stopping in the alleyway of the shuttered gun store across the street. This gave him a good view of the front inn’s exit and kept him out of sight. Now it was only a matter of waiting for James to leave.

Lawrence was pretty sure James and Linda wouldn’t be leaving too early. He wasn’t happy he couldn’t be certain about that, though. For all he knew they’d already left. But back before they left Texas, when they were all training together and getting to know each other before the expedition started, James and Linda were never early risers. And sleeping in a bed might mean they rested a bit more.

So he waited, leaned up against the red brick wall and waiting for someone to come out. It ended up being almost an hour before someone did, and unfortunately it was Linda. Lawrence didn’t want to tail her. Besides the fact she wasn’t as close to Maxine, and therefore less likely to be clued in, she was also the more perceptive of the two. He’d have a harder time following her unnoticed.  

James left not long after that. Lawrence watched from his vantage point in the alley as James made his way north, toward Wellstone. As soon as James was out of sight, Lawrence took off after him.

It was a tricky thing to follow someone unnoticed. You had to appear casual enough to not attract attention, but keep close enough to not lose sight of them. Losing track of James wasn’t a problem yet, though. The streets of South Union were mostly empty this early in the morning. A few people were heading off to their jobs, but not enough for a crowd that James might get lost in. Lawrence kept his eyes locked on James’s bomber jacket as James made his way due north on Holmes Street. Lawrence knew, from asking the owners of the Scholar’s Rest, that the quickest way to Wellstone would’ve been going east and then north, but he rightly guessed James wouldn’t bother asking directions. He didn’t seem the type.

Holmes Street ended in a section of chain link fencing with a sign that pointed west, towards the South Union Checkpoint. James headed there with Lawrence now following more closely behind, as plenty of the morning crowd was heading to Wellstone. The crowd was largest when they reached the checkpoint, which was a series of guard towers flanking three bridges, which could be closed off with gates on each bridge. Lines filed across each bridge, where Brotherhood soldiers stopped and searched each person going across.

Occasionally, a guard would take a weapon from someone and hand them something from a terminal, which Lawrence guessed was an identification number so they could retrieve their gun as they left the city. He watched as a soldier took the guns to a large, windowless building next to the center bridge, on the Wellstone side. A full squad of soldiers, and some Wellstone security officers, guarded the building.

James took the furthest east bridge, the Oak Street one. Lawrence followed, making his way through the soldier’s frisk quickly. There was a tension in the air he couldn’t identify, and the guards looked very alert, but he made it through without issue. He was careful to watch and note where the soldiers searched the people, in case he needed to sneak a gun in at any point. Wading into the crowd, he kept a close eye on James. If he was going to lose him, it was likely to happen here. But the crowd wasn’t so thick that he ever lost sight of him for more than a second, and Lawrence emerged into Wellstone to see James once again heading north.

Lawrence was a couple inches shorter than James, which made the bigger man easier to spot in the early morning Wellstone crowds, but it meant Lawrence had to keep up a quick pace to not fall behind. He did so as casually as he could, and managed to stay as close as he needed to be, about fifteen yards behind. It didn’t allow him much time to inspect the city, though his ears gave him plenty of information. He only caught snippets of conversation, and most of it was centered around some events that had happened last night. Lawrence got the impression the rebels had struck first, and things were just now heating up.

Something else Lawrence noticed were the accents. Wellstone was a bigger city than any in Texas, and so the diversity of tribals and their unique accents were higher than Lawrence had encountered, though the broken speech patterns and hesitant English was definitely in the minority. He heard it in workers and merchants and in soldiers, mostly in the latter two since the district was evidently a mercantile one, and the Brotherhood had plenty of patrols walking the streets.

James finally came to a stop after walking all the way through the city to the riverside docks. Lawrence backed off to watch as James talked to a few people, first some workers and then a few foreman types. He then followed James as best he could to some of the docks themselves, where a few fisherman and barge operators hadn’t yet taken to the water. James talked to them in a group, until a few broke away, leaving James to talk with a man who stood in front of his gently bobbing barge in a slightly protective stance. Lawrence didn’t need to hear the conversation to tell James was trying to hire the man, likely to transport them more quickly towards St. Louis. Maybe all the way there, though Lawrence wasn’t sure if this river went all the way or not, though he guessed it did.

James gave the barge owner a leather pouch and they shook hands. James said something, the barge owner replied and then pointed a few times, and then James headed west along the river. Lawrence briefly considered talking to the barge owner, but the conversation seemed clear enough that he didn’t want to risk losing James by stopping to interrogate the man.

James quickly reached a tavern or bar near the docks and went inside. Lawrence didn’t follow him this time. He didn’t know the layout of the bar, and he thought it too likely James would see him enter. His disguise wouldn’t hold up under that kind of close scrutiny. His thick brown and greying mustache was too obvious. So he waited, leaning against some business that gave him a view of the door. James was in there for half an hour, just long enough for Lawrence to assume that James had found some answers to his questions.

When James did leave, Lawrence watched him disappear south into the Market District. Lawrence was done following the man. He didn’t need to follow James’ daylong search, but simply find what James was searching for. He entered the bar to do just that.

A middle-aged woman, the bartender, leaned on the bar in a strange manner. At first Lawrence thought she might be drunk and she was using the bar to keep herself upright, but he quickly realized that was only partly true. She was using the bar to keep herself upright, but as she hopped over closer to where Lawrence took a seat on a stool, he figured out it was because she was missing a leg.

She gave a half-hearted smile and asked, “What’re you drinking?”

“I’m not,” Lawrence said. He fished out his badge and showed it to her, careful to cover up the Ranger carved along the bottom of the metal circle that surrounded the star, so the bartender could only see the word Sheriff along the top. He didn’t know enough about this area to know if ranger would stand out, but he was pretty sure sheriff wouldn’t. He’d heard talk on the bridge into Wellstone of South Union having one.

The woman peered in to look at the badge, then reared back and furrowed her brow, seemingly wary of the metal star and the man who held it. “You’re not the sheriff of here. And you’re too skinny to be that fella from South Union.” An accusation, challenging what was only a piece of metal, after all.

“You’re right. I’m from the Nation of the Middle Waters. What did the man that just left want?”

“Who?” she asked, doing her best, but failing, to feign ignorance.

“Tall, muscular, brown skin, reddish beard, shaved head. Might be wearing a bomber jacket with leather on the shoulders. Seen him?”

“You normally come up this far looking for people?” Evading and not yet convinced. Expected.

But Lawrence had been a sheriff, maybe still was. He knew this part of the job just as sure as he knew the shooting and the hauling in drunks to sober up and breaking up bar fights. “No, I normally don’t. I wouldn’t for a different sort of man. A less dangerous one. So, you seen the guy I’m after?”

The bartender wiped little clockwise circles on the old stained bar with her dirty rag. She kept her eyes there for a few moments before she said, “Yeah, he came in here.”

“What’d he want?”

“This is a bar.”

Lawrence fixed her with a hard stare. He’d practice that, back when he was still a deputy. The sheriff of Horse Head before him had given him the advice that most fights could be ended with the right look. One that both dared a man to draw his gun or throw his punch and gave him a peek at what that would lead to. Lawrence had learned on his own how effective that look could be in drawing out answers.

She shifted her eyes away to one of the drunks killing their liver over in the dark corner of the bar. “He had some questions. Asked about Texans.” The way she said it made it clear the word was a new one, a strange one.

“Can you be more specific than that?”

“He was asking if I knew anything about any Texans coming to the Belt around fifteen years ago. I asked if that was some tribe or something. He said they might be in St. Louis. He meant Gateway City, I guess. I said I hadn’t heard of any Texans.”

“Anything else?”

“He asked about slavers too. Where most of the slave trade was done, the big players and such. I told him the Columbians are in charge of that. They don’t operate in Brotherhood lands but they’re real big in the Lost Lands. If you were looking for slaves, you’d go there or to Gateway City. I’ve heard some talk the mutants deal in slaves heading east.”

At least now he had some sense of what was going on. He scooped out some of the change from this morning’s purchases and paid off the surprised bartender and left.

Slavers and Texans fifteen years ago and Gateway City. Out on the street he tried to fit the pieces together.  The expedition, and its true purpose, would have to be sanctioned by Jean von Roemer, the owner of Yellow Rose Caravans. Lawrence didn’t know much about the man, except that Maxine was his right hand woman. So she would go on this mission if he asked and it wasn’t insane, and James would follow her if she asked. Everyone else was duped into coming to the Belt under the guise of exploration.

Everyone except Linda. She knew what the true purpose of the mission was but she had no connection with von Roemer, Maxine, or James. She was secretive but from her mannerisms and what little information she gave, Lawrence knew she had been a soldier as she said. So why was she part of the group informed of the secret? Lawrence didn’t think she’d figured it out like he had. No, she’d been let in on it for some reason or another.

What secret mission involving Texans sent to the Belt fifteen years ago and possibly captured by slavers could draw together the leadership of Yellow Rose Caravans and two former soldiers? Was this earlier expedition something the Lone Star Republic sent? If it was, they would’ve sent their own force to search for them. But then what reason would they, or anyone else, have to send a search party at all? Could anyone reasonably expect this missing group to still be alive? Evidently someone did, otherwise Lawrence and the others wouldn’t be hundreds of miles from home searching for them.

That cleared something up. Whoever they were in the Belt searching for, and for whatever reason, something had led Jean von Roemer to believe they could find these other Texans, even fifteen years later. That meant new information. And not only information, but confirmation they were still alive. It didn’t seem likely von Roemer would send an expedition so far without a near guarantee there’d be someone to find.

Still, that didn’t explain what the secret expedition had been doing in the Belt in the first place, why after fifteen years news had only recently reached Texas of their survival, or why Linda was privy to all this information. Lawrence knew more than he did this morning, but the puzzle he was trying to solve now seemed much bigger than he originally thought.  And with Maxine set to tell the others tomorrow about the plan to head to Gateway City, Lawrence wouldn’t have enough time to figure out much more. He did have enough information that when he revealed what he knew tomorrow, they’d be forced to spill their secrets. At the very least, he wasn’t going to leave Wellstone without some answers. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be getting all of them, though.

[The Good Doctor]

Tech Scribe

What a pointless waste of time. Having to oversee a Mr. Handy paint the metal skeleton that was the radio tower could have been handled by pretty much any scribe with the bare minimum of knowledge in robotics. Guess that was the punishment for having hacked and changed the password of his superior. Garret could only sigh in frustration as he looked on the robot slowly ascend the tower as it painted. Around him was a few Brotherhood soldiers to protect him as there was apparently a new mandate that Brotherhood personal travel in groups. It all made Garret slightly uneasy and partly wished to be back behind the Fort's walls. At least he had Cody by his side whose metal shell would hopefully provide an adequate cover in case of an attack. 

Occasionally, a passerby would stopped to watch the robot hover high above their heads and paint the tower a dull red. Eventually a woman with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a white hat connected to a hood, arrived and stood at the base of the tower. She looked up at the robot slowly spraying the tower's metal bars.

Without taking her eyes off the Mr. Handy, she said to Garret, "Did you have to custom make the paint sprayer or did you retrofit it's flame attachment to spray paint instead?"

"What?" was all Garret could say as he was taken aback by the surprise of a stranger asking such odd questions. 

She seemed to ignore his question and continue talking, practically to herself at this point. “I imagine the nozzle that sprays the flamethrower liquid, butane? propane?, could be pretty easily changed to spray paint instead. It might require a different pressure or nozzle shape, and possibly a filter. But it could be done. If not an old paint gun nozzle could be grafted onto the Mister Handy, if you could find one undamaged.”

The guards started to give them both, though mostly her, sideways glances. Garret only returned a slightly confused look and made a spinning motion against his head with his index finger. His left one so she hopefully wouldn't quite see what he was doing. 

She evidently didn’t, as there was no noticeable reaction from her. Instead she simply watched the robot continue painting the tower for a few more moments, until from behind her and the guards a voice cries out. 

“Kim!” a man said, and approached the group. He was about six foot tall with dark skin. He had on black framed eye glasses on and red baseball cap. His coiled black hair stuck out the back of the cap, and at his side flopped a brown shoulder bag. To the blonde woman, he said, “Kim, what’re you doing?” He then turned and looked at the Brotherhood soldiers and asked, “She’s not in trouble, is she?”

"I think we may have to arrest her for lollygagging," said Garret in a calm voice. When he saw the concerned expression on the man, he simply chuckled and said, "I'm joking. I'm pretty sure there is no law against lollygagging. Not that we'd be the ones to enforce it anyway."

”We’re new here, so forgive our ignorance. I thought you Brotherhood folks were the law around here,” the ballcap wearing man said, his face relaxing a bit. 

"The Brotherhood sets and enforces the base laws. Then there's local laws and enforcement. Don't know much about the latter apart from that guns in general aren't allowed in the city."

“Good to know,” the man muttered, and looked back to the woman.

She seemed to have ignored the conversation entirely, but she did finally look away from the robot painting the tower, this time glancing briefly at Garret before looking at Cody. She asked, “Is that one yours?”

"Yes. How so?" said Garret. 

"I don't know that I've seen one quite like him. How is he different than the typical Mister Handy?" she asked. 

"I was created for industrial and mechanical work," said Cody. "And am equipped with..." and then Cody began to give a long list of functions presented in a very commercialized manner.

To Garret it was like listening to someone talk enthusiastically about their grocery list. The girl however seemed to take a great deal of interest in it so Garret kept himself from shutting Cody up. Though only because he didn't want to be that rude. 

When Cody was finished, and after having listened diligently, she said, “Fascinating. Is it common for Brotherhood...engineers,”  she raised an eyebrow in an inquisitive manner, “to have robotic assistants?”

"Some do, some don't. Most got a Junior Scribe as an assistant," said Garret. For the first time he also bothered to give the woman a proper look and noticed the Pip-Boy at her arm. Garret remembered what he'd learned about the vaults and their wicked social experiments, and wondered what she'd been through and if that was why she was so odd. Though he decided against mentioning anything about it. Figuring her time in the vault might be a delicate matter. 

She seemed to catch his glance at the Pip-Boy, and she raised it to give him a better view. "Have you seen one before? Would you like to look at it?"

The man with her started to say something, but evidently decided against it as Kim offered her arm closer to Garret so he could get a better look at the Pip-Boy.

He gave it a slightly closer look. A bit battered but otherwise not much different from the Pip Boys some of the higher ranking Paladin's and Scribes had. "Yeah, I've seen a Pip-Boy before. Got some nice functionalities but not something I'd consider that advanced."

"I find it handy," she said. "The map function and the built in geiger counter are very useful when traveling, though probably not so much just in the lab."

The man cocked his head slightly and asked, "From what we've heard your group has most of the advanced tech around. That right?"

"Pretty much," said Garret and couldn't help but to glance at his left hand. If he'd been born anywhere else he would have been a real cripple. A life he didn't even want to try to imagine. "I don't know of anyone else that got anywhere near the level we got."

When Garret glanced at his left hand, the woman's eyes followed his. When he looked back up at her, hers were wide in surprise. "Is that robotic? I always imagined it was possible but I've never seen one myself."

The man with her gave a low whistle. "Y'all really do have some advanced tech."

"Yeah, it's robotic." Garret held up his left hand and moved his fingers a bit to show of its dexterity. "Feels like wearing a thick glove while also being half numb. And you only got some touch on the inside of the hand." He showed the rubber on the palm and inside of his fingers that had various tiny pressure sensors underneath. "But it's better than nothing."

"Yeah, I imagine so," the man with the red cap said. "Are those common around here? Or among your group, at least?"

"Not that common at all. I only know of a couple others besides me. Our surgeons are good enough that losing a limb is rare. Though while I do not know for certain, I'm pretty sure we don't give them out to whomever."

"Was the biomechanic technology something y'all developed, or does it come from old tech?" the man asked. "I'm a doctor myself, and I've dealt with enough limbs to know getting any feeling in the nerves couldn't have been easy."

"Built on old tech. As are a lot of things. I think I remember much of the tech for this arm comes from some old Rhea Corp tech."

Kim's eyes flicked from the robot painting the tower to the other Mr. Handy and then to Garret's arm. She had a broad smile on her face. "I can't believe a place like this exists. It's remarkable."

The man with her gave a slight nod. "Yeah. Well, we probably ought to be getting back to the others, Kim. They wanted to check out some of the shops near the river." 

"F*ck the Brotherhood!" someone a bit further away suddenly shouted from nowhere. Garret turned his head and saw a brick flying towards his guards, barely missing one's head. Garret couldn't tell who had shouted and thrown, but neither did the Knights as they began to shout at and manhandle the folk from where it had come from. 

Garret began to feel a little nervous as he began to wonder if this was just the start of another attack. Looking up at the robot painting the tower he saw that it had still a couple of meters left. But by the look of how his guards were beginning to arrest people, he wasn't going to insist on staying. Too bad as he wasn't so keen on returning to finish the work. 

"Cody, get the painter down," he ordered before sighing nervously. 

Kim and the man with her were stepping back away from Garret and the scuffle. Kim said to Garret, "We should probably go."

They didn't leave entirely, though, just pulling themselves outside the center of the area where the Knights were arresting and throwing to the ground the offending citizens. There they joined the slowly gathering crowd surrounding the Brotherhood soldiers.

"Stay back and disperse!" shouted the Senior Knight. "Nothing to see. Move along."

The crowd did retreat some, but the spectacle of the soldiers arresting possible rebels was too irresistible, and the people continued to watch. When one of the arrested tried to resist the handcuffs and was slammed into the cracked payment, many in the crowd let out a cheer. Someone even spat on one man laying on the ground. Eventually, more Brotherhood soldiers arrived and did disperse the crowd, and only then did Kim and her companion leave.

What an odd pair, he thought only for a second. The man had been rather boring but the girl, while weird, was at least refreshingly enthusiastic. But those thoughts were pushed out of mind as he turned his focus to the Senior Knight and his orders on what would happen next. 

[The Good Doctor]

The Paladin Lord

“How did it happen?” Alan asked, looking down at the dead body of the Brotherhood paladin. The paladin’s body armor was pockmarked with holes and melted from a plasma weapon, and all over it was dented from bullet impacts. He’d already gotten a report, but he wanted to hear it again.

The knight commander cleared his throat and said, “The patrol left about midnight. They would’ve been here between two and four in the morning.”

Two paladins and a patrol wiped out in the same night. Alan turned to look towards the cover the rebels had used to fire on the patrol so that the knight commander wouldn’t see his jaw clenched tight as a vice. It pained him to admit that it was the perfect spot for an ambush, with plenty of cover from a fallen radio tower and the other ruins. Not to mention the storm that night would’ve made the rebels impossible to hear. “The plasma defender was Paladin Young’s, was it not?”

“Yes sir.”

Alan walked around the body of Paladin Cole. The man’s tribal tattoos covered his face, though the blood from the wound atop his head covered some of them. His scalp was missing, as were the scalps of the other six members of the patrol. It sickened him to see his men mutilated and left out like trash. He needed to find the perpetrators and make them pay, publicly, for what they’d done.

He reached down and plucked a few bullets from the ground. Slugs from a rifle. They were smashed at the end from having impacted with the power armor. “How many assailants?”

“We aren’t sure. At least two, judging from the scorch marks there and there. The positioning leads us to think Paladin Cole fired at one rebel there, then turned and fired at one there.”

“That’s it? You didn’t think to check for casings in the rubble?”

“No sir, we hadn’t yet.”

“I suggest you do that, then. That should tell you how many there were. More than two, I suspect.” Alan practically growled out the words as the knight commander and two lower ranking knights went off to scour the ruins.

Alan left them to it, returning to his infantry vehicle and leaving the squads to the clean up and investigate. They would radio if they found anything. He knew there wasn’t anything useful there, though. More likely than not, Simon Taylor’s group was continuing their assault on the Brotherhood.  Knowing their numbers wouldn’t help with locating them. Only for preparing the right number of crosses with which to display their bodies to the city.

By the time the infantry vehicle arrived back at Brotherhood Headquarters, Alan had decided on his course of action. His scribe assistant was there waiting for him, and to her he asked that she prepare a short speech. To another scribe, he dictated an order be sent out.

The first change would be that, from now on, only full squads of eight to ten soldiers would be sent out on patrols. That meant either a paladin with a radio transmitter or a radio operator. The second change was that the instant someone came under attack, two more squads were to be dispatched to their location. Even if they couldn’t save the first, they could at least quicken the response time and hunt down the attackers. The third change would be varying patrol paths. He didn’t want to run into this situation again, where a group lay in wait and knew exactly where the patrol would be.

He hated making these changes. They were not themselves bad, but it felt reactive. He was a step behind the rebels, and they seemed to be widening the gap with each passing day. And he shouldn’t have had to make the last change. It was standard Brotherhood procedure to vary patrol routes so as to minimize the chance of ambush.

Which is why he had called Paladin Commander Kelman into his office. The well built man looked as much like a soldier as anyone Alan knew. He had close cropped hair and a square jaw covered by a short beard. Scars covered his hands and arms. He came in and saluted Alan.

“Take a seat,” Alan said. He didn’t hide his displeasure. “Did you know Paladin Cole?”

“Yes sir. A good soldier, always respected by his men, did everything that was asked of him,” Kelman said. His voice and posture were stiff.

“Not everything. You know as well as I that, to avoid the very thing that killed him and his squad, patrols should vary their routes. But I have it from more than one source that he and the patrols under him did not. I understand the monotony of patrols and that generally the southwest areas feature only Junkers and rats, but we are at war.”

“Yes sir.”

“I would have the men that serve under me follow our procedures. They are not there because we enjoy making rules. They are there because they work.”

“Yes sir.”

“This is my fault as well as yours. I have oversight on everyone, but especially you and the other Paladin Commanders. Just as you have oversight on the Paladins. As the commanding officers it is our job to see that our subordinates carry out their duties as they should. We’ve both failed in that. But from now on, I want patrols to vary their routes as they should have been doing. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. The rest of my orders are forthcoming. We cannot be lax if we are going to beat the rebels. Doing things this way beat them once, and it will again.”

Kelman stood and saluted once more before he left.

Once he did, Alan leaned onto his desk and rubbed his temples. It was far too early in the day to be this angry. With his orders sent and the investigations into the two attacks ongoing, he had only one more thing to accomplish before he could resume his investigation into Taylor Simon.

He left his office and headed to the communications center for the Brotherhood Headquarters, his scribe assistant following. There, inside a long, metal warehouse, radio operators received reports and relayed orders to the various outposts, patrols, and checkpoints in and around Wellstone.

Alan walked past the lower level knights and scribes whose jobs it was to receive and send communications. They were already sending out his most recent orders. Tucked away into one corner was a series of rooms where a broadcasting station was set up. Originally a station that could only send to the Brotherhood’s radios, now it worked by co-opting the Wellstone radio station to broadcast to all radios tuned into that channel. Before, any broadcasts on that channel had to be done at the Wellstone radio station, but Alan wanted something closer and better protected. They still utilized Wellstone radio’s tower, but this way Alan could make any announcements necessary without traveling across town.

In the office was a radio tuned in to the Wellstone station, playing a song Alan thought appropriate for how he felt. A scribe set about checking the instruments and setting up the broadcast as Alan read over the speech and made a few adjustments.

As the song finished, the scribe got on and announced, “Sorry to interrupt the program, but we now go to Paladin Lord Ogawa for a special announcement.”

Alan positioned himself before the microphone, took a moment to collect himself, then said, “Hello, citizens of the Belt. I come to you today with solemn news. Last night, in the midst of the radiation storm, rebels broke into the home of a South Union woman and executed her along with her boyfriend, a Brotherhood soldier. The rebels then proceeded to mutilate their bodies and continue with their rampage and ambushed a brotherhood patrol. After fierce resistance, they too were killed, and their bodies also mutilated.

“We saw the truce face of the rebels last night. They will not hesitate to kill civilians, as their bullets and bombs have shown. They claim to fight only against the Brotherhood, but we clearly see them for the liars they are. The Brotherhood, as the protectors of the Belt, are the only thing that stands between you and these murderers who will stop at nothing until they have destroyed all semblance of order here.

“So I ask that you remain vigilant, and report any suspicious activity to the nearest Brotherhood station. The fight against the rebels is only just beginning, and I ask that each and every one of you do your part in keeping the Belt prosperous and safe.”

Alan stepped away, and the scribe got back on the radio and said, “You will now be returned to your regular programming.”

Alan turned to his scribe assistant and congratulated her on the speech. He knew not all the facts were accurate, but the message the rebels had sent was better conveyed in the speech than in actuality. The rebels had shown, after all, their willingness to kill, and that should not be lost by nitpicking at details.

He spent the rest of the day poring over the files on The Lucky Seven, Taylor Simon, and anyone else connected to the group. As the day went on, the promising leads he thought he had dried up. The capture and death of some of The Lucky Seven hadn’t been the result of any investigative efforts or planning done by Wellstone Security, but simply a heist that took too long, allowing time for the security forces to arrive. There was information on the members of the gang Wellstone Security knew about, but Alan couldn't fit the pieces together.

Every time he found a clue or a thread, he followed it as far as he could. Inevitably it went nowhere, and he was soon faced with the realization that he had nothing. The bombing and the two attacks had left no clues as to the whereabouts of Taylor Simon’s group, and the Wellstone Security files led nowhere that he could see. Alan was beginning to wonder if the rebels would ever be found. Maybe they would have to screw up, like The Lucky Seven before them.

**

It was after two days of digging through the files and finding nothing that Inquisitor Sterling Welles contacted Alan, whose stomach dropped at the news. Sterling said he’d found the rebels, and more than that, he’d killed them, save one, a prisoner ready for interrogation.

Already sitting, Alan slumped back into his chair once he read the message. For a moment, it felt like his head was spinning and that he might go crashing to the floor. He couldn’t understand how Sterling had managed to find the rebels when he’d been dealing with that kidnapping. Were they connected somehow? Or had he fixed both problems, and left Alan with nothing? Both options twisted Alan’s stomach into knots, but he rose and went to find Sterling all the same. At the very least, this interrogation might yield something useful.

Alan found Sterling in his full power armor outside a concrete rectangle in the center of the Brotherhood’s fort. The rectangular building was a series of small, windowless cells for keeping the worst prisoners the Brotherhood might bring in. In other words, rebels.

Between his narrow yellow eyes, the helmet’s jagged horns, and the sweeping shoulder cape, the Inquisitor’s power armor gave every indication what type of person an Inquisitors was. But Alan knew that, beneath that unnerving mask, Sterling was smiling like a child. The armor did sport some fresh scratches and the cape had a corner burned off, but Alan could tell these rebels hadn’t put up much of a fight.

The Inquisitor’s modulated voice said, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Alan could feel the veins throbbing in his neck and hear the grinding of his teeth, and made himself breathe before talking. “I still have a job to do.”

“That we do.” The smile was evident in his voice.

“Who is he, then?”

“He won’t say. He seemed their leader, though. Maybe your Taylor Simon.”

Alan wasn’t sure if he was lying or not when he said, “Let’s hope so.”

As they entered the perfectly dark room, the sunlight from the door threw a beam onto the unconscious figure seated in the middle, a skinny, balding, middle-aged man with a patchy beard. Alan instantly realized this man was not Taylor Simon. Alan shook his head in the darkness, putting aside his feud with Sterling so they could better interrogate whoever this rebel was.

Sterling started first by snapping one of the man’s arms with a twitch of his power-armored hand. That woke the man, and he screamed in pain and surprise.

They shut the door and turned on the lights, and Alan pulled a chair from the corner to sit across from the man whose shackles and chair were bolted to the floor. “What’s your name?”

Panting, the man blinked away the light and pain, tears already welling over his eyelids and falling across his cheeks. He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat and he started sobbing. Alan frowned at him and said, “I’d like an answer.”

Sterling only had to shift from one foot to the other for the man to practically yell out, “Thompson! Bill Thompson. Please, we didn’t, we were just-“

“Bill, please be quiet. Now, the Inquisitor here killed your friends. Unless you’d like to join them, answer our questions. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes. Please, I’ll do what you ask.”

“Good. Now, did you bomb the lookout tower and the weapons shipment?”

Bill hesitated, the answer once against catching in his throat. Or maybe it was something else. He seemed to find some courage then, though Alan didn’t know why. His chin lifted and he said, “Yeah, we did. Dusted you Brotherhood bastards.”

Sterling snapped a leg after that, and Alan leaned back and waited for the man to stop whimpering. As he watched, he got the distinct feeling the man was lying. “Did you find a mininuke launcher?” Alan asked Sterling.

“I did.”

Alan just grunted and went on with the questioning. “So Taylor Simon was part of your group, then.”

Bill was breathing heavily, but the pain in his face didn’t hide much. He wasn’t in control of his body, and what he wasn’t saying with words he was saying with the twitch in his cheek and the hesitancy in his voice. “He was, yeah. Dead now.” He spat at Sterling, but it was tacked on, forced. Alan could feel the man’s lie was breaking down.

“And his partner, Jim Preston?”

The man paused for one second too long and said, “Yeah, he was.”

“Funny. I thought he died months ago.” Alan watched as Sterling broke another leg with a kick from his metal boot. Alan continued over the man’s yelling, “Now, tell me the ******* truth, or you’ll endure this every day for the rest of your life. Was Taylor Simon part of your group?” Alan yelled even louder, “Was he?” putting weight behind his words and letting Bill know what would happen if he so much as hesitated in giving his answer.

“No, god, please, don’t. He wasn’t, we didn’t…just kidnapped that girl, is all. I swear, please, I swear. Don’t.” Bill didn’t bother lifting his head, just hung it and let the tears drip into his lap.

“Good. Why did you lie, Bill?”

“I-we…we wanted to help.” He sniffed and the tears slowed. “The rebels, be like them. We were gonna do like Simon’s group, bomb places. We just needed to money to buy the nukes, is all. That’s why we took the whore. We weren’t going to hurt her. She isn’t…”

“Isn’t what?”

Bill’s voice lowered, almost a whisper, and he moved as far away from Alan as he could while restrained and broken. “Isn’t one of y’all. We just wanted to be rebels.”

“Don’t you see how stupid that was, Bill?” Alan asked, barely able to contain the glee in his voice. Sterling was a statue behind him, but Alan could picture the smile fading from his face as it grew on Alan’s own. Sterling had brought in the kidnappers, but they were nothing but fake rebels, too stupid to do any real damage. Killing them was a success, to be sure, but nothing like what Alan would accomplish when he brought down Taylor Simon.

Without waiting to hear Bill’s answer, Alan stood and said to Sterling. “I think you can take it from here. Crucify him or send him to Paradise at your discretion. I have more important things to deal with.”

As Alan walked away, Bill’s wailing faded behind him and stopped altogether when Sterling slammed shut the cell’s metal door, the closest Alan would ever get to seeing the man’s frustration.

Back in his office, Alan dove into the records on the Lucky Seven with a renewed vigor. Sterling had succeeded at bringing down the kidnappers, but the rebels were still out there for Alan to find, and he couldn’t fail in finding them. His entire career he’d wanted nothing more than to become an Inquisitor, and to do that, he needed to hunt down these rebels. Only then could he prove to Barnaky why he deserved the honor of serving as one of his Inquisitors.

Instead of focusing on the little information there was on Taylor Simon and the two bombings, Alan took a different route. The only other member of The Lucky Seven to escape and who was positively identified was a man named Little Grog. That was a nickname, though he claimed multiple times that his real name was Grognak. There was a note dating back to when Little Grog would’ve been a teenager that said his parents collected memorabilia and comics of the barbarian, which backed up Grognak’s assertions.

Little Grog, much more so than Taylor Simon, had an extensive record with Wellstone Security. From the age of fifteen until his last run-in as a member of The Lucky Seven, he’d been arrested for nearly a dozen assaults, three robberies, one count of extortion, and in connection with two murders. He’d only ever served time for a few of the assaults and one of the robberies, and his file indicated he was the picture of well-behaved while in jail. Alan got the impression that, while Taylor Simon joined The Lucky Seven gang to rob Brotherhood supporters, Little Grog was just there to rob. He’d been connected to various gangs and criminal enterprises, but the belief was that he was more mercenary than loyal to any one group.

Except, it seemed, The Lucky Seven gang. The file indicated that among his known conspirators was Jim Preston and Mark McLeod, the two dead members of The Lucky Seven, dating back from before their days as rebel Robin Hoods. That gave Alan hope that even if Little Grog hadn’t joined Simon, maybe he was still in touch with him, or even the unidentified members who escaped.

The trouble would be finding him. The file listed several known addresses, along with his parents’ address. After Wellstone Security broke up the gang and identified Little Grog as a member, they’d checked in with his parents, who were not only still alive but living in the same house they were in at the time of Grog’s first arrest. Their house was in the southwestern portion of Forgotten Homes, near the road that divided that district from the Steel District. Little Grog’s various addresses put him in the Steel District but, Alan noticed, within fairly close walking distance to his parents.

Alan thought that over. Grog’s choice of housing meant he had a desire to stick close to his parents. Maybe he watched out for them, or maybe he just wanted to be near his family. He certainly moved around a lot, but never going to far away. It was possible, even in hiding, he’d still stick close to home.

He’d always stuck to the Steel District, though, even while a member of The Lucky Seven. But that was before he was known to be a member of the gang, so he didn’t need to worry about the dangers of traversing the patrolled street between the Steel District and Forgotten Homes. Now he likely wouldn’t risk it, since he was well known with Wellstone Security before and now a known rebel.

That meant he’d be slumming it in Forgotten Homes. Or so Alan hoped. If Little Grog was in Forgotten Homes, he’d likely be in the southwest corner, nearest his parents’ house, where Chief of Security Harrington had just busted a few Blackcoat gang members. If Alan was lucky, they might be high ranking enough to know if Little Grog was staying in their territory. He needed to find out as soon as possible.

Alan arrived at Wellstone Security’s headquarter after midday in his IFV, flanked by two paladins and half a squad of soldiers. Chief Harrington soon arrived to greet him.

The tall, redheaded police chief, eyeing Alan’s escort, said, “Paladin Lord. How can I help you?”

“Those Blackcoat gangsters. How high ranking are they?”

“The cook’s coming off a high, but didn’t seem much more than a chemist who enjoyed his own products too much. The enforcers knew who to let in and keep out, but they aren’t in charge of anything except doors. The madam, though, she ran the cook house. Used her girls and boys to run the drugs and keep a good lookout. She might know what you’re after.”

She didn’t ask a question, but Alan knew she was angling to know what he was up to. He said, “Good. I’d like to talk to her.”

“I can radio over to the prison to expect you. What’s this about?” She’d apparently waited long enough for Alan to provide the answer on his own. He wondered if that was indicative of impatience, or if she was just curious about why a Paladin Lord was questioning a two-bit gang’s chem runner.

“If you’d like to come, you can find out,” Alan said. He’d need the Chief to agree with his plan, and she would more likely do that if she saw firsthand what he was up to.

She looked over her shoulder and said, “McNeill, tell Ward I’m heading to the prison. Radio over there if something comes up.” She went back upstairs and met Alan outside, this time wearing a dark blue bomber jacket and with a 10mm pistol hanging on her hip.

It was a short ride to the tall, slit windowed prison, and slow elevator ride to the upper floors where the Blackcoats were being kept. Alan kept the two paladins with him, along with Chief Harrington, but left the rest of the squad down below.

The cell was a barred room with a bed, a sink, and an exposed toilet. The gangster wore a pair of brown pants and a shirt, both of which were dirty and stained. She was laying down on the bed and lifted her head to see who was making so much noise. Her eyes went wide when she saw the two paladins, and Alan’s bulky form between them.

The guards removed her and she went willingly to the room at the end of the hall, where prisoners could be questioned away from the others. It was an altogether less depressing room than the scene of the earlier interrogation, with beige walls, a table in the center, and a window. Alan took a seat across from the middle-aged woman, who folded her hands in her lap and kept her eyes off the paladins.

“I am Paladin Lord Ogawa. I’m sure you know Chief Harrington.”

The woman nodded, and Alan continued. “As I understand if, the Blackcoats control the southwest corner of Forgotten Homes.”

The woman nodded again. Alan said, “And you seem to be reasonably well informed.”

She didn’t nod that time, and her eyes seemed to wonder where this might be going. Alan kept his face blank, and she gave an almost imperceptible nod after a moment. “Good. That means you can help me, and keep yourself out of Paradise.”

She stared at him again, finally asking, “What does the Brotherhood want with me?”

“Information. We have reason to believe a man by the name of Little Grog is in your territory. I think you might know where he is. Is that true?”

She opened her mouth, closed it and her eyes, sighed, and said, “No.”

Alan’s blank face turned into a frown, and he leaned forward on the table. “I don’t think you understand me. You have two options. One, you keep this man’s secret and you work to death in the Paradise Gulag, or two, you tell us where he is, serve your time with your cooperation in mind, and live. So I’d rethink your answer.”

“Look,” she said, her voice breaking a little. Alan knew that dying in Paradise had never once crossed her mind before tonight, and it undermined whatever resolve she normally had in the face of questioning. Who sat before her and the paladins flanking him didn’t hurt either. “Look. I don’t know if it’s him, but…but I heard we were hiding someone important in a house we got near the CCC. I don’t know his name, but apparently we owed him a favor and are looking after him. I swear to God, that’s all I know.”

Alan turned and looked over his shoulder at Chief Harrington who nodded. She knew where this place was. Alan turned back to the gangster. “Which house?”

“It’s got a couple cars in the front yard and is mostly white.”

Alan smiled at her. “Your help has been most appreciated. I’m sure Chief Harrington will keep that in mind.”

As Alan stood up to leave, the woman stood too and reached out a hand that was stopped by her shackles. “They’ll know it was me that told. None of the others know about that house. As soon as I get out of here, I’m dead. You have to help me. Please.”

He wondered what it meant, that she hadn’t asked for such protection before spilling what she knew. He guessed she was more afraid of life in the gulag than possible death for turning rat. “If this information pans out, we can put you on a train for Chicago. Will that do?”

The gangster sat back down and her face dropped. She hadn’t been prepared for this, but Alan knew life didn’t often give people time to prepare for what it had in store. You simply had to trust yourself and make a decision. She’d made hers, and for his part, Alan thought it was the smartest one she could make. She seemed to realize that too, as she looked at Alan and said, “It’ll have to.”

He nodded at her and left with his paladins and Chief Harrington.

By the time the elevator reached the ground floor, he and the Chief formulated a plan to capture Little Grog. Harrington pulled some of her most trusted officers together, and they went immediately to the southwest corner of Forgotten Homes, along with Alan and his squad. They moved quickly to surround the building, and captured Little Grog with minimal resistance.

Before midnight, Alan had the information he needed from Little Grog, who would spend a few years in Wellstone Prison. The man was tough, but there were still things he cared about, namely his parents and his life. And he wasn’t a rebel, unlike his friend and the formerly unidentified Lucky Seven gang member Ben Fisher, who’d tried to get him to join Taylor Simon’s little group. Ben had failed to convince Little Grog to get back into the rebel business, but let him know where they could be found if ever he changed his mind. Which meant Alan would be visiting an abandoned bookstore in South Union very soon.

[The Good Doctor]

The Paladin Lord

Alan heard some noise on his radio. It was a voice but too low to make out any words but from the tone it almost sounded like grumbling. A few seconds of silence passed before the voice appeared again. "Hello? You hear me?"

Alan was silent for a second, relishing what was about to begin. Ever since the bombing, he'd dreamt of the moment when he could avenge his fallen soldiers and prove his worth to Barnaky. Now it was finally upon him, and soon he would have the perpetrators in hand, or they would be dead. "I can. What do you see?"

"A big half ruined building. Window holes are boarded up. But there are small gaps that I should be able to see through if I move quite a bit closer. Also a few missing walls I could use to get inside."

“See what you can see from the windows, but stay outside for now. I don’t want it alerting someone by going inside.”

"Alright, let's hope they don't decide to look outside." There was a long moment of silence. "Well third floor is empty." There was another moment of silence. "Well... There looks to be two people in a room on the middle west side, on the second floor. But they seem to be looking at some third person."

“And on the first floor?”

"Working on it." There was another moment of silence. "There's three in the room slightly south of the ones I saw previously. Two playing cards and one doing something with some... item."

“Six rebels, then. Thank you, Scribe Rickson. Once the team breaches, move the eyebot back in. Overlord One out,” Alan said. He switched his power armor’s radio over to the main channel and said, “Overlord One to Scourge One and Saber One, our scouting indicates there are six rebels inside, though there could be more. Consider them all armed and dangerous. You know what they’ve done to our brothers and sisters. Keep that in mind, and shoot on sight. I want Taylor Simon dead. If anyone surrenders, take them prisoner, but if they don’t, kill them. Breach teams, are you ready?”

***
 

The rain bounced softly off Matt’s helmet. It would’ve been soothing if his heart wasn’t racing a million miles an hour. Scourge Squad was positioned in a run down building with no roof a block away from the target building. They could see the eye bot conducting its recon and then fly away quickly before it could be seen. A moment later he heard buzzing coming from inside Paladin Daniels helmet. “Hard copy, Overlord One. Breach team in position. Moving in three. Scourge One out.” Paladin Daniels turned to his squad and spoke quickly. “Alright men, we’ve got six dick bags in that building with positive I.D., though there could be more. R.o.E. If it’s alive consider it hostile. Shoot to kill, men. Top may want prisoners, but I don’t. Alpha team, you’re on point. Myself and Bravo will provide rear support. Oh, and Junior Knight Ryczek, you’re on point. Let’s get ready to roll.”

Matt stood, pushing off his knee, and picked up his AER 9 laser rifle and got by the door. Without a word he looked at the other 3 men in his fireteam and moved out of the building. They moved in a file close to the buildings until they reached the target building. Once they were there Matt started the stack with his right shoulder close to the wall. As soon as everyone was ready the rear man, Knight Cade, sent a tap up the 4 man chain until it reached Matt. Matt returned the tap and seconds later Knight Cade moved to the door. He checked the door for any booby traps and upon finding nothing he turned to Matt and nodded. Matt took a deep breath and returned the nod.

Knight Cade reared back and let a solid kick loose of the door. The door swung open and smacked the wall it was attached too with a thud. Not a moment later Matt was through the door. He darted into the room and gave the door a hard shove into the wall with his shoulder to ensure no one was behind it and cleared his first corner. Senior Knight Lewis entered second, he button hooked right, cleared his corner and turned to the next. Knight McDowell followed behind Matt and Knight Cade brought up the rear. 

Matt turned quickly facing the two rebels playing cards. They were caught off guard by the breach and where cut down quickly by his laser fire. The third one was able to reacted though and stood to his feet, dropping the half-loaded magazines. Matt’s heart skipped a beat as he saw a pistol raise and point right at him. He felt the impact of the two rounds before he saw the flashes or heard the bangs. Luckily, his combat armor stopped the rounds, but it did knock the breath out of him. Before the rebel could adjust his aim and fire again, his body slumped against the wall and left smeared blood all the way down as he hit the floor. Matt looked over and saw Lewis grinning with the barrel of his R91 still smoking.

***
 

"Fuck!"

It was the first word Josey heard after the gunfire receded. He had taken cover against the far wall and instinctively aimed his pistol at the door. Ben was now taking cover behind the desk with Simon, his rifle aimed in the same direction. 

The rebel boss, however, was still swearing as he rummaged through his drawer. "Motherfucking shit! Aha!" Simon handed something to Ben, then looked at Josey. "We gotta go! Take these!"
He tossed something round and a little smaller than a baseball. He didn't even have to look to know what he was holding. "Pull the pin and count to three."

Josey nodded, and moved to the left wall while Ben went over and cracked the door. Footsteps and voices could be heard in the building down below. If the Brotherhood found both stairwells, they were finished.

"Come on," Ben said. Josey and Simon filed in behind him, moving quickly to the south stairwell. Just as they reached it, the door from the north stairwell on the opposite side of the building burst inward. Josey saw the knights for only a moment before he ducked around the corner and started down the stairs. More shots followed, whistling into the wall just past him.

"Fuck you!" Simon hollered. He removed the pin from one of his grenades and hurled it down the hall. Josey could hear the knights responding, followed by the loud *pop* and a brief tremor in the walls. The trio ran down the stairs in such a hurry that they practically jumped down the flights. They didn't stop on the bottom floor, instead proceeding all the way to the basement, where the shop connected to an old utility tunnel. 

"Downstairs," said a voice above them. Josey looked back and saw Simon aiming his pistol up the stairs with just one hand. He fired until the sidearm was empty, and higher up, someone cried out in pain. The rebel seemed satisfied by that, but it was brief. The moment he turned to Josey, another shot rang out. This time from a laser weapon. The red beam cut clean through the rebel's chest, and he collapsed to his knees. Simon's mouth opened as if to say something, but then several more lasers followed, and reduced him to a pile of ash and burning flesh.
Josey and Ben did not waste any time. They hurried on down into the tunnel, where the sewers awaited them.

***
 

Senior Knight Lewis yelped as his body fell back and his lungs became still. Enrage at the death of his brother-in-arms, Matt drew a bead on the man. He squeezed the trigger until the rebel was nothing but a pile of ash on the ground. He turned his head as he run through the glowing pile and said, “Follow me, if we hurry we can catch them!”

Matt and the remaining team members rushed into the sewers following the fleeing rebels as best they could. Matt turned on the flashlight on his helmet just in time to the back of a rebel turn down one of the passages. Picking up the pace, he darted around the corner and came face to face with on of the rebels. He reared his rifle back to buttstroke the man, but the rebel opened fire with his beretta. Matt caught two rounds in the gut and one in the shoulder. The rebel turned and sprinted away just in time. Knight’s Cade and McDowell came around the corner and caught Matt before he could slam into the ground.

They laid him down down on his back and Knight McDowell put pressure on his wounds as Knight Cade jammed a stimpack into his arm. The bleeding quit, but Matt was still unable to walk. They picked him up and moved, as quickly as they could, back to the stairwell. They came out in the office where the chase started and ran into Paladin Daniels. “What’s the situation Knights?”

“Two rebels escaped into the sewers. Knight Lewis is dead and Ryczek here is stable, but needs medical attention.” Knight Cade reported as Knight McDowell sat Matt down. Matt was fading in and out of consciousness in the office. Cade slapped him back awake and Matt could here Paladin Daniels communicating with Lord Paladin Ogawa. 

“Scourge One to Overlord One, break… Building is secure. We’ve got one Knight in critical condition, we need field scribes on the second floor, ASAP. Four rebel KIA and one friendly KIA as well. Two rats escaped into the sewers. How copy?”

“This is Overlord One. Hard copy. Good work, Scourge Squad,” Alan said. He took a moment to stop himself from asking about Taylor Simon, knowing he needed to check after his own men first. Over the general comm channel he said, “Field scribes, on me. Scourge One, we’re on our way.”

Leading in his T51-b power armor, he kept his AER9 hanging at his side, instead drawing his plasma defender and heading up to the second floor. As soon as they made it into the rebels’ office, the scribes peeled off to tend to the fallen knight.

Alan, meanwhile, sought out the other power armored individual, Paladin Daniels. “Four rebels dead. Was Taylor Simon one of them? He’s in his late thirties, with blonde hair and a goatee. Their leader.”

Before Paladin Daniels could respond, Knight Cade spoke up, “Sir, Junior Knight Ryczek here shot him after he killed Senior Knight Lewis. His ashes are down in the stairwell, Sir"

Beneath his helmet, Alan smiled. He’d finally killed Simon, and he couldn’t be more relieved. “You two make sure Knight Ryczek here gets whatever treatment he needs. Call in the IFVs, if you need to transport him. And make sure you take care of Senior Knight Lewis as well. He died a hero for the Brotherhood.”

“Yes, Sir!” The Knights saluted Alan and began assisting the scribes with Knight Ryczek. Paladin Daniels turned to Alan and said, “Paladin Lord, the rest of Scourge Squad has all entrances and exits to this building secure.”

“Excellent. Hold here until an IFV arrives.” Alan then switched his radio channel over to the Brotherhood Headquarter’s channel and called in an infantry vehicle to their position, then ordered Saber Squad, who were unable to breach the back entrance in time to assist, to move to the front and join up with Scourge Squad in securing the building. 

Alan went downstairs to the basement. There, at the foot of the stairs, Taylor Simon’s remains still smoked. The areas where Knight Ryczek’s lasers cut through the terrorist were turned to ash, and Alan had no doubt that the body might fall apart because of the numerous holes. It would make displaying the body difficult, but at least the head was totally intact. It would look nice on a spike at the base of the Brotherhood Observation Tower, right where Simon had killed several soldiers. It felt like justice to Alan.

He left the body there, and told the two members of Scourge Squad guarding the tunnel entrance to move the body to the IFV once it arrived, using a stretcher if possible. Alan went back to the main room on the first floor, where the rebels’ stockpile of weapons was. There were a few laser rifles and the dead paladin’s plasma defender, but most of the arsenal was conventional firearms. The mininuke launcher was there, though, and Alan took a moment to disarm the firing mechanism. He didn’t want it falling into the wrong hands again. 

Unfortunately, the upstairs office held no records or useful documents. Unlike their dead weapons supplier, these rebels were not meticulous record keepers. It bothered Alan, left a twinge of annoyance tainting this otherwise successful mission. Especially with two rebels having escaped. But it was a small moment that passed quickly, and soon the IFVs reported they were incoming, so Alan ordered Scourge and Saber Squads to move out.

[The Good Doctor]

The Entrepreneur

Their flight didn't stop for hours. 
Josey's entire existence felt false, like he was in some dream or simulation, watching the events of someone else's story take place. Perhaps he was one of the last remnants of the MLA, being hunted down by his father so long ago. "So this is what being a rat feels like," he laughed at one point. Looking back, Joey was not sure if he had actually said the words or just thought them. It was an appropriate description regardless. He and Ben rushed through the sewers like two rodents in a filthy maze, putting as much distance between themselves and anything the Brotherhood might have sent after them.

His mind only started to clear and focus on the 'now' when a pair of deranged ghouls came at them from the shadows. Josey still held his pistol from when he'd shot that Knight, but he didn't raise it until Ben had already dispatched the insane mutants with his knife. It was for the better. If they were below Wellstone, a shot would have only given them away a second time. How did they find us? he asked himself. Did Simon screw up somehow?
It would not have surprised him. But still. The rebel boss was as careful as he was crazy. How could they defeat an enemy that was so resourceful?

Ben Fisher was as quiet as he had always been. Throughout their entire stint through the sewers, the only words he ever spoke were in the form of curt orders like "this way," and "stay close". It was not until they came topside again that the brigand took Josey aside to speak. They were in an old world parking lot now, outside of both Wellstone and South Union. Josey was still looking for familiar landmark when Ben asked, "You good?"

His voice sounded strange when he answered. Harsher than he expected. "Yeah, I'm good. You?"

"Well I just watched an old friend die and lost my whole crew, so... you know." Ben let out a deep breath. "I'm gonna need some time, alright. Where can I find you?"

"What do you mean?" Josey realized it was a stupid question before he'd finished asking it.

"Where can I find you? You know, a hideout? Some abandoned building or some such? We're still in business ain't we?"

Josey nodded. Truth be told, pressing forward had been far from the first thing on his mind. "Right, yeah. Yeah we are. There's a restaurant up in the market called the Salty Pincher. Tell the owner that the yellow lamp still shines, then tell him to send for me. Might take a few hours, even a day, but I'll show up."

"Guess that's the best I can hope for right now." Ben reached into his pocked and pulled out a metal flask. "Fucking hell."
The flask was empty on account of a big hole that had been blasted out of the corner. "Didn't even feel that shit," he muttered. "Son of a bitch. You got any smokes at least?"

Josey shook his head. He didn't smoke, though at that moment he'd have gladly had one were it available.

"Shit." Ben massaged his temple with both hands. "Well, I'm headed to the city. Cynthia wasn't with us when shit hit the fan. I gotta find her before she does something stupid." He started off. "I'll be in touch, Thatch. We ain't dead yet."

Yet. Though at this rate, that could change very quickly. Josey began walking in a different direction. The lights of Wellstone were plainly visible to the north. He would have to hide his gun and grenades. Checking them in right now would be too risky. In fact, with the curfew in effect, Josey realized that it would be a good idea not to go back at all until morning. The BoS would be out in force and the last thing he wanted was to get picked up for looking suspicious.

It was well past midnight by the time Josey made it back to South Union. His initial intent was to find a motel and sleep the night away, but somehow he found himself instead wandering into some hole-in-the-wall bar in Valiant gang territory, where he drank himself sick until dawn when he finally found a room to sleep in. When he awoke the next afternoon, Josey found little specks of blood on his clothes and saw where his eye had been blackened in the mirror. His memory was groggy and his head was spinning. He wasn't entirely sober yet.

They're waiting for me back home, he knew. They don't know if I'm alive or not. 
Josey knew he needed to go to them, to hug his mom and let them know he was alright, but something stalled him. The image of his father was there as well, frowning and shaking his head. I fucked up. How the hell did I fuck up so badly?
Felix would be there, he knew. He would be waiting as well, to tell Josey how angry or disappointed his father was. Fuck them.

Instead of returning to Wellstone, Josey returned to the bar. The tender wasn't the same as last night, which was good. Though from the stray looks a few of the Valiant gangsters gave him, Josey knew that his return had been noted. He didn't have a lot of cash, but it was enough to get some cheap "vodka" that smelled like something meant to kill. The bartender poured it through a folded rag into his cup. "Drink up, waster."

Josey finished the drink without going blind, which was about as much of a victory as he could remember having in the last few weeks. So he had another. As he stared into his cup, his perception of the world around him grew dull as he slid into his drunkenness

"How long will you be gone?" the bartender asked.

Josey blinked. "What?"

The attractive blonde frowned. "I said, it's about time you were gone." She nodded to a table in the back, where a group of the Valiants were glaring at Josey. There were more of them now than before. "They want you out before you start some more shit."

"More shit?"

She nodded and motioned at the bruise below his eye. Then she laughed. "You must've got fucking plastered last night."

Josey nodded. "Just give me a bottle and I'll be on my way."

How long will you be gone? The words still bounced around Josey's skull as he wandered the streets of South Union. That bartender must have reminded him of Danielle. That was what she had said to him the day his family left the Brotherhood for good. His response had been such bullshit. "Colorado is a long way. It could be a few years."

I told her we were going to Vault Zero. What a stupid cover-up. He wondered if she'd have come with them if he had told her the truth. Probably not. Only fools and renegades left the Brotherhood. And Danielle had been neither. She was probably a Procurement Specialist by now, up in Chicago living their dream with some other man.
Josey took a long swig of his cheap liquor.

"Squeeze that bottle any harder and you're liable to shatter the damn thing."

Josey turned toward the voice with his knife raised. He was in an alley now, and some guy wearing a ball cap was floating around in his vision. He barked at the stranger, "Get the hell back."

The man held up a sawed-off shotgun. "Whoa there. You're the one staggering 'round my apartments. And I can tell you ain't some squatter, so why don't you just go on home, huh? Do your drinking there."

Josey shot the man a bitter look and then dropped the bottle so it clanked on the ground. "I was done anyway."
He turned and started back for Wellstone, only stopping to buy some 'mander jerky and a bottle of water, which he finished on the way. He passed through the Brotherhood checkpoint without a hitch, and before long he made it back to the Garage. Eli's eyes lit up when he saw him from behind the counter, and he hurriedly called for the others to come downstairs. 

Felix was there, as Josey had expected. The large man stood at the back while his mom and Aly squeezed him and went on about how worried they had been. Tears freely flowed from his mother's eyes. It made him feel like shit. After the hugging and weeping was over, he told them that he needed a shower and promised to explain everything in a little bit.
That evening, after getting clean and sobering up some. Josey joined his family at the kitchen table. He knew he couldn't blow them off this time. He needed to actually say what had happened. He looked at Felix. "How much do you know about what happened?"

"The radio described a raid in South Union," Aly answered before Felix could. "They said a bunch of rebels and some man named Simon Taylor were dead. But they haven't said yet who the others were. We thought for sure you were there. When you didn't come back last night, well..."

"Where were you?" Eli asked. He was obviously happy to see Josey back, but it was clear that he expected answers.

"I was there," Josey admitted, noticing the fear that flashed across his mom's face. "Only two of us made it out. There was a utility tunnel that led to the sewers. We spent a long time down there, and even more in South Union."

"How'd you get the shiner?" Aly asked, seemingly unbothered by how closely he had danced with death. 

"Things got close," he answered. It wasn't a complete lie. The Knight he'd shot in the sewers had practically been in his face. "Way too close."

His mother was shaking her head. "Why do you need to spend so much time with these men? Is it not enough to let them do the fighting?"

"Didn't plan on there being any fighting," he said.

"Bullshit. Last time you went out there, a Paladin and an entire patrol were killed. How many times are you going to put me through this?"

"Your son is a soldier, Haley." Felix said. The praise surprised Josey. He had expected condemnation. The older man turned to him. "Gregory will be proud of you. Now where is this other man who survived?"

"I don't know," Josey said. He gave his mom an apologetic look. It was time to talk business. "We parted ways so he could find his missing friend, but he promised to send for me through Saul."

"Good. Have you worked out a means to facilitate the hits on the Brotherhood?"

"We made the plans right before the raid started. The guy, Ben, he was there for that. He should still be able to help make this happen."

Felix nodded. "That's what matters most. Wellstone won't mourn a few dead raiders. That's why we're using them in the first place. It's the good guys whose lives matter more. You made it out, and our plans haven't been slowed. That's all that matters. Let the Brotherhood pat themselves on the back."

"When can we start helping?" Aly asked. Josey could see that his sister was enthralled with this.

"Soon," Felix promised, which Haley clearly didn't like. "Gregory has plans outside the city that we may need some extra guns for. But he's still setting things up. Until then, we think that making friends is the best course of action. The city's eastern districts are where we'll likely find them. Nobody in the Forgotten Homes is crazy about the Brotherhood, and the Steel and Industrial Districts have been a lot less enthusiastic about their arrival than Gold or Pennway."

"We could do some real damage if we get support from folks working the factories," Josey said with a grin.

"Indeed, which is why that's our first priority. Some of the factions outside the city could be friendly as well. Those tribals down in the university who call themselves Rockmashas have got bad blood with Brotherhood supporters. Gregory and I have spent some time with them already, and while they didn't seem outright rebellious, there was certainly a bitter tone to them. I'm interested to see how they feel now that the Brotherhood's brought in an army."

"Don't expect much help from South Union," Josey said. "The law there is no good, and the gangs are laying low. Want nothing to do with any of this."

"I figured as much. They'd have been helpful, but it's a loss we can afford, as long as they stay out of the way."

"What about the Lost Lands?" Eli asked. He and Aly had been out of the loop for the most part. "And the mutants in Gateway City?"

"We've still got friends out there," Felix answered, "but not in the mutants. They're only interested in protecting themselves, not coming west and waging war. They're smart not to. Assaulting Wellstone from the outside would be suicide." He turned to Josey. "You know what to do. Finish your business with this Ben fellow and get his people launching attacks again. The offer still stands. Then, when you're done, look into the Steel District for any allies you can find. I'm curious about one group in particular. A smuggling crew run by a boss who calls himself Big Max. No rebel affiliations that I know of, but Max's crew has been far more careful than any other gang in this city. And they've gotten even quieter since the Brotherhood showed up. Finding them could prove even harder than it was to find Taylor, but if my hunch is right, we won't regret it. They could be our foot into the door to the eastern districts."

Josey nodded. "Another gang. Wonderful. You ain't worried these criminal types are rubbing off on me, are you?"

"I am," his mother said. She never much cared for his jokes.

"We've lived with raiders," Josey reminded her. "City gangs ain't shit. And this one doesn't seem to consist of bombers, so we're on a better track already." He stood up. "Now if that's everything, I think I'm gonna go sleep for a few days."
Nobody protested, so Josey retired to his room and promptly crashed in his bed. It was the most comfortable thing he had ever felt. Too bad his dreams were filled with gunpowder and lasers and death.

[The Good Doctor]

The Entrepreneur

"How about we skip the catch-up, yeah? I'm not in the mood for small talk."

Ben Fisher looked like he had not slept a wink since the raid. His skin was pale, the lines beneath his eyes formed dark bags, and his beard had gotten wild. Josey would have asked about his health, but if the man insisted that they get straight down to business, he was happy to oblige.

"Did you find Cynthia?"

"Yeah. And she's out for blood. Got some friends together and hit a patrol just this morning. In the city. You'll probably hear about it soon. They killed a Knight."

Josey shrugged and leaned back in his booth. He caught the passing waitress's eyes and waved her over. She nodded held up a finger as if to say one minute. "I'll take your word for it."

"They're increasing the size of their patrols. And mixing them up. Collecting tags and scalps for your weird project ain't gonna be viable no more."

"I'm only doing that to motivate people anyway. Sounds like Cynthia's done a good job of finding people who will do without."

"She's got family in the Homes. Lots of pissed off people there."

Ben paused as the waitress approached. She ignored him and spoke to Josey. "What do you need?"

"Got anything to drink with some flavor in it?"

"I can squeeze a mutfruit into some water."

"I'll just take the water."

The waitress lingered for a few seconds, then went back to the kitchen. Ben watched her leave, then nodded. "She likes you."

She sure didn't seem to a week ago. Josey wondered what had changed. "You said no small talk. So will you and Cynthia be able to make more friends in the Homes? Enough to keep up this pressure?"

"You think it's working?"

"They're consolidating men for bigger patrols. I'd say it's working, which is why we can't stop. If y'all can find some people crazy enough to keep collecting tags and scalps, I'll still bring you the money at the time and place we discussed. Taylor's death doesn't change that, does it?"

"No, it doesn't."

"Good. Now what can you tell me about Cynthia's friends in the Forgotten Homes?"

"Nothing. I don't know them. But I'll bring her along next time we meet and you can ask her yourself." Ben hesitated, then said, "Though I do know someone else. An old acquaintance from back in the day who I think you'd get along with. His name's Walter. Lives in a club down by the river in Pennway. Me and him haven't been on speaking terms in a while, but he hates the Brotherhood as much as any of us."

"What's the name of the club?"

"The Inglenook. Just don't invite us both to the same party, alright?"

"Why's that?"

"Because I might hit the fucker. Look, Walter is smart, has money, and is good in a pinch. But he'll cap you in the knee if it'll keep him from being caught. The man's a weasel."

The waitress returned with Josey's water. This time, he noticed the way she looked at him and he smiled. "Thank you." Turning back to Ben, he said, "I may just pay this weasel a visit."

***

When Josey got back to the Garage, he found Eli working on someone's broken protectron and Aly at the counter, chatting up some redheaded guy holding a package. The radio was on, so he only caught the end of what she was saying.

"-often do you deliver to the Crossroads?"

"Don't know. I'm still quite new. But if neighborhood is as nice and pleasant as you I hope to be making more trips here," said the man with little mischievous smile.

Josey saw his brother roll his eyes while Aly beamed. He went up to the counter and leaned next to the stranger. "You got something for us?"

"Yeah. A package of..." The redhead picked up a note from his pocket. "Screws, nuts and bolts of... various sizes."

Josey eyed the courier, then took the package and shook it. "Sounds like it's all here. You can be on your way now."

"I guess I should." He didn't sound that eager to get back to work and gave Aly a long glance. 

Josey put the box down and folded his arms. "The door's that way, buddy."

The man gave Aly a quick wink before quickly and quietly leaving the shop. After the door closed, Aly frowned at Josey. "You spend all morning away from home just to come back in time to scare off the mailman?"

"That guy wasn't scared." Josey gave her ponytail a tug and climbed over to the other side of the counter. "And I'll bet he talks like that to every girl he delivers to. Damn if I'm gonna make it easy for every random waster to come in here and scoop up my sister."

Aly rolled her eyes and flicked a dead fly at him. "Yeah, I doubt it. The guy barely spoke until I started asking questions. And he's hardly a random waster. Didn't you hear how he talked? He's from up northwest. Like, way up northwest. He walked here from outside Brotherhood lands!"

Josey's brows arched. If that was true, then it actually was pretty impressive. "Did you get his name?"

"I think it was Richard."

Josey laughed and Eli snorted. "You think?"

"Well it was hardly the most interesting thing about him."

"Well I'm sure I'll get the chance to learn more the next time I see that smug grin of his." Josey sighed. "Is Mom upstairs?"

"She went to the market for some food," Aly answered. "Said she'd be back later this afternoon."

Josey started back to the front of the room. "In that case, y'all can be the ones to let her know I've gone out again. Tell her I'll be in Pennway and that I'll be back tonight." He grew serious. "Tell her that I'll be safe, that it's nothing big."

"Aye aye, cap'n," said Eli.

"What are you going to Pennway for?" asked Aly.

"I'm hoping to make a new friend." Josey opened the door. "Y'all hold the place down while I'm gone, alright? Eli, you're in charge. Aly, listen to Eli."
Eli grunted and Aly flipped him off. Josey turned and headed on down the street, but he didn't even make it off the block before Aly jogged up next to him, now wearing a hooded coat. "Did I forget something?"

"I've never been to the Pennway District," she said. "I thought I'd tag along. You said it's safe and Eli doesn't need my help-"

"No." Josey had been shaking his head since she said 'Pennway'. Gregory may have been fine with involving them, but he wasn't. "Absolutely not."

"Come on, Jos. Dad never wanted you to do everything on your own. We were all supposed to help!"

"Gregory also put me in charge. Did you forget that part of his plans?" Josey glared at her. "I love you, Sis, but when I need your help out here, I'll ask for it."

Alyssa scoffed. "So what, are you ordering me to stay home?"

Josey could feel his expression becoming stern. "Are you going to make me?"

Her shoulders slumped. "No."

"Good." Josey relaxed a bit. "In that case, I'll see you tonight, okay?"

She nodded and turned back to their home. Josey sighed and continued on his way. The safest, quickest, and easiest route was to follow Highway 670, which was well patrolled and filled with travelers and caravans from sunup to sundown. But Josey instead took a few side roads further south, and then began down a series of alleyways and large ditches, crossing through yards and overgrown parks, even through an apartment building at one point to avoid a large fence. The Crossroads and Pennway Districts were mostly decent places to live, but as Josey went further south, the living conditions got worse. Not every poor denizen of Wellstone lived in the Forgotten Homes. Many squatters resided down here, mere blocks away from their better-off neighbors. They were taking advantage of these ruined and underdeveloped areas of the city before it inevitably grew into them. 

Josey did not need to go this way. The Brotherhood didn't know what he looked like. But he liked learning the city. These alternate routes may have taken longer and been less safe, but if he ever needed to make an escape, he was confident that he could lose any of the tin cans in the maze of Wellstone's backstreets. And if he ever did run into danger, well… he wasn't unarmed.

Josey kept that in mind as he passed through an overgrown part of town that was mostly crumbled brick buildings and smaller wooden houses. The people were out that day, tending their tiny Autumn gardens and making sure nobody stole from them. There was a loud party somewhere further south, with food on the grill that Josey guessed to be dog or molerat. Some old guy with wild hair stood on a street corner and begged passers-by to purchase his ultra-rare "Nuka Cola Yellow". Josey knew better than to look his way. He'd made the mistake of buying the stuff once. Never again.
After turning the corner and starting north, Josey smirked at the sound of the crazy swindler targeting some other poor soul behind him. 

"Come on, Miss, just a nickel. You can't even get normal Nuka for prices like that, and this is no ordinary Nuka!"
The woman must have made the mistake of looking the man's way, because Josey looked back to see him stepping in front of her. "I'll tell ya what. I'll give you a cup, just two pennies!"

"Shut up," she said, ducking her head behind the man. But it was too late. Even hushed, Josey knew Aly's voice too well.

Fucking hell. He returned to the curb, shoved past the old man ("Hey, fuck off!"), and grabbed his sister by the arm. He pulled her along behind him until they were a ways down the street, and then turned. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

"Come on, Jos! What fucking good am I back home, huh? I can help you! I followed you all this way before you even noticed me. I'm good at this stuff!"

"You were supposed to stay at the Garage."

"But you didn't order me to." she smirked. "Remember?"

"What do you mean? Of course I-" Josey paused as he remembered his exact words about ordering her to stay. 'Are you going to make me? ... Good.'  He scowled. "Well, I won't be making that mistake again. Go home now. That's an order."

"Fine." Aly turned and peered off into the distance. She faced south, not even close to the direction of their home. "It's that way, right?"

"Aly..."

"What, Jos?" She looked at him with mock frustration. "I've never been to Pennway and you took some weird freaking routes."

He sighed, then locked eyes with her. "Don't leave my sight and don't talk to anyone, alright?"

Aly nodded and made a zipping motion over her mouth.

"I mean it. I'm giving you a chance here. If something happens, this is the last time you'll be joining me."

His sister's smile shifted into a look of determination. "I won't let you down."

He turned and started back on the path. "And never drink that guy's Cola. He smells like piss for a reason."

***

It was mid-afternoon when they found the Inglenook. By then they were well away from the squatter housing and among the district throngs. The two-story club had a neon sign, curtained windows, and a strong looking bouncer out front. Josey stopped in front of the place. "You wait out here, alright?"

"All the years we lived in the Lost Lands, and this is what you're worried about me seeing?" Aly snickered. "I'm not a baby, Jos. I know what a strip club is."

"Fine." Josey relented. "But stay close." 

They had to give their weapons up to the bouncer before he would let them through. Inside, the Inglenook was more or less what Josey expected. A large, dimly-lit bar with the stage, the dancers, the lounge, and everything else that was typical of a place like this. He and Aly went to the bar and waited while the bartender poured drinks for a larger group at the corner.

"Holy shit," Aly nudged him with her elbow and motioned at one of the dancers on the stage. "Those have got to be fake, right?"

Josey shot his sister disapproving glance, but had a look all the same. The skinny woman did have incredibly large breasts. "Probably."

"How much do you think these girls make?"

"Why? Thinking about helping pay the bills?"

She elbowed him. "Hah-hah asshole. I'm wondering 'cause surgery is expensive. Can't imagine some stripper being able to afford one she don't need."

"Whoever owns this place probably pays for it."

"We should've opened a stripclub when we got here. That's where the real money is."

Josey snorted and returned his attention to the bartender, who was finally moving their way. "What can I get for y'all?" she asked.

"We're here to talk to Walter," Josey replied. "Do you know where he is?"

The bartender looked confused. "Who?"

"Walter. I'm told he lives here."

"Nobody lives here," she answered. "Far as I know, at least."

"Could you check anyway?" Josey slid her a few coins. "I'm a friend."

The woman eyed the coins for a few seconds, then grabbed them. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I'll have someone check." She waved to someone behind Josey. "Anita!"

A scantily clad girl with blonde hair came over. The bartender said something into her ear and then she went off again. The bartender smiled at Josey. "Would either of you like a drink while you wait?"

"No, thanks." He smiled. "Maybe next time."

A few minutes passed, and then half an hour. Josey tried his best not to gawk at the dancers with his sister next to him. Aly, for the most part, seemed comfortable. It was no surprise. A strip club was indeed pretty tame compared to some of the shit she would've seen back in the Lost Lands. Raiders cared little for privacy.

"Hey Jos," Aly spoke lowly, without moving or looking up. "Don't look now, but there are some guys watching us, up on the balcony."

Of course, Josey had to fight the urge to immediately look. "How many?"

"I saw three."

"Sure it's us they’re looking at?"

"Positive."

Josey contemplated on that for a few seconds, and then turned around and looked right at them.

"I said not to-"

"Good eye." There were indeed three of them. It was dim up there, but Josey could make out two men and a redheaded woman. He waved.

The trio hesitated for a second, then the man in the middle waved back. The woman leaned over and said something into his ear, then turned and left. The other guy followed her, leaving only the one who waved remaining. Dark as it was, Josey could tell that he was a skinny guy, with a goatee and receding hair. They continued their little stare down for a few seconds longer, and then the man grinned and walked off.

"Well that was weird," Aly said. "Think he's your Walter?"

"I'm hoping we'll find out soon." Josey leaned back against the bar and folded his arms as he scanned the club for any of the mysterious trio.

It was not long before his hopes came true. 'Anita' from earlier eventually returned and told them to follow. She led them behind a curtain, down a hall, up some stairs, and to the same balcony they had just been looking at from below. There were a bar and tables up here, but all of them were empty save for one, where the man who had waved now sat watching them. He motioned to the chairs across from him. "Have a seat."

They took their seats. Josey eyed the man up and down. Up close, the face reminded him of a rodent. Especially the eyes. "Are you Walter?"

The man shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe that ain't even a real name. So why are you in my club askin' for it?"

"Ben Fisher pointed me here."

If Ben's name meant anything to the club owner, he hid it well. "And what did he tell you?"

"That Walter is one of the good guys. So are we."

"Lots of people in this city think they're the good guys," the man said. "Lots of them ain't. I hope you've got more reason for me to trust you than some guy's name."

" 'Some guy' who you used to run with."

"According to who? Him?" Walter crossed his arms. "You're in the wrong place, kid. People don't come to me. I go to them."

Josey understood. "You've got to be careful, I get it. Does the name Gregory Thatch mean anything to you?"

"Terrorist from back in the day. Killed some Steelies, if I remember right. Why?"

"Just keep your radio on." Josey stood up. "Come on, Aly."

She looked surprised, and in fact, so did Walter. Though he recovered quickly. "So soon?"

"I've got a reason to trust you," Josey said. "But I've been in your shoes enough to know that it doesn't go both ways. We're not gonna get anywhere today. When that's changed, you can do your thing and come to me."

"Pretty confident about that, ain't you? Okay, mystery friend. If I wanted to find you, how would I?"

"There's a restaurant by the river market called the Salty Pincher. Tell the owner Saul that you're looking for 'Sam Hall'. He'll set it up."

"How sneaky of you." Walter leaned back in his chair, that grin never fading. "Well if you don't want to stay for a drink, then you know the way out. I look forward to hearing whatever's on the radio soon."

Josey motioned for his sister to follow and quietly took his leave. He could feel more than a few sets of eyes following him all the way out. The moment they were clear of the building, Aly broke the silence. "What the hell was that? You barely even tried to convince him!"

"Because there was nothing I could have told him that someone in the Brotherhood couldn't have also said," Josey replied. "And he knew that. He basically told us as much when he said that people don't come to him. They've probably lost people by trusting strangers."

"They?"

"If Walter's a rebel, he's not alone. Those people he was with, that redheaded woman. They were all watching us. They might even be now."
Aly didn't make it obvious, but Josey knew that his sister's eyes would be darting to every corner after he said that. "Don't worry, we'll lose them on the way back. If Walter and his friends want to find us, they'll do it the way I told them to."

"But why? You already said that you trust him."

"I said that I have reason to. Doesn't mean I'll put us all at risk by telling him where we live." Josey looked back at the Inglenook before they rounded a bend and it disappeared from sight. "Don't worry, this wasn't a loss. We know that Walter's part of a group, and that they're careful. And if they're willing to cooperate, they know how to make that happen."

"Yeah, you told him to listen for Dad on the radio. What did you mean by that?"

"I was bullshitting." Josey thought back on that line and smiled. "But Gregory's been too quiet lately to not have some kind of plan. And you know how he does things."

"Loudly... the kind of stuff that people will talk about."

"Exactly."

They reached a fence leading to the back of an Old World motel. They hopped it, then Josey boosted his sister in through an open window and had her help pull him up. They continued through the building a ways until they reached the bottom floor and exited through an emergency door into an alley. Any tails would've had a hard time keeping up with them after that. By the time the siblings returned home, the Garage was closed and the protectron Eli had been working on was pacing the main room. The yellow light on its head flashed when it detected them, and the clumsy robot waddled up to them. "WELCOME. TO. THE. GOOD. BURGER-GER-GER. HOME. OF. T-T-T-AKE. ORDER?"

Aly covered her ears. "Shit, didn't Eli install a volume knob?"

"VOLUME. AT. ONE. HUNDRED. PERCENT."

"Yeah, we got that."

They went on upstairs. Their mom had been home for hours. Naturally, she was worried, but not as much as she'd been the times Josey had gone to meet with Simon and his bomber friends. "Felix came by again," she told them. "But this time only for a few minutes. He said he'd be back in two days."

"Oh yeah?" Josey was surprised. Until recently, they'd not seen their father, Felix, or even Uncle Tristan in months, and now Felix was suddenly showing up several times a week. "Did he say anything else?"

"He said that he wants us to be here. All of us." The strangest look came over their mother's face, a sort of nervous happiness. But also hope. "I think your father is coming."

[BTC]

The Sheriff

Lawrence had a pit in his stomach when he woke up the day after he followed James. He again slept little and woke early. Part of him hoped the radiation clouds would come rolling in again and then maybe he might not have to deal with whatever secret Maxine was keeping. The rest of him, though, wanted to know, and wanted the others to know as well. They didn’t deserve to get pulled into something they didn’t sign up for, that much he knew for damn sure.

Lawrence showered and dressed and walked over to the Scholar’s Rest main building, where the older couple was busy preparing breakfast once again. He sank into a comfortable chair and went through two cups of coffee before anyone else showed up. Linda walked in, her wavy brown hair pulled back into a ponytail as a cigarette dangled from her lips. Her grey eyes looked a little red, and Lawrence wondered if that was from the smoking or not sleeping well.

She sat down on a couch across from Lawrence. He considered bringing up what he knew and trying to see what she knew about the secret, but she’d been quiet and private the entire trip north, and he didn’t expect anything he said would faze her. So instead he tried a different tactic.

“You know, I was a Ranger,” Lawrence said.

As he’d expected, Linda was only mildly surprised. “That right?”

Lawrence fished his badge out of his pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it and looked it over, but her face revealed little and she threw it back. He said, “Never did any training, or come within spitting distance of the army. Two Rangers just showed up one day, ‘deputized’ me, and then ordered me to go check in on an outpost that’d gone quiet.”

“Yeah, I heard they did that out west, that way they didn’t have to send real Rangers out there.” A not so subtle dig, not just from her words but the inflection of her voice. It was dismissive. Though that brooked the question, why? Military pride, camaraderie, annoyance, or something else?

He wouldn’t get a chance to press it today, though, as some of the others started to wander in. Guillermo, Reyna, and Abbey came in first, followed by Maxine and James, and then finally Kim and Ezekiel.

Guillermo looked like he’d just woke, his black, sharply widow peaked hair a bit ruffled. Behind him, almost hidden by the large man, Reyna was tying her hair off in a ponytail and then her bandana across her forehead. She was looking up and talking to Abbey, whose braids hung down behind both shoulders. Behind them Kim and Ezekiel were locked in conversation, both staring at her Pip-boy, her blond hair and his black curls veiling their faces.

Bringing up the rear were James and Maxine, nearly opposites. She was prim and proper, her red hair up in a bun and not a single strand out of place, and only taller than Reyna, and paler than them all. James, meanwhile, was the tallest member, his head shaved and skin much darker, while his beard was shaggy and unkempt after their long, barber-less journey. But they both had the same hard look in their eyes, the one that spoke of experience in the wastes. Lawrence knew they appearances belied their similar dispositions. Behind them floated the eyebot Ojo, worn and beat to hell but still functional.

All the members of the caravan took their seats around the largest table in the sunroom, though it had fewer windows than it would’ve before the war. Maxine sat at one end of the table while Lawrence sat at the other end. He wanted to be able to see everyone once the secret was out.

They ate their meal and made small talk, though Lawrence didn’t join in much. He listened to Kim talk to anyone who would listen about the radiation storm and the Brotherhood robots, and she and Ezekiel talked about the scene they’d witnessed the day before, with a few civilians getting arrested by Brotherhood soldiers. Reyna and Abbey shared their disapproval about the Brotherhood, while Guillermo praised the city. Lawrence knew that was mostly due to how much there was to do in Wellstone between the casinos, the bars, the movie theaters, and some sports arena outside of town.

Maxine, James, and Linda at the far end of the table kept quiet throughout the meal. When everyone had finished eating, Maxine cleared her throat and said, “We’ll be heading out today.”

“Back home already?” Reyna asked. “And here I was thinking we might get a break for a bit.”

“No, not headed back,” Maxine said, turning everyone’s attention toward her. “We’re headed to St. Louis.”

Reyna laughed, but upon seeing the look on Maxine’s face, she stopped. “Bullshit.”

“We never discussed this,” Abbey said.

“Our job was to find locations for trade,” Ezekiel said. “Between the Nation of the Middle Waters and here, we’ve done that.”

Before Maxine could respond to any of them, Lawrence said, “Why don’t you cut whatever shit you’re about to say and tell them the truth, Maxine.”

“What did you say?” James asked.

Lawrence ignored him. “I tailed James yesterday, know he was asking about Columbian slavers and another group of Texans coming up here fifteen years ago.” Lawrence could see a flush creep up James’s reddish brown neck. “So why don’t you tell us the real reason why we’re hear, and what you’re looking for.”

Maxine’s jaw was clenched shut, her right hand curled into a fist tight around her fork. There was nothing but silence as they both stared at each other, unflinching, with looks that could cut glass. Lawrence peered into the darkness of her eye patch and the even deeper darkness of her eye, waiting for the defeat that would inevitably creep in. He knew she had to tell them now, and sure enough she realized that too.

Without breaking Lawrence’s gaze, something shifted behind her eyes and she said. “About fifteen years ago von Roemer sent an expedition east, toward Memphis. It was rumored there was a city there, technologically advanced and untouched. It wasn’t. They arrived at the worst time, in the midst of a war. Half of them were killed, the other half captured by slavers, taken up north. Eventually they managed to escape, and were trying to make it to St. Louis when they got captured again.”

There was a catch in her voice, something Lawrence had never heard from her before, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He could tell this story was personal, in some way.

Ezekiel asked, “How do you know this?”

“The eyebot,” Maxine said, nodding her head towards Ojo, which off in the corner. “It only made it back last year.”

“How can you be sure they’re alive?” Abbey asked.

“The last thing it recorded was what sounded like a fight with the slavers. Play final Memphis report,” Maxine said.

The eyebot seemed to shudder a bit, and there was a whirring sound that to Lawrence’s untrained ear sounded bad. But then the crackle of the recording started, clear as day.

Araminta Fields, date unknown, only God knows where. Nearing St. Louis, far as I can tell. Not much left of pre-war signs, and we don’t have a map. The slavers are still after us, and catching up. We don’t know this place and we don’t have shit for weapons.

The woman’s voice broke off and proceeded to have an unintelligible conversation with a man, then both voices stopped and there was nothing but silence. The silence shattered, a dozen voices yelling out, the woman screaming Go, they’ve found us, and then a gunshot ringing out. More didn't follow, though the shouting continued, and a man yelled, We got 'em!

“Near as we can tell, the slavers got them. Which means they’re alive,” Maxine said.

“What if they were bought and killed later?” Kim asked.

Lawrence could see Maxine’s jaw tighten like she was trying to grind her teeth into dust. “What we know is, they were captured alive. Which means they might still be.”

Lawrence could hear the doubt in her voice, and he knew she’d considered the idea at length. Guillermo scoffed and said, “Even if someone didn’t buy them to torture or work to death, it’s been fifteen goddam years, Maxine.”

For the first time since she started speaking, Maxine turned her gaze from Lawrence to glare at Guillermo. “If they’re dead, I aim to find out,” was all Maxine said.

Reyna sighed. “Even if they are alive, that doesn’t explain why von Roemer sent us after them. I wouldn’t expect anyone to come after us. Hell, I wouldn’t want anyone to.”

Maxine hesitated, just a moment, before she said, “His daughter, Emmy, was one of the survivors.”

That was it, then, Maxine’s drive this entire trip. Why she’d considered the missing group could be dead, but chose to search anyway. She wanted to bring Emmy back just as much as von Roemer did.

Lawrence said, “How close were you two?”

Maxine looked back to Lawrence but her glare was softer now. “We’d been friends our whole lives. She was like a sister to me.”

“And you were supposed to go with them, weren’t you?” Lawrence asked. It was all clicking into place now.

“I was, until this happened.” She motioned to the eye patch.

The table fell silent once again. Lawrence hadn’t expected this. He didn’t know what to expect, but a rescue mission wasn’t it. This mission was still foolhardy, the missing Texans could be fifteen years dead, but he couldn’t help but sympathize. One thing still nagged him, though. James was Maxine’s friend, and like her trying to find Emmy, he’d do anything for her. He owed her his life. But nothing so far explained Linda’s, and by extension Roger’s, role in this. Their involvement didn’t add up.

“So, all y’all know now. Everything’s out in the open. Only thing left is to decide if you’re sticking with it or not,” James said.

“You should’ve told us,” Reyna said. “We didn’t deserve to be dragged all the way out here on a lie.”

“No, you didn’t. But you’re here now, and all that matters is if you’re coming or not,” Linda said. She didn’t bother to wait for the answer though, and Lawrence knew by her glance at him she’d realized his questioning of her earlier was part of his plan to reveal what was going on. She wasn’t going to wait for him to question her in front of the others, though, and she stood, lit a cigarette, and walked outside.

Guillermo had his arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Why don’t you two join her so the rest of us can talk about this.” Lawrence hadn’t heard him this upset in years.

James looked at Maxine, who nodded, put on her black cowboy hat over her light red hair, and left. James followed closely behind. Once the door was shut behind them, Guillermo unleashed a string of curses in Spanish and said, “We can’t go along with this. They’ve lied to us this whole fucking trip. We can’t trust that they won’t keep lying to us.”

Lawrence looked around the table, and he knew what their answers would be. Everyone was clearly mad, but they were too close now to just turn their backs, not only on Maxine, James, and Linda, but on the potential survivors as well. He said, “We can’t trust them. But it’s too late to turn back now. And worth checking out, I think. I’d want closure in their shoes. And if there’s a chance they’re alive?”

“I don’t appreciate being lied to,” Ezekiel said. “But I agree with Lawrence.”

“Columbia is halfway to St. Louis,” Abbey said. “We may not even have to go the whole way across the Lost Lands.”

“But we’re just going to give in?” Guillermo said. “They’ve used us, and they’re going to keep using us if we agree. And, like I said, it’s been fifteen years. Chances are, they’re dead.”

“What’s the other option?” Reyna asked. “Head back ourselves, the six of us? I don’t exactly like our odds doing that. The way I see it, we look into this, and if we don’t find anything, all of us head back as a group. Those three out there aren’t going to keep searching by themselves.”

Lawrence wasn’t so sure about that. He thought Maxine would go off on her own, if she thought she had a chance to find her friend. She was stubborn as an old brahmhorn, that much was clear. And where she went, James would follow. His old tribal honor code and their friendship kept them tied together. What Linda would do was a mystery, but one Lawrence knew he could solve in time. But he didn’t doubt for a second those three would keep looking all by themselves.

“Well, I’m not going to be left here,” Abbey said.

“Me either. Not to mention, the opportunity for further observations is too good to pass up,” Kim said.

Guillermo was still unconvinced, Lawrence knew, from the set of his jaw and the twitch of his fingers around his glass of water. Guillermo could be stubborn himself, and didn’t usually shy away from trouble, but he didn’t like being made a fool, and they’d all been played on this trip. His fingers stopped and he again crossed his arms across his broad chest. “I’m in too. But I think we can all agree, this was bullshit. Any more lies and I’ll gladly head back here alone. Hell, I’d rather walk back to the Republic than put up with them.”

Lawrence gave him a reassuring nod of the head. On that they were in agreement. Lawrence planned to hold Maxine to the truth, and he wasn’t about to let her lead them into something without their knowledge again. He called her back in, and she returned alone, with James and Linda staying outside to smoke.

“We’re in,” Lawrence said. “But anymore lies and you can find another crew.”

Maxine stood inside the doorway and said, “If that’s how it’s gotta be.” She didn’t look happy, but Lawrence could see the tension in her shoulders ease, even if only the tiniest bit.

She continued, “The plan is to take a barge to the eastern border to the Lost Lands, and from there walk to St. Louis. That’ll take us by Columbia, where the biggest slaving group in this area is. We’ll ask around there, might be they’re there or someone there knows where they are. If we don’t find anything we head to St. Louis and see what we can find. We’ll be leaving at the end of the day, so y’all have the rest of today to take care of whatever you need to,” Maxine said. “We’re to meet the boatman downriver, near the ruins of the Chouteau road bridge, around four. We’ll be able to get all our guns loaded onboard there.”

With that she left, and the group headed back to their rooms to pack up. It didn’t take Lawrence long, as he pulled his now dried cloths from a line and packed them away. He put both his long barreled revolver and his snub nosed one in his pack as well, and put it all on Pancho and Lefty’s wagon.

Once Guillermo, Abbey, and Reyna had done the same, the four of them made ready to head into the city. They’d planned to have a look around, and still had plenty of time to get that done. Lawrence had one last thing to do, though, and so told Guillermo he’d catch up with them in Wellstone, near the market on the south side.

They left, and he sought out Linda. He entered without knocking. She had her laser rifle laid out in her room, where she was cleaning and oiling the parts. She looked up more annoyed than surprised.

“The only way we agreed to continue was if there weren’t going to be any more lies,” he said. He moved and sat across the table from her, the pieces of the laser rifle and the cloud of cigarette smoke between them. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here and why you’re part of this.”

“What was it liking, working out there?” She’d glanced up when he sat down, but now talked as she worked on the rifle.

“What?”

“Out west. What was being a Ranger like out there?”

Unlike Linda being too annoyed to be surprised, Lawrence was too surprised to be annoyed. “Bullshit, mostly. I was given a pistol and a badge, as if that was enough to help anyone out there. As if I was enough to help anyone out there.”

“One person by themselves? Yeah, I don’t imagine there’s was much you could do.”

“Most of the time it was just trying to get from one place to the next without dying. Much less figuring out what to do when you got there.”

“A partner’s good for that. You can split up that kind of work. My job was getting us places, Roger’s was what to do when we got there.”

It should’ve shocked him, but it fit so well and fell into place that it felt like he already knew. “Why the secrecy? Did the Republic send you?”

“Politics. The Chief ain’t an Expansionist, just an opportunist. He’s a friend of von Roemer’s, offered him some help for the chance to gather intel on the trip. But it wouldn’t look good to some, not will all those folks calling to annex Port Bossier.”

“And you knew of the real reason for the expedition.” Linda nodded. “Two Rangers on the first expedition, for the same reasons as this one. They didn’t survive, but once we got word some of the expedition might’ve, it didn’t seem right just to leave them up here. And like I said, the Chief wanted intel. Especially after what happened in Old Paso.”

“Did Roger volunteer you two for the trip?”

Again, she nodded, though this time the action seemed labored. “Damn fool could’ve stayed in Texas, been safe. Safer. Never knew when enough was enough though.”

“Well, I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Me too. He would’ve liked this place.” Lawrence stood and placed a hand on Linda’s shoulder. She didn’t respond, just kept cleaning the rifle. But as he opened the door to leave she said, “Forget what I said earlier. You’re real, as far as I’m concerned.”

He said,” Thanks” and shut the door behind him.

He had the truth now, he was sure of it. The only question was if everyone else needed to know about Linda. The way he saw things, it really wasn’t pertinent to finding the lost expedition members. Hell, he wasn’t sure any of the others even wondered why Linda was involved with Maxine and James’ mission. As far as he was concerned, this was a secret he could keep, and no one would be hurt by it. And if it needed to be brought up, he would. Until then, it was the least he could do for a fellow Ranger.

**

The boat launched half an hour after it was supposed to. Lawrence had been expecting a something like a barge, but instead their boat was long with a slight upturn on either end and a covered portion near the back. It was a keelboat apparently, used for moving cargo up and down the river. Which meant it could handle the Texans, their pack animal, and the wagon. Though the delay was due to the stubbornness of that animal, and the difficulty of getting it onboard. Maxine threatened to shoot it and buy another just as Guillermo was able to coax Pancho and Lefty onboard, where they promptly laid down and refused to move from that spot.

The sail in the middle and the river’s current propelled them eastward at a comfortable pace. The captain, short and squat, with a protruding belly and thick arms, said he wasn’t sure how long the journey would take, as he usually went upriver. Lawrence was just glad for the extra rest, as they stayed out of the man’s way and enjoyed the ride.

The countryside rolled by, ruins turning into farms, and then forest as they left Wellstone behind. The weather was pleasant, cool but not cold. The river was light brown from its silt and dirt, though apparently still alive, as every night they were able to catch and eat fish. Though they were careful to stay out of the water, as the captain and his one mate told numerous stories about monstrous fish and other creatures that dwelled within. Real or not, none of them were willing to risk finding out.

The trip was an easy one, the only trouble coming from a few sections of the river where debris had piled up, or an old bridge had collapsed. But the captain and his mate were experienced, avoiding dangers the Texans never saw, and it was smooth sailing. The river was far wider and curved more gently than the rivers Lawrence knew. Though the farms and small settlements they passed reminded him of similar places in the Republic. It was enjoyable, even after the confrontation with Maxine, Linda, and James. It gave everyone time to relax, and Lawrence realized just how much he needed some relaxation. Between the trip through the raider lands of Oklahoma and the Lost Lands of the Belt, he’d been wound tight since they left the Republic. And unlike the others, he’d been too busy thinking about what it was Maxine was hiding to enjoy the city. He hoped he’d get a chance to go back and enjoy it sometime. From what little he saw, it was an oasis in the wastes.

As they neared the end of their journey, the tension returned, this time in the form of the captain’s hesitancy to continue much further. He said there was a former tribal village, now part of the Brotherhood’s lands, at a bend in the river. He was worried he’d overshot it, and made it clear that he would not continue much further for fear of entering into the Lost Lands. Thankfully, they soon came upon the village. Or rather, they spotted the lookout towers rising high above the trees and the town wall, the Brotherhood flags flapping in the wind from the towers.

Unloading Pancho and Lefty was easier than loading them, and soon the captain was headed back upriver, not even willing to spend a day in the village of Altimoe Bend. Lawrence could see why. Even more so than Wellstone, the village had a heavy and heavily armed Brotherhood presence. At one point he wondered if it was simply a fort, but they found the village and villagers tucked away safely from town wall. The soldiers regarded the newcomers with wariness, the villagers with pity. It seemed everyone there was on edge. Lawrence knew that feeling well. It was how one felt in a frontier town, on the line between civilization and chaos. He’d lived on that line once, been the one eyeing every newcomer with apprehension and mistrust. Only, there were three of them, him and two deputies, as opposed to the company of soldiers in Altimoe Bend.  

The Texans made their way into town and toward the low longhouse a soldier had identified as the only place in town with beds to rent. There was a sign out front, not with a name but instead the words Beds & Booze carved into the metal. It creaked and gently swayed in the wind, and the door creaked even more loudly when they entered.The inn was cramped and dirty, with the aforementioned beds at the far end and the booze near the door. A few empty tables were lined up across from the bar, where an old man hunched over the counter, whittling away at a chunk of wood.

He looked up from beneath bushy grey eyebrows, which arched in surprise at the nine new arrivals. When he spoke he revealed one lone tooth still dangling in his mouth, and he had a slight lisp. “I’ll be damned. What can I do you for?”

“Beds if you have them,” Maxine said.

“I do. With one to spare.” He laughed as if he’d made a joke. “Any drinks?”

“Sure,” Reyna said. “What’ve you got?”

“Not much. Just some local liquor, but it’ll still do the trick.”

“A bottle of that, then,” Reyna said. He sat down his knife and block of wood and fished out a nearly full dark brown bottle from beneath the counter as the group sat down. As he took down some mugs off of hooks hanging behind him, he asked, “What brings you folks to town?”

“Headed east,” James said.

At that the old man dropped a mug, which clattered on the floor. He didn’t bother to pick it up. “Why in the hell would you do that? Y’all suicidal or something?”

“Looking for some friends,” Maxine said.

He stopped and gave them a suddenly hard stare. “Anyone who’s got friends out there ain’t welcome here.”

“Relax old timer,” Guillermo said with a disarming grin. “She means we’re looking for friends of ours who got taken.”

The old man did relax a bit, and continued gathering up the mugs. “Still, I wouldn’t go out there for Barnaky himself. You’d best turn around and head back wherever you came from.”

“We wanted drinks, not advice,” Maxine snapped.

The old man did just that, delivering the mugs and the bottle without another word. It was getting toward the evening, and a few more folks wandered in, though none were as talkative as the bartender had been. Lawrence did pick up a few pieces of his conversation with the new patrons, mostly talking about the crazy newcomers and town gossip, but for the rest of the night the Texans drank, and then slept, in peace.

The next morning was cool and foggy, an uncomfortably foreboding start to their next foray into the Lost Lands. Lawrence’s, and most of the other’s he could tell, apprehensive feeling was exacerbated when they finally began to make their way out of town. It was obvious what they were doing, with a brahmhorn and a wagon, heavily armed and heading east. Which meant everyone in town stopped to stare as they walked by. Even the soldiers looked on them with more pity than wariness now.

As they came to the gate, the soldiers manning it exchanged concerned glances. “Can we help you, citizens?”

“Sure. Open the gate and we’ll be on our way,” Maxine said.

“Y’all do know you’re heading into the Lost Lands?” the soldier said.

“We didn’t bring these guns to shoot rats with,” James said.

The soldiers hesitated further, and Linda said, “There some law against people going into the Lost Lands?”

The soldier shook his head, and said, “No ma’am. It’s just dangerous, is all. We lost a patrol not far from here last week, and spotted a raider band a few miles over the border two days ago.”

“We’ll be careful,” Maxine said. “Thanks for the concern.”

The soldiers exchanged one more glance, this time with annoyed looks on their faces. Lawrence knew they meant well, but Maxine didn’t much care what they meant, only that they were in her way. In all their way, like it or not. The gate opened and the Texans headed into the Lost Lands, together, hoping they could find their missing brethren and not die in the process.

[BTC]

The Paladin Lord

Alan had never been excited for a party before, but he was still riding the high of taking down Taylor Simon’s group, and even he couldn’t resist the idea of relaxing just a little bit. Not to mention, it was only pragmatic to keep up the Brotherhood’s relationship with the city’s upper class citizens.

And it was something worth celebrating, this first Brotherhood victory over the rebels. The Elders had acquiesced to sending Alan to root out these rebels where their man Paladin Commander Kelman had failed. Not only failed, but grown lazy and careless, as Alan had discovered. It only fits their ineffectualness, Alan thought. The attacks that killed two Paladins and wiped out two patrols would never have happened otherwise. Alan did not accept such disorder, and he would see to it that Barnaky’s vision for the Brotherhood was carried out. A strong leader, one who could do what was necessary to destroy the rebels, and prepared to do the same to the mutants. That was not a quick process, but one that had already started. Tonight, though was for relaxation and praise.

Alan glanced down at the invitation, which read:

To the leader of our most esteemed protectors. I am inviting you, along with the city's elite to a party at my floating casino The Lucky Steamer to celebrate your arrival and success in catching the bombers. It will be a night of pleasant foods, drinks and company. We also hold high stakes gambling for those interested in the thrill of the game.

Best regards,
Tim Lucky

Alan tucked it in the pocket of his bomber jacket. He wore it over the top of his grey jumpsuit, the pants legs tucked into tall black boots. It was the closest he got to a dress uniform, and felt less dressy than that with the plasma defender at his hip.

Sterling was there waiting for him at the Brotherhood docks, though the Inquisitor was dressed very differently. When Alan last saw Sterling he’d sported a short beard, but now he’d shaved it so only a trimmed, almost rectangular mustache, as well as long sideburns, remained. He wore a simple grunts outfit, some ceramic and metal armor over a black jumpsuit. He even had a pistol in his belt holster. Alan knew only someone as intimate with Sterling as he was would realize it was him.

“Knight Lowrie, reporting for duty, sir,” he said in a slightly deeper than usual voice. He saluted sharply, a wry smile on his face where only Alan could see. The rest of the Brotherhood soldiers waited behind him by the boat.

“Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to eavesdrop on the rich?” Alan asked. He would normally be annoyed, but felt to satisfied with having found the bombers where Sterling had failed to be too upset.

“Ys sir,” Sterling said, not dropping his grunt facade. “Always on the job. You know how it is.”

“I do indeed. I’ve already braced myself for the personal favors I’ll doubtlessly be asked to do tonight. I’d prefer they just try and bribe me so I can be done with them.”

“Now now, Paladin Lord Ogawa, just play nice and enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it, after all.”

Alan regarded him with narrowed eyes. He didn’t trust Sterling’s compliments, even the backhanded ones. It always felt like there was a game going on that Alan wasn’t aware of. His raising had often felt the same, as his mother was always pushing him to do and be better in all things, as if he was in competition with the perfect version of himself. Alan supposed that competition was part of being an Inquisitor.

“I have, haven’t I?” Alan didn’t wait for ‘Knight Lowrie’ to respond, just walked passed him and boarded the boat. Five soldiers accompanied him as the boat sped downriver towards the docks where the Market and Gold Districts met. A beacon to old world opulence, the riverboat The Lucky Steamer bobbed gently on the languid river.

The large boat had a very old fashioned look to it with it's huge rowing wheel at the back and chimney pipes atop it's roof. From it flowed the sound of live music, people talking and cheering.

Their boat parked itself to the pier next to the floating casino. Two of the soldiers were left to guard the boat as the rest made their way to the gangplank leading aboard the casino. There a man in a suit stood with a rather stiff look, along with two gruff men in leather jackets wielding batons.

"May I see your invitation?" said the well dressed man.

Alan handed it over and took the moment to look around. He'd considered not coming to the party, as it would be the perfect opportunity for an ambush. Instead he'd compensated with increased patrols in the area, on both sides of the river. He didn't notice anything amiss, and even spotted one patrol making its way east along the road. Hopefully he'd be able to relax without worrying too much about rebels bombing the riverboat.

The man inspected the invitation for a few seconds before returning to Alan. "Very well Sir Ogawa. Go right inside. Though I'll ask that your escort remain outside unless absolutely necessary. So they don't get in the way for the other guests."

“It is absolutely necessary. But they’ll be courteous, and will try not to shoot anyone.” Alan glanced over his shoulder to make sure the soldiers understood that order, not bothering to hide his contempt for the well dressed attendant. Sterling had a shit-eating grin on his face, the edge of his mustache turning up ever so slightly.

The man looked a little annoyed at the soldiers. "Very well then. Though I suggest to let two stay close and the rest stay at the edge of the party. It wouldn't look good with so many soldiers wandering around in the middle."

Alan brushed passed him and onto the boat, though he did send two of the soldiers off to patrol the perimeter, Sterling included. He’d get more out of overhearing conversations than listening to people flatter Alan. Two other guards stuck close, and Alan looked around for a familiar face.

The boat was buzzing with life. Much of the first floor was only casino with lots of gambling tables with all forms of games, from blackjack to poker to roulette. Men and women in white suits walked around with platters full of either glasses with drinks or little snacks of various kinds. The guests were all wearing fine clothing; most men wore some kind of suit while the women wore most kinds of dresses ranging from modest to scandalous.

Soon a man in a grey suit came up to Alan. He had combed back, short, oily brown hair and a rather round chin. He had a carefree look to him with a partly buttoned up shirt and a smile that said nothing could go wrong. "Mr Alan Ogawa, how nice that you could come," he said and stretched out his hand to shake. "I'm Lucky, Tim Lucky. Owner of this wondrous establishment."

Alan shook the man's hand and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for the invitation. It's nice to know our efforts are appreciated."

"They are, they are. This ruckus isn't good for anyone. Can't have people running around being scared of bombs."

“Indeed. Hopefully, people need not be afraid much longer.” Optimistic, but Alan knew tonight would be about reassuring people and telling them what they wanted to hear, not the truth.

Tim turned half around and motioned subtly for Alan to walk besides him. "So what games do you like my friend?"

"I didn't bring much money with me, but when I do play it's mostly hold'em poker," Alan said, falling into step alongside Tim.

"We got poker here on the left. High stakes. Though I'm sure you'll easily find someone willing to lend you some money."

“I prefer lower stakes games myself. Being a soldier is stressful enough.” Unlike you and your friends, I don’t need to manufacture excitement. Alan’s friendly smile revealed none of his thoughts, though.

"Well... I think you might have trouble finding a table willing to play low stakes."

"It's no matter. I'm sure there's enough enjoyable company to pass the time. It seems half the Gold District has turned out, after all."

"If it's company you're looking for, Miss Goldwyn has brought some her companions here."

Alan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man. "Conversation is all I'm interested in, Tim. Though I think I’ll need a drink first."

"I understand. Liquor makes most conversations more interesting." Tim grabbed a glass from a nearby platter held by a waiter and took a sip. "Now I'm sure you want to enjoy the night at your own pace. If you need me I'll at the second floor. Where the real high stakes are."

"I imagine I'll make my way up there, before the night's over." Once Tim was gone, Alan dropped his smile and scanned the room for a bar. He was going to need something strong to get through the night.

He scanned the room and saw the bar towards the back of the boat. Even through the crowd it was hard to miss, as it covered most of the far wall. He made his way over and ordered some kind of high end local vodka, passing along a large tip to the bartender.

He spent the next hour or so locked in vapid conversations with all manner of people. The most interesting was the group of producers, directors, and actors in attendance, who were all quick to assure him the Brotherhood had the full support of the motion picture industry, and that they would love for him to consult on a few upcoming films. But their attention was short, and Alan made more than a few who were on some sort of chems.

As he made his way around the party, he found that was true for a handful of the partygoers, regardless of profession. He wondered if Chief Harrington's operations in clearing out the Forgotten Homes criminals would impact the well-to-do's access to chems, or if they were getting theirs from elsewhere. It didn't particularly matter to him, as he did not have the time nor energy to care about drug use in the Gold District.

If the movie folk were the most interesting, the most dull were the few former city council members in attendance. They were either eager to assure Alan how much they agreed with his decision to disband the council, and just how much they supported all of his efforts. It was brown nosing to the point of being sickening. The others were cold and short, in complete disagreement about the decision, and offering back handed insults about his choices since arriving. He had little space to consider either group for very long, and eventually he escaped up the stairs in the direction of the higher stakes gambling tables.

He was met at the top of the stairs by a short and thin middle-aged woman with umber skin. She had her wavy hair cut short and was wearing a form fitting dress with a dark blue lace top, the skirt hanging further down one leg than the other. Her earrings were small black stones with a pendant hanging from her necklace and a ring on her right hand to match.

She smiled like she knew him, and he supposed most everyone here did. It was off putting to be well known amongst a group of strangers. She stretched her hand out and they shook as she said, “A pleasure to finally meet you, Paladin Lord Ogawa. I’m Clara Teasley, owner of Clara’s Casino and Cabaret.”

Alan remembered passing the large red brick building when he entered, and the flowing script of the neon sign out front. “You must be the one taking all my men’s R&R credits.”

She  gave a small chuckle. Alan found it a bit infectious, though that might be the drink talking. She said, “Well, between me and Rose’s brothel, we do a lot of business with the Brotherhood.”

Alan wasn’t supposed to know Rose, or at least hadn’t met her outside her clandestine relationship with the Brotherhood. He fixed a curious look on his face and said, “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Rose yet, though I’ve heard plenty about her.”

“Let me introduce you,” Clara said, hooking her arm through Alan’s and guiding him toward deeper into the array of gambling tables.

The room was almost as large as the one below. But the gambling tables were far more spaced out and had waist high walls dividing each table into it's section. At first glance it made the room seem a little like a labyrinth filled with very old styled, fancy furniture for people not gambling to watch those that did or simply take easy breaks between their own sessions.

Clara led Alan along a small path till they got to a section where a large green poker table sat in the middle. Only a handful people were playing while about twice as many were watching. Slightly to herself among those watching was Rose. She wore a quite scandalous tight blue dress with no sleeves, a bare back and a cleavage that almost reached her belly button. It almost looked like if she turned too quickly her breasts would be revealed and many of those present kept glancing at her as if they with tense anticipation hoped that they would. Rose herself seemed to be basking in the attention she received. Watching the game with a slight smile on her face.

Alan also quickly noticed a military grade assualtron robot in a suit jacket standing a few feet from Rose against the waist high wall. It was holding a couple of large coats on its arms as if it was a simple coat-hanger.

Clara steered them around the assaultron and placed a hand Rose's arm as they joined her, standing near a dividing wall. In a voice just above a whisper, matching the rest of the murmuring crowd, she said, "Rose, dear, look who I've just run into."

Rose gave Alan a welcoming smile. "So the mighty Paladin Lord has deigned to visit this lowly establishment," she said in a friendly, joking manner.

Alan gave a joking half-smile and said, "Lowly indeed. It seems I've wandered into a den of degenerate gamblers."

"Now, now. We can't all be brave warriors protecting civilization. Some of us got to make sure there is a civilization worth protecting."

"From what I hear, my soldiers would certainly agree your brothel is worth protecting."

Rose chuckled softly. "I'm sure they do. And I'm sure you would agree with them."

Alan took a drink and gave a small nod. He had never been to Rose’s brothel, but better to let Clara and anyone else think he had, rather than reveal even the slightest hint towards Rose’s relationship with the Brotherhood. Behind all the conversations, Alan noticed the music from below stopped.

Clara filled the opening in the conversation and said, “I would love to have you at my cabaret, Mr. Ogawa. Not quite as intimate as Rose’s place but I think you’ll find it entertaining nonetheless.”

”I’m sure I will,” Alan said.

Just then the music started up again, this time accompanied by a voice. The singer was a young man, clearly emulating the pre-war rock and roll singers. Alan heard him sing, “I’m going to Wellstone City, Wellstone City here I come.”

Clara must’ve clocked Alan as listening, because she said, “I’ve loaned Mr. Lucky my singers for the night.” She had her eyes closed and was listening to the music when she added, mostly to herself it seemed, “They’re the best in all the Belt.”

Then, she came back to their little group and asked, “You a fan of music, Mr. Ogawa?”

”At times,” Alan said, though he couldn’t think of the last time he’d turned on a radio himself. “I prefer to work in silence, though.”

”That’s a shame. I’ve always found music relaxes me. Relaxes a lot of folks for damn sure. My casino might take people’s money, but it’s my cabaret that gets them through the door,” Clara said. She had her arms crossed and one finger was tapping along to the easy, steady beat.

"Have you tried your luck Mr. Ogawa?" asked Rose and gestured subtly towards the gambling table.

"No. I prefer smaller stakes games. And besides, I doubt I have as much practice as the folks around here." Looking around the tables, he could see the number of chips changing hands, and knew there was more money here than he'd see in his whole life.

"Sounds like he wont be spending much money at your place," said Rose with a small chuckle and a joking tone to Clara.

"Maybe not," Clara said. "Though if he keeps drinking like that, I'm sure I'll be able to entice him into a game or two."

Alan hadn't noticed, but Clara was right, he had already gone through his drink, and it wasn't his first of the night. Normally he would have better paced himself, but after the stress of catching the bombers, he was fine with letting loose a bit. He smiled and said, "You know, you just might. What about you, Miss Rose? Tried your luck tonight?"

"I made some decent winnings on the blackjack table downstairs," Rose replied.

"Oh don't be modest," Clara said. "Rose nearly cleaned them out. There's a reason I lock the casino doors whenever she comes calling."

Alan could tell she was joking, but it piqued his curiosity. "She makes you out to be quite the accomplished gambler."

"Well I do have a bit more luck than most folk. Still, it's not something I do regularly."

“Probably best not to. No offense to Miss Teasely, but I’ve known more than a few soldiers who wasted all their time at the tables.”

Clara waved dismissively. “None taken. I’ve seen the damage it can do up close. But before we bring the party down too far, why don’t you tell Mr. Ogawa about your clinic. You’ve done more than a bit of good there, helped out a lot of people.”

Alan turned an inquisitive look toward Rose, though of course he was well acquainted with her businesses. At least, those she openly owned.

“Where’s it at?” Alan asked.

"Southside Market. Not that far from Clara's place."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're giving back to the city, in some way. I'm sure a great many people will benefit from your clinic." Alan wondered how true that was. Rose struck him as a businesswoman first and foremost, and he suspected she'd run her clinic as a business more than a charity.

"And how about you Sir Paladin," Rose said playfully. "How are you enjoying the evening? Too many people reminding you of work?"

"It's the opposite. Everyone has offered congratulations and talked about the good work we've been doing, all while avoiding words like 'bombings' or 'rebels.' I think most of your peers would rather not really consider what is going on in Wellstone."

"That is nice to hear. We have to deal with all that in due time of course. But tonight is not that time. So tell me, how do you like our fair city so far?"

The people here seemed more deluded than mindful, but it wasn’t worth pressing. “I like it well enough. Hopefully with these bombers caught I’ll have more time to appreciate what it is we’re protecting. I’d like to see a movie, since they seem to be so popular here.”

"I'd recommend it. There's quite a few good ones. Also quite a few bad ones. But they can still be entertaining in a way. I'd recommend Who stole the last cookie? if you want some good drama and intrigue. Avoid Will of Steel unless you wish for your intellect to be insulted."

“Who stole the last cookie?” Alan chuckled. “It sounds like a movie for children, one about the evils of lying and stealing.”

”There’s definitively lying, stealing and other evils in it. The title doesn’t even make sense for most of the movie. I don’t want to ruin the story but I promise you will have a harder time laughing at the title after the end of the movie. Though from what I’ve heard regarding the director, the title was intentionally created to get the audience to have a certain mindset when entering the theatre.”

“Is it by Henry...” The name escaped Alan.

”Stanwick,” Clara said.

”That’s right. I met him downstairs. I got the impression he was as annoyed with his colleagues as I was,” Alan said.

”Those Studios folks can be a narcissistic group,” Clara said.

Rose lowered her voice a little. "That they can. They like to think they're so great that they can come to my Garden expecting free service." Rose chuckled a little as it looked like she remembered something. "At least Stanwick is a man with artistic integrity. Loves his work more than anything else I hear."

“He did seem less fawning than the others. And certainly seemed as annoyed with his colleagues as I was. I’ll make a point to see his film, whenever I next have some free time.” Likely, not very soon.

As they were talking Alan caught a glimpse of Mr. Lucky coming to watch the game at the table. At his side he had a very pretty and curvy girl in a rather revealing dress. Rose gave the two a glance along with a small smile that suggested she found it somehow amusing.

"How well do you know our host?" Alan asked. He was curious what Clara and Rose thought of him. The politics of Wellstone's rich and famous was not particularly interesting, but could prove useful eventually.

”He’s old money,” Clara said. “The Lucky family has owned this casino for years. Longer than my family has owned our place.”

"And I guess we'll soon see if there is cause for the family name," said Rose.

The poker game was about to finish up. The two last players had both gone all in. The cards were revealed, full house against four of a kind. Loud cheers were heard from the winner while the loser almost collapsed on the spot. Even while the chips were collected and table reset, Mr. Lucky had already taken a seat at the far end of the table.

“Are you going to join him?” Alan asked. He had to admit, part of him was interested in watching such a game.

”Maybe.” Rose had a sly little smile. ”Could be interesting.”

“Why not give it a shot?” Alan said.

”That’s easy for you to say. It’s not your money on the line,” Clara said with a chuckle.

"Well if I lose I'm sure I can get my girls to regain most of it within a week," said Rose before going to take the seat opposite of Mr. Lucky.

The table filled up as others sat down, including a former city councilor and an actor Alan had met. Alan and Clara refilled their drinks and settled in to watch, moving to a nearby couch.

As the first hand was dealt, Alan turned to Clara and said, “You mentioned your family has owned your hotel for a long time. Is your family from Wellstone originally?”

Clara nodded. “As far as I know, the Teasley’s were here before the bombs fell and have been here ever since.”

“How long have you run the hotel?”

“The past twenty five years. My great-grandparents were the first to open it. Originally it was just the bottom two floors, with only rooms to rent and nothing else. They slowly opened up the rest of the floors, and my grandparents added the casino. My parents spent their lives renovating it, and I added the cabaret once they passed,” Clara said.

“And added the name?” Alan asked.

“No, that was my parents.” She had a wistful smile on her face. “They said ‘It’s going to be yours someday, it might as well have your name.’ They were sentimental like that. But enough about my hotel, where are you from Mr. Ogawa?”
“Vault Zero.”

“Ah, a Brotherhood man through and through. It seems we were both born into our lines of work.”

“I guess we were. Though, I have a feeling neither of us view what we do as work.”

“You’re right on that. That hotel is my life, just as I’m sure the Brotherhood is yours.”

“It is,” Alan said. It was his turn to smile wistfully, though he took another drink and it had vanished. Better not to get too sentimental. He said, “I talked to General Stillwell the other day. He told me he likes to come by the cabaret, enjoys listening to the live music.”

“He comes by a couple days a week, when he’s feeling up to it. I try and take care of him, put him up in my booth and visit with him when I’ve got time. It’s the least I can do for a Brotherhood hero.”

Alan looked Clara in the eye and said, “Thank you. It’s good to know there are folks out there taking care of someone like him. He more than deserves it.”

Clara nodded and sipped her cocktail. “If there is ever any danger to him, I would be more than happy to have him stay at the hotel. I imagine it would be much more secure than his home. Even though he did tell me you’ve upped security there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Again, thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

Clara waved dismissively and said, “Don’t mention it.”

The continued to talk as the card game played out, though were interrupted a few times by others wishing to meet the Brotherhood’s leader in Wellstone. At that point in the night the names and faces blurred together, and Alan didn’t meet anyone of consequence. Most of those with favors to ask approached him then, and he was quick in turning them down.

The poker game was interesting, with the actor going all in early on, leading to Mr. Lucky to do the same. He lived up to his name then, coming out ahead when the river card revealed a six of clubs, completing the straight flush he’d been sitting on. And Miss Goldwyn played well too, though Alan noticed a couple of the players distracted at moments by her good looks.

As another player left the table and the game entered what seemed likely to be the final hands, Clara made a ‘tsk’ sound. Tim Lucky had just won another hand in what seemed to be trademark fashion, this time showing pocket tens and winning the hand.

“Everything alright?” Alan asked. He’d only noticed that the woman at Lucky’s arm had been plying him with drinks and occasionally rubbing his shoulders while he fondled her in return.

“Oh, nothing. Just that Mr. Lucky is lucky indeed,” Clara said.

Soon all but three players sat the table, most either having lost it all or pulled out early just to save what little they still had. Miss Goldwyn and Mr. Lucky was among the three, sitting on a respectable pile of chips each. While the third was some man that Alan remembered he had talked to downstairs but nothing else. His pile of chips wasn't small, but it was diminishing.

At the flipping of the cards it was clear that Rose was the winner with only three of a kind, while the other two only had a pair each. Now she was sitting on the biggest pile of chips. Though Mr. Lucky didn't seem concerned at all.

The next round the betting increased exponentially, leading to the other man to pull out early and leave the table with his remaining chips.

Once Mr. Lucky had gone all in he simply smiled at Rose. "Let's make things a little more interesting."

Rose stared rather intensely at Mr. Lucky for several seconds before replying, "How do you mean?"

"If I win, I get one night with you," said Mr. Lucky with a small mischievous smile.

There was several seconds of silence. The woman besides Mr. Lucky began to caress his shoulder and he in turn moved his hand to caress her stomach lightly with the back of his hand. She in turn grabbed the hand and gave it a kiss. Alan barely paid that any attention till he noticed that the woman removed something from Mr. Lucky's sleeve. He didn't seem to notice or care however as he returned to the game.

"And if I win, I get your casino," said Rose.

Mr. Lucky seemed to almost find the proposal amusing. "I accept."

Miss Goldwyn only gave a nod and added her remaining pile of chips to the ones she had already staked. The last cards were flipped and Mr. Lucky suddenly didn't look so sure of himself as he had just a moment ago. Miss Goldwyn was the first to reveal her cards and show that she had a flush. Mr. Lucky however didn't reveal his cards but instead began to turn his head and look for someone. The woman that had been besides him was gone.

"Come on Mr. Lucky," said Rose with a smile. "Don't you want to see if you can have me tonight?"

Several seconds passed as Mr. Lucky stared at Miss Goldwyn, the sign of panic growing clearer in his eyes. Then he revealed that all he had was a pair. "You cheated!" he spat out at Rose in anger and frustration.

Alan almost wanted to sit back and see what Mr. Lucky did after his attempts to cheat had failed. But it was too late in the night for a fight and he didn't want Rose's assaultron to make a mess of the place. Or of Mr. Lucky.

Instead, he stood and walked to the table, rolling his shoulders just a bit to loosen up the muscles there, in case things got physical. "You're the only cheater here, Mr. Lucky. Keeping a card up your sleeve is a nice trick, but next time I'd think more with the head between your shoulders and pay attention to who's standing next to you."

"I didn't cheat!" Mr. lucky shouted as he stood up. "And I got no cards up my sleeve! Here! Look!" He showed off his empty sleeves.

Miss Goldwyn stood up from the table in a more calm fashion. "Then you agree that I won fair and square?"

Mr. Lucky didn't say anything, only stared at her furiously for a moment before storming off. Everyone around the room parted to give way to him. There was a little of whispers and curious looks exchanged around the room.

Alan followed Rose back to where Clara now stood in front of the couch. Clara said, “Well played, Rose. How long had you known?”

"Months." Rose smiled a playful smile.

Just then the woman that followed Mr. Lucky earlier came up to them. Her white and lack dress was almost as revealing as Rose's. On her wrists were bracelets that looked to be made of mirrors. She made a little flip with her hand and as if by magic a card appeared in her hand.

Rose took the card. "Thank you Laura. Maybe I should keep it as a lucky token."

“What’ll you do with this place?” Alan asked.

"Well I've been wanting a little resort to travel the river with."

“I’m sure Miss Teasley will appreciate that. One less competitor,” Alan said.

”You’re not wrong,” Clara said.

“And if Mr. Lucky causes any problems, just let me know,” Alan said. “He seems the type to hold a grudge.”

"I believe so. And I should probably go make sure he doesn't decide to burn the place down," Rose said half jokingly. "But enough of that." Rose pushed Laura forward a little towards Alan. "Have you met Laura?"

“I’ve not had the pleasure,” Alan said. Looking at Laura he said, “A slick move you pulled there. Impressive.”

"Thank you," Laura said with a smile. "I'm surprised you noticed."

“You are hard to miss,” Alan said, giving a smile of his own.

”Thank you.” Laura took a few quick steps and placed herself at Alan’s side.

Rose laughed a little. ”What a night. If the drinks weren’t already free I’d let everyone have one on the house.”

Laura hooked her arm through Alan’s. He wasn’t sure what Rose was up to, if anything. The nature of what she did for the Brotherhood made him instantly suspicious, though he kept it hidden. “I might have to take you up on that. Another time, maybe.”

The party was beginning to die down, and Rose left with her assaultron guard to find Mr. Lucky. Clara left shortly thereafter to talk for a few friends of hers. With that, Laura led Alan to a private room, where they spent the rest of the night.

Alan was careful not to wake Laura when he left just after five in the morning. It wouldn’t do for the commander to stagger in half drunk, and this way he had some time to sleep the party off. Sterling was still guarding the door in his disguise and gave Alan a trademark smirk.

“Enjoy the party?” Sterling asked.

”I did. It was just what I needed,” Alan said, smiling to himself.

Edited July 3, 2018 by BTCollins

[Witchking of Angmar]

Blacksmith

Richard had hoped courier work would be better paid. But this wasn't the raider filled wasteland where each delivery meant days on a dangerous road. At least it partially made up for the low pay per delivery by simply having more and shorter ones. The pay was still barely enough to pay for rent and food though. But on the upside he got to learn how to navigate the city and see how things were in the various districts. Some districts he liked to deliver to since the people were usually nice or gave tips. Northstone and Pennway usually provided both types of people. Crossroads and Steel were usually nice at least. Forgotten Homes was a cesspit he'd prefer to avoid, especially after nearly getting mugged by a man with a gun there. At least the gang whom's street he was were considerate enough to intervene and scare off the mugger. Not out of kindness but to maintain a reputation. 

Currently Richard was on his way to the Gold District with a small package. A district he had mixed feelings about. Most were rather polite and a few even gave some good tips. Some however tended to barely acknowledge him, only take the letter or package and then ignore him. Even when he asked to sign the paper he needed to prove that a delivery was successful. 

As Richard approached the large house (more like a mansion) he was about to knock when he saw the door was ajar. Slowly he opened the door and peeked inside. "Hello?" he shouted carefully. "Package for the Hudson residence!" 

No answer came. Richard slowly stepped into the entrance hall. The room was fancy, fancier than anything Richard had ever seen back home or anywhere else. The walls were painted white and had very fine wooden moldings carved to depict cogs, swords and what looked like angels in power armor. In the roof hung a large chandelier with pyramid shaped droplets that shattered the light from a nearby window into a cascade of colors. A large curving staircase sat at the far end of the hall leading to the upper floors. 

Richard spent almost a solid minute taking in the fine decoration of the hall before he came to his senses by the sound of something hard and heavy falling and hitting the floor. It came from the roof above. "Hello?" Richard shouted out again. Yet no answer. He thought about leaving, but then he'd forfeit his pay for that delivery. And it wouldn't hurt too much to check if there was someone at home. 

Carefully Richard walked up the stairs. His footsteps becoming quiet and his right hand ready to pull his dagger; a strong habit he had developed over the years. Richard carefully called out again a couple of times as he walked through the house, towards where he thought the noise had come from. It wasn't till the third floor that he found himself above the entrance hall. There he sneaked from door to door, calling out and knocking carefully. No answer came from any of them however. 

Halfway through the corridor he came to a door he heard something resembling a cough from the other side. Knocking before opening to peek inside he saw a half naked woman lying on the floor, her head bashed in and a large pool of blood had formed around her. He also saw the part of what looked like a man sit in a chair, motionless. Richard pulled his dagger, pressed himself against the wall besides the door for cover before slowly pushing the door open. The man wasn't dead,nor visibly wounded. He was a fat middle aged man with balding, brown hair. He looked to have passed out somehow. On the floor besides his chair was a form of decorative iron club, covered in blood and gore. The room smelt of death and alcohol. First of which Richard was quite familiar with. 

Slightly disgusted Richard made his way back down. This wasn't his mess to deal with. Even though he had his reservations of killing women. Better to leave it to the city guard. And he remembered a city guard that had been standing at a crossing just a block away. He quickly made his way back there and to his luck the guard was still standing there, dressed in black riot gear with a helmet that had a tinted visor that hid the eyes. 

After some brief explaining the guard followed Richard back to the house. There he called for some reinforcement through a walkie-talkie before drawing his gun. "Show me where," he ordered, trying to sound confident but Richard could hear the hint of nervousness in his voice. A tone that reminded of the tension before a battle.

Richard only gave a nod. They made their way upstairs to the room where the murder had happened. Once Richard had pointed out the door the guard moved up peek inside, only to then turn around and look like he was about to puke. An understandable response for someone that had never seen anything like it before. 

The guard waited outside, clearly not wanting to enter the room, either too disgusted by the dead body or afraid to wake up what most likely was a deranged murderer. After a moment of silence Richard began to feel impatient. "Can I leave?" he asked.

"No. You're a witness. You can leave once we're done here."

"But you've now seen as much as I have." 

"It's protocol. It's just how it is."

Richard grumbled a little to himself. This was a waste of his time. And a waste of money. Though if he jogged his next deliveries he could maybe make up for the loss. 

Several minutes passed before the reinforcement showed up. Richard was sent down to show them the way through the house to the murder scene. Once they arrived to see the mess all but one, an elder looking man with a grey mustache, showed the same reaction of nausea the first guard had made.

"Jesus Christ," the older guard said in disbelief. "That's Mr Thomas Hudson."

All the guards looked at him and then at the passed out fat man in the room. Richard was unsure what this really meant, but the fact that he was part of the rich family that lived in the house most likely complicated the matter. The upper class tended to have a way with the law. 

The older guard pursed his lips and remained quiet for a second. "Find a large coat and something to cover up his head with. We still have to take him to the station. But let's not cause any necessary ruckus." He drew a heavy sigh. 

Richard helped find a large coat down while two guards did their best to wake up Mr Hudson as gently as they could. When Richard returned with the coat Mr Hudson was half awake and standing with the help of two guards holding up by his arms around the necks. They got him dressed in the coat along with a shirt for a makeshift hood. After which they began to escort Mr Hudson out of the house. The older guard stayed behind and approached Richard. 

"Sorry for getting involved in this mess. What's your name?" he asked with a sympathetic tone.

"Richard."

"And where do you live or work?"

"How so?" 

"Don't worry, we're not going to come and arrest you or anything. But you're a witness and we or a judge may want to summon you."

"I work for The Post Office."

"Well then you should be able to deliver the summon to yourself," said the guard with a light chuckle before realizing the joke didn't lift the spirits of the situation. "You didn't seem that bothered by the sight of the body."

"Not from the Brotherhood lands."

"That explains the accent. Anyway, you should go back to The Post Office. Just tell them you couldn't make the delivery. I'll have to stay here and await Ms Hudson." Even though only the lower half of his face was visible, it was clear he was making a painful expression. 

Richard only gave a nod before leaving the house and began to head back to The Post Office. Hopefully there wouldn't be a summon and that the guards could bring at least some justice to this themselves.

Edited September 26, 2020 by Witchking of Angmar

[The Good Doctor]

The Renegade

Gregory watched his wife from afar, feeling a strange nervousness that he hadn't experienced in years of fighting the Brotherhood or surviving in the wastes. It had been almost a year since he'd last laid eyes on her, their only interaction since then being the odd letter containing the most vague of updates. She still looked the same. Still had that fierceness to her that he'd fallen for back west. It was coming forth even now as she chewed out a customer in the street for trying to leave their "Garage" without paying the full price she had demanded.

"You can have it back when we get our money," Haley said to the man. "All of it. And I don't want to see you again until then." The guy was trying to walk past her, into the open garage, but she blocked his path and Elijah stood next to her with a wooden baseball bat resting on his shoulder. The boy had grown a beard.

The customer was a small and skinny fellow, tanned like a farmer. He complained that they were thieves but finally relented and went on his way. The two of them started back inside, but as Elijah turned his head, his eyes passed over Gregory and froze. The boy's jaw dropped. And without saying a word, he tapped on Haley's shoulder and pointed. When she saw him, her eyes widened and she ran to him.

The next thing Gregory knew, he was being embraced by hugs and and strikes in equal measure. "I love you too," he said as one of Haley's fists hammered against the back of his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.

"I didn't know I'd see you again," she cried into his shoulder. "And then our son, and... and then Felix came and..." She looked at him with tears in her eyes. Scared eyes. "You're finally doing it, aren't you? It's happening."

"Let's go inside," Gregory said. He looked over at Elijah. "Go get your brother and sister."

Alyssa's reaction was much the same as Haley's, but with less hitting. Josiah looked surprised, but didn't shed any tears or make an effort to hug him like the others. He just stood there with his arms crossed and gave a nod when their eyes finally met.

After Aly finally detatched herself from him, the family locked down the Garage and went upstairs. Haley brewed some coffee, and Gregory started to fill them in on what he had been up to for the last year. Of his partnership with the Hospitallers and his excursions back into the Lost Lands to meet with mutants out of the so-called Gateway City, and his plans for how to bargain with them.

"You're going to take on Paradise?" Josiah looked incredulous. "Even the gulags in Chicago ain't that secure."

"They also don't have as many mutants," Gregory replied. "And it's mutants we need. I never said it would be easy. I understand that you have found some enemies of the Brotherhood here in the city?"

"Some," Josiah answered. "There are a lot more, but they're disorganized. The only group I've found who've got their shit together won't talk to me until they know we're legit. I told them to wait and see."

"They’ll see soon, then." Gregory sipped his coffee and was pleased to find Haley remembered that he liked it with a pinch of honey. "I've got a plan, but it'll take all of us and more. We'll need your friends' help, and whatever favors we can call on." He paused, "Oh yeah, and we'll need a Scribe."

***

Tech Scribe

That didn't seem right. The integer was way out of the expected and permitted range. And it was dependent on several other variables and big functions. As Garret began to backtrack through his code he was interrupted by the Senior Scribe John shouting his name. Garret so wanted to ignore the call as he felt he was just beginning to unravel the string that would lead to the source of the bug. But as he heard his name a second time he knew he had to respond. He lost where he was and the thread he had begun to pull was sucked back into the large pile of code. 

"What?" Garret almost spat at his superior. Not really caring to hide his irritation but at least trying to not sound too disrespectful. 

"There's a malfunctioned C-27 running around Forgotten Homes. You'll join the squad that will go and fix it."

"Why me? Why not a proper field scribe?" Garret was in no mood to head out there again after what happened the last time. 

"Because I say so! Now go! Before I-"

Listening to that pathetic man was really getting on the nerves. "Fuck you!" he said. "I don't want to go into some crime ridden slums."

"Now listen-"

"Fuck you!" Garret was extremely tempted to actually start beating John. "Fuck off! I'm not going out there. Period."

John looked furious but didn't say a word. Instead he turned around and left. Garret tried his best to calm down and return to where he had been before John had interrupted him. After a few minutes John however came back, and with a couple of Knights in tow. Before Garret could figure out what was going on the Knights had grabbed him and pulled him out of the chair and with them out of the room. Garret only did nominal resistance as he feared he would get even worse manhandled if he struggled too much. 

They dragged him down a couple of corridors towards the garage where they tossed him into the back of an armored jeep. The two Knights took their seats next to Garret and then the car began to move. Garret brooded with a scowl on his face as they made their way out of the Fort. 

Once out of the fort though he stopped scowling and instead tried to enjoy the view of the city flying by as they drove down the I-70 to the east. When they left the I-70 for some other road Garret missed the sign of and then approached the outpost between the Steel District and Forgotten Homes he felt uneasy. He had heard stories of what kind of people lived there. Hopefully they were just exaggerations. And hopefully they could find this C-27 fast so he could get this over and done with as soon as possible. 

Their jeep made it to the checkpoint and was allowed through. The driver exchanged a few words from the knight outside before continuing along. Out the windows, Garret could see civilians halting everything, some even coming out of their homes, to watch them pass. No doubt for some this was the first working vehicle they had seen up close.
At one point, a teenager on a bicycle road alongside them, but quickly darted away when the Knight riding shotgun barked for him to get back. It was pretty clear that the Knight was uneasy. He clutched his laser rifle tight and kept darting his head back and forth. This area was not well patrolled, and they were drawing a lot of attention.

"Down Prospect Avenue," the uneasy Knight said, pointing out a sign to the driver. "It should be in a park."

The vehicle slowed and turned. Now there were even more people watching. They did not cheer or salute like in the Gold or Market Districts. They mostly just stared or made rude gestures. Some were even climbing up onto rooftops for a better view. Now it was apparent that the other Knights were getting a little uneasy as well. The one on Garret's right turned to him, "We've got our tools ready to pack up this thing in less than two minutes. How long will it take you to shut it down?"

"If you can hold it still so I can unscrew a small hatch and flick a couple of switches, it should be off in less than a minute," Garret replied. 

"Good," said the Knight. "The less time we spend in this dump, the better."

The park came into view ahead. It looked to be a pretty good size, though it seemed overgrown with trees and uncut grass. As they drew near, Garret noticed some movement amidst all the green. At first it looked like one of the trees was moving, but as they drew nearer, it became apparent that their target was just covered in moss. The C-27 Humanoid robots were mostly back at Vault 0 with Barnaky. This was one was clearly an old remnant some fool managed to wake up.

A couple Knights were already waiting for them, weapons ready in case something went wrong. Though at the moment it seemed as though the robot's only interest was in pacing the distance between two trees. The jeep started to slow, but then to Garret's surprise, the driver stomped on the gas pedal. The Knight to Garret's right jolted, "What are you-"

And then they all saw it. Up a hill on their left, a junky old school bus was rolling straight towards them. The driver was too late to respond, and the giant metal contraption slammed into the Jeep's rear, sending them spinning. Everyone inside lurched forward, and then slammed down onto the right side. Garret landed atop one Knight against the door, and another Knight fell on top of him. People were shouting both inside the jeep and out, and the sound of a discharging laser rifle echoed across the street.

Dazed and stunned by the impact Garret took a few seconds to respond. But the Knights that he had been sandwiched between were about equally taken aback by the impact. As they came back to their senses they quickly tried to fumble around each other. Garret managed to climb partially over to the front seat to give the Knights some space. 

"Is anyone there?" someone shouted into the radio. Garret saw that it was the guy riding shotgun. Their driver had fallen against his seat and wasn't moving. "Senior Knight Terrance is down! I, uh- think he's dead. This is uh, Junior Knight Miles requesting backup and extraction."

Static followed for a moment, and Garret saw the two Knights behind him managing to untangle themselves. The gunfire outside had slowed, but the occasional shots or lasers could still be heard. After several long seconds, someone responded. "Roger that, Miles, is your current position safe?"

"No- uh, negative. We- we just got hit by a fucking bus! Our vehicle is on its side and we are under fire."

A few moments passed, and more gunfire rang out. The shots didn't seem to be directed their way, so they must have been at the Knights who were waiting for them in the park. At last, the radio buzzed again. "Hard copy. Alright Miles, you're in command now. Take the survivors and find a safe place to hole up and wait for backup. Can you reach somewhere safe and signal us?" 

Junior Knight Miles peered out the shattered windshield. Garret followed his gaze and a red laser flash from the treeline to the top of a surrounding house. Its target was not visible. Miles answered. "Yeah, I- I  think we can do that. I don't think there are very many."

The radio crackled for a second, and then the reply came. "Understood. Reinforcements are inbound."

Junior Knight Miles turned to Garret and the other two Knights. One of them spoke, "I seen two rebels on our left, behind the bus. We can make it to the houses on the other side of the street, we might be safe."

Miles nodded. "You and I'll provide cover. Hudson, you take the scribe and get to that green house over there. We'll be right behind you." He turned to Garret. "Can you run?"

"Yeah," Garret grunted. His legs and feet were in an uncomfortable position and a bit battered, but there was no pain and they felt whole. 

"Good, then get ready."

Miles positioned himself beside the windshield, and the other Knight climbed up to the left window which was now above them. It was mostly broken, but he was able to use the butt of his rifle to push what remained out into the street. Knight Hudson kicked out the windshield as well, clearing an exit for him and Garret to get through. He looked at Garret now. "You ready?"

Garret was quickly on his feet with a temptation to simply run ahead, but decided against it out of a fear to become the first target for the enemy. "Just go!" he said with a mix of fear and desperation creeping upon him.

The Knights all looked at one another and nodded. Miles and the window guy popped out of the jeep and began unloading their rifles in the direction of their enemies. Hudson and Garret burst out the back and broke into a sprint in the direction of the green house.
Suddenly, and to Garret's shock, a black suit of power armor emerged from around the dwelling's corner. Hudson fired a burst into the figure's chest, but it did shit all. "Fuck!" The Knight shouted. "Go right! Go r-"
His orders were drowned out by a gunshot that cracked through the air. Hudson fell to the ground with blood coming out of his back.

Garret's eyes barely lingered half a second before he turned away in a mixture of fear and disgust. Away from the corpse and away from person in power armor. Instead of running towards the green house he began to run towards another house nearby, ducking his head as best he could while maintaining a sprint. 

When he reached the door of the house however he found to his chagrin that the door was locked. Quickly taking a look at the windows he saw that they were barred by cloth and planks. The door was of visibly poor quality, old and frail. Gathering his strength he kicked at it. The wood broke and splintered partially but managed to remain whole enough as it flung open. Garret didn't waste much time to get inside and close the door behind himself. 

Inside was dirty and smelt like piss. The entrance hall was linked to the living room and Garret caught a glimpse of someone hiding behind the sofa. It looked like a balding man with fear filled eyes that briefly stared back at him before diving down behind the sofa. 

Garret carefully went over to take a look and saw a middle aged man in dirty clothing and rugged beard stare back at him. The man appeared unarmed. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds before Garret simply put his finger to his mouth and mimicked a hush. Then he slowly went into the kitchen.

There he lingered for a few seconds before he wondered if they would come after him as the sounds of gunfire intensified outside. An idea formed in his head and he went to the backdoor, unlocked it and left it ajar, hoping that it would make any pursuer think he had merely passed through. Then he went back to the kitchen to see if he could find an empty and clean enough cabinet to hind inside.
 

***

Several minutes earlier

From his perch on the water tower, Gregory could lay prone and still have clear and open view of the ambush sight a block away. He watched the Brotherhood jeep through his binoculars as they made a straight line for the park. Beside him, Alyssa followed it with the scope of her rifle. Josiah would have preferred it if she'd been the one with the binoculars and Gregory, the gun. But he did not understand how important it was that she learned how to do this.

Things went exactly as planned. Once the jeep drew near, Tristan and Josiah removed the blocks from behind the bus's wheels and sent it rolling straight into the jeep. The Knights in the park tried to take cover in the trees, but one of them got mowed down by the robot as soon as Elijah engaged its combat mode. The other found a spot and began exchanging fire with Ben and Cynthia's people on the rooftops.

Gregory returned his binoculars to the wrecked jeep. He could see movement inside, but his vision was too obscured to make out one enemy from another. He looked down at his daughter. "How are you feeling?"

Alyssa didn't take her eye from the scope. "I'm fine."

"Just remember, identify before you shoot. If the Scribe comes out, hold your fire and let Felix handle it. You just focus on the Knights.

She took a deep breath, then gave a faint nod. "They're kicking out the windows."

Gregory watched as two Knights appeared from the side and top of the vehicle and opened fire on the rooftops. Another emerged from the back along with the scribe and started running. "Aim for the runner."

Several seconds passed, and the Knight and Scribe started to change directions. The hesitation was just enough to make for an easy target. Alyssa took her shot, and the Knight fell. The Scribe made it around the corner of a house and disappeared, but Felix appeared shortly after in his power armor and began moving in that direction.

Gregory returned his attention to the remaining Knights. One of the them tried to make a run for the green house and was promptly gunned down. The other had retreated back into the vehicle and was now hiding. The one in the park was still alive too, and firing lasers like a madman, but the robot would reach him soon, and Gregory doubted that the man's laser pistol would get him far when that happened.

He turned and looked down the main street. Two more vehicles were approaching now, these ones larger and with guns mounted on the top. He nudged Alyssa. "Cavalry's here."

They shifted their focus in that direction and waited for Tristan and Josiah to initiate the second phase of the ambush.

***

Matt
 

“Alright boys this is it, 3 mikes! When we get to the downed Jeep we’ll spread out in a crescent moon formation and lay down suppressive fire. We aren’t sure sure just how many bastards there are out there so be ready to make this a quick grab and go.”

The exchange of gunshots and laser fire was getting louder as the hummers bounced and banged across the eroding streets. Matt was scanning the streets as the past looking for anything out of place, but the Forgotten Homes was empty. Everyone not involved in the fighting was either hiding in their homes or had spilt for the other districts as the fire began.

“Two Mikes!” Matt’s grip tightened on his lazer rifle. His heart was pounding and he couldn’t help but think about last time. This was his first mission back after being shot in the sewers and his nerves were high. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before dropping his head. As he let out the breath he heard a loud buzzing noise in his ears and felt a jolt shoot through his body as the vehicles his squad was riding in began to sputter and clank before stopping dead in there tracks.

Before they could react the vehicles began taking fire from both sides of the street. Luckily the drivers where able to steer the front ends of the hummers together creating a “V” shape for the Knights to take cover in while trying to get a grasp on the situation.

In a split second everyone was in between the cars except the knights that were in the gun turrets up top. Knight McDowell and Junior Knight Berard had been killed in the opening shots while trying to get their systems back up, so both teams where down a man. Paladin Daniels did a quick scan of the situation “Overlord Main this is Scourge One!”

”Scourge One, Overlord Ma-“

CA-chunk!  Daniel's helmet took a round directly over the internal comms system and killed his radio. Cursing, he pushed himself back up. He looked around and spotted a rebel who was foolish enough to leave himself exposed and took care of him with a well aimed Plasma shot. “WE CANT STAY HERE! KNIGHT RYCZEK ON MY COMMAND TOSS A GRENADE ON THE ROOFTOPS TO MY LEFT! EVERYONE ELSE PROVIDE COVERING FIRE!” 

Matt prepped the grenade a waited for the command. Everyone still combat ready positioned themselves and picked up the rates of fire. “NOW!” Matt stood up and lobbed the grenade before dropping back down behind the car. The squad kept firing until the heard the boom and the eerie silence following. They knew there was more of them out there on both sides of the street. Matt couldn’t help, but think that the enemy was maneuvering on the them, getting ready to hit again and wipe them out

Matt's fears were confirmed by the loud and distant crack of a sniper rifle, followed by a thud up above as Knight Caldwell fell against his turret.

Bits and pieces of Caldwell’s skull and brain splattered against the squads bodies. Everyone immediately hi the ground behind cover and began scanning for where the shot came from.“Shit we’ve got snipers! Everyone keep their heads down and no one tries to get in the gun turrets!”

”Paladin, we have to get those guns up! Without them we are fucked!”

”NO ONE gets in the guns! That’s a FUCKING ORDER!” After that Paladin Daniels peaked his power armored head out over the trucks only to catch a round the helmet. It didn’t harm him, but it left him dazed. “Can’t tell where that’s coming from. Any of you see?”

”Negative Sir, but we need to get off this street and I think I see a way.” Matt pointed to an alleyway just mere feet away, but the path was in the open and they’d be under fire while trying to move. “Once we get in that alley we can push into a building and set up a killzone for these bastards, but we’ve gotta cross the open first.”

”Senior Knight Cade, you first let’s go, we’ll provide covering fire. Alright boys, pick a target that looks suspicious to you and fire until I give the word” Paladin Daniels did a quick scan and zeroed in on a window, he took a deep breath and when he exhaled he began to unload his plasma rifle at the building, the remaining five members of the squad did the same as Cade crosssd the road and set up security in the alley. 

Next it was Senior Knight Elliot’s turn to cross. The squad picked new targets and opened up as he darted across the road. He was about halfway to the alley when the crack of a distant rifle was heard and Elliot hit the ground. His throat had been ripped open by a round and he was choking on his own blood. Eventually the strained gurgling stopped and his body fell still.

The rest of squad made it across without incident and pushed into the alley before setting up in an abandoned building along the road. Of the nine men they started with, 5 were left and they were starting to run low on ammo. 

Matt quietly approached the front door of the building and peered outside through a crack. He couldn’t see anything, but he knew they were out there, and the Brotherhood leaders had no idea what was going on.

The Homes fell quiet again, besides some people shouting down the block. It sounded like orders being given. Matt briefly glimpsed a figure moving across the rooftop opposite theirs, and then another. The figures were keeping low, but clearly watching them. They were pinned.

***

Time passed and the sounds of guns soon faded. The small black space Garret had managed to hide inside was uncomfortable and had a faint smell of mold. But it was at least it was clean enough that he didn't feel sick by it. 

Garret lost track of time and after how long he did not know of silence he heard the front door open softly. Heavy steps of a power armor was marched into the house. It walked through the house and to the back door. Anticipation, hope and slight relief filled Garret as the footsteps continued outside. Only for it to turn to panic and fear as they footsteps returned and came walking back inside. Garret froze and almost stopped breathing.

A deep, modulated voice said, "There?"

Garret realized he must have been speaking to the other man in the house. His fears were confirmed when the heavy footsteps suddenly grew closer and then stopped. The cabinet door opened, and a large metallic hand grabbed him by the arm and tore him from his hiding place.

Garret didn’t move a muscle nor open his eyes. If there was an afterlife he was sure soon to find out. Hopefully there was. He didn’t want to face oblivion. Not yet.

Something poked his neck, and then he winced as a needle injected him with something. Garret lost control of his body then, and his eyelids flickered just enough for him to register pair of amber-colored orbs staring back. They punctuated a dark helmet with horns like the Devil himself.

"I have the Scribe," it said. "Returning now."

Garret could not resist as he was turned and slung over the devil's shoulder. Soon after, the full effects of the drug kicked in, and his world went dark.

 
***

"Copy that." Gregory smiled. Felix had the scribe, and every Brotherhood dog who hadn't managed to hole up inside that house was now dead and looted. Tristan and Josiah's new friends had the survivors surrounded, and were waiting for an order.

"Keep them pinned and don't advance," he said into the radio. "We're coming down."

He and Alyssa descended from the water tower and made for a house on the far side of the park. There, he found Felix, Elijah, and the unconscious Scribe waiting for him. His son was busy handcuffing the Scribe's wrists, but looked up when they arrived. He had the biggest grin on his face. "We did it! Aly, we fucking did it!"

"Holy shit," his sister seemed to be struggling to contain whatever it was that she felt. "Yeah, we did."

"It's not over yet," Gregory reminded them. He kept his voice stern. "When Josiah gets here-"

"He's here," said Elijah just as his brother came through the door. Josiah's hair was dark with sweat, and he had an assault rifle slung over his shoulder. The Cynthia woman was not far behind him.

"Time to split up now, right?" Josiah asked.

"That's right." Gregory nodded then motioned to the scribe. "Felix and I will get this one out of town, then we're going to lay low for a few days. I expect you three to do the same once you reach the safehouse."

"You can just call it my house," said Cynthia.

Gregory ignored her. He considered telling his children 'I love you' or 'it was good to see you' but thought better of it. They knew those things already, and the middle of a getaway wasn't the best time to switch gears like that. Instead, he told them, "Keep safe. I'll contact you soon."

With that, Josiah said "Come on," and led the younger siblings and Cynthia out the back door, while Gregory went with Felix out the front. The humanoid robot was still patrolling the park. Now out of ammo, it was preoccupying itself by beating up trees and struggling to spout Old World military jargon through a broken speaker. The machine had served its purpose well, but it was the Brotherhood's problem now. Elijah had programmed it to shut down an hour after entering combat-mode, so it should pose no threat to the residents of the Forgotten Homes.

Gregory and Felix passed through several houses that had been cleared in advance, and linked up with two more of Cynthia's people who would accompany them out of the city. It was only then that he radioed Tristan. "We're clear. You're good to pull on out of there."

"Ten-four, brother. Leaving now. I'll see you at home."

***
 

Paladin Daniels, Matt, and the remaining knights were dug in, waiting for the rebels to try and storm the building, but no assault came. They heard the chatter for what seemed like ages, then just as sudden as the fight had started, everything went quiet. Matt took another one of the surviving knights and crept outside to get a handle on the situation. They saw nothing. The streets were empty with only the Brotherhood's dead littering the road.

After close to an hour, a full platoon of knights came marching in to relieve the now five man squad. As Matt and the remaining knights, plus the relief, began picking up the bodies, the locals of the Homes deemed it safe enough to come gawk at the carnage. Matt felt uneasy, you could see clearly on some of these people faces that they hated him and his brothers, some just didn’t care either way, and some loved them, but none of these people could be trusted today. Anyone of them could’ve been the bastards shooting at them from the rooftops or the one that placed the IED.

After the area was deemed clear, APC’s rolled in to pick up the knights and their dead. It was quiet ride back to the BoS HQ and the only thing Matt could think about right now was washing his body and passing out.

[BigBossBalrog]

The Fallen Scribe 

Shrekers Bog

The swamp was thick and deep. Almost straight out of one of those old nature documentaries John had watched on a holotape years back. The man found himself in a disgusting bog; a good while away from Diggersville, which had taken John a good portion of the morning to reach. The bog was all that you could expect from a bog, a damp, miserable wetland filled to the brim with dangerous creatures...and annoying insects. He foolishly scratched the back of his neck, some mosquitoes annoyingly flying around his back. I guess i'm a good feast.  Feverishly, the good doctor slapped his face, as he tried to fight back against the winged menace. Man, I can’t wait for the Aliens to come, and fuck you all with deathrays!  

The man suddenly felt a tug, causing him to ignore the vampire bugs, and focus on the dark water before him. 

John fidgeted with his scope and zoomed it to the makeshift bait he prepared, a grin appearing on his face. Is that you? His sweaty fingers already on his rifles trigger

The green swamp water erupted, as the behemoth emerged from the depths.

Now that’s a big one…

A leviathan arose. With a heavy splash, the swamp was upturned, causing a mini tidal wave to crash against the green water. The bait he has used (a hideous teddy bear he stole from Avy) was consumed in a single instant.  Dripping and covered in green algae, was what he hunted. A colossal amphibian, the Lord of this swamp, a beast he had nicknamed Bokrug.

Many locals called them “Swamp Dragons” (An odd term because there really wasn’t that many swamps around Digggersville, quite a bit of smaller bogs though) , but in reality, they were little more than just mutated Salamanders. Albeit really fucking big Salamanders. Bokrug floated to the surface, his black, beady eyes examining his surroundings, looking for a threat. An apex predator here, nothing, besides a well armed human could really be considered that to a Swamp Dragon. This one in question was larger than the rest, a magnificent specimen, just over six meters long. His green slimy skin, was covered in aquatic vegetation, giving the impression he was giant, scary looking log. The Swamp Dragon pushed through the swampy water with four, powerful, but comically stubby limbs, searching for food. His killing power really came from his colossal jaws, giant enough to already be intimidating, even if they weren’t rows and rows of jagged teeth that could rip open a brahim's torso in a single instant. They usually hunted Radstag, but would be more than happy to dine on a human if the chance provided itself. The thing was as if the prehistoric Mastodonsaurus has rebirthed itself after humanity’s near extinction.  

So yeah, Salamanders, but really fucking scary Salamanders. 

Luckily for John, he loved scary animals. And loved killing them even more. For science! 

The Doctor had covered himself in a layer of camouflage, some plants, green clothing, and some face paint. Not quite a ghillie suit, but he blended in pretty well, enough that his good friend  Bokrug couldn’t spot him. Already he had his fingers on his trigger, waiting for the best opportunity to make his shoot. The bullet he had loaded in his hunting rifle was a tracer; the chances of getting a instant kill with his firearm slim, going by all the bullet scars the Salamander wore on his ancient skin, if he could track it, he could finish it off after it was weakened by the blood lost quite easily. 

BOOM!

Just as John was about to pull the trigger, the cackling of thunder echoed across the dark swamp, scaring the living shit out of the hunter. The man swore when he saw his “companion” was spooked too, as the mutated animal sunk back into the safety of the green waves, disappearing from view. To make matters worse, it began to rain; rain from the high heavens! A torrential downpour soon came down, causing the Doctor to get especially angry. 

Just like that the man’s entire day was ruined. 

As the swirling green waves became filled with the heavy fall of rain, an unwholesome combination; a primal fear woke up inside John. He remembered his fear of unwholesome water. 

*****
It took only a few hours to get back, this time the man didn’t bother to take his time and enjoy the scenery, he was pissed his hunt had been ruined, and the heavy rain was a good reason to get back to the bar as soon as possible. Opening up the doorway, he found himself back in his bar. 

The place was very empty, not surprising considering the rain. John was drenched, and all he wanted to do was get out of all this shit. Aveline was busy at the bar, helping the only patrons currently here. 

As soon as John saw...no smelled them, his eyebrows raised. Haggard clothing. The smell of death. Shitty pipe weapons. Yeah these weren't the type he wanted in the bar...but who knows appearances weren't everything maybe they were swell people! 

Five Minutes later

John rammed his trench knife into the bandit’s back in display of lightning speed, whose face was equally shocked, as it filled with pure agony. He left the blade inside, as he grabbed by the neck from behind, using him as a human shield, letting his friends turn him into a living pincushion of bullets. John pushed the man away with all the force he could muster as he quickly leapt from his wide open position, taking cover behind an upturned table. Several bullets came flying towards him, but the hardwood surface of the circular table protected him. Fucking idiots. Hollowpoints. Shitty bullets. John peeked out,  his robotic arm gripping his gun holster, as his drew his Mare’s Leg, wielding it one hand. Avy who had taken cover behind the bar screeched, "Tarnation John Edmonton, why do you always start shit?"  

The man broke away, standing up, as he pushed his gun’s trigger, his blue eyes focusing on his target right as he did. John place his free hand over his robotic one, steadying his shot. With a discharge, the bullet launched out the sawed off gun's chamber, and embedded itself into the second bandits forehead, killing him instantly. John, already knowing his mark was true, ducked under cover, as the third bandit unleashed a barrage of submachine fire from his Bastard, leaning on the bar’s wooden surface for support, the cheaply made “scrap” gun already overheating. Underneath his rotten teeth, the idiot swore, the sides of his arms already burning from the contact. “Feker! Hampton go on around, we’ll flush-” 

“Boo.” A feminine voice from behind interrupted him, as did the cocking of a pump action shotgun. Before his eyes could trail behind, a loud shot erupted, pieces of his brains now ordaining the wooden wall. The sheer force of the point blank shot called Aveline to jerk, and her eardrums to erupt in pain, as she flailed about, her face splattered with blood. She really wasn’t the best when it came to gun safety.

She duck down, taking cover behind the bar once more, gripping the sides of her head tightly as she screamed, “Bad idea!” 

Pushing the trigger once more, the only thing that awaited him was a dissatisfying “click”. Swearing, John ducked behind cover once again, as a flurry of bullets went towards him. Apparently, he only had one bullet left, and he had forgotten to reload. John flipped the wooden rifle, just as he tossed it the side, in a fancy display of hand eye coordination, catching the firearm with his still flesh hand, gripping it tightly. He quickly reloaded, ramming a set of bullet into the gun’s chamber, pulling the lever tightly. 

There was nothing like the feeling of a coarse, narrow bullet entering a well oiled chamber. 

John did a another trick with his Mare, flipping the weapon in a semicircle with his arm, before grabbing it’s handle with his crimson hand. Letting another barrage of bullets enter into the strong wood, John peeked up once more. An ugly mug entered his vision, instinctively causing the doctor to pull his gun’s trigger, all the while he extended his arm forward, as if to push the firearm further in front.

A fourth down. 

In a fit of terror, the final would be merc began to scream wildly,  Just like a skewered hog, as he attempted to fire his bastard wildly into the doctor. Only for the gun to refuse to respond, it’s chamber searing hot, and invariably jammed. Desperately  the haggard bandit swore, his rotten teeth visible. John just stood there, a mocking grin visible. The ex brotherhood scribe pointed his firearm, and shouted, “Bang!” 

Jogged, and surprised the bandit covered his face, screaming, “Please no!”  He tossed his broken pipe weapon onto the bar’s floor, before leaving the place in a dash of speed, abandoning his dead comrades, soiling his pants in the process.  The doctor lifted his gun, letting the man past him without a glance. After a few seconds his smile became a grimace. The hunt is nothing without a chance. Not even bothering to check if Avy was all right, the man slowly walked towards the bar’s exit,  and opened the wooden door, with his Mare' Leg in hand. 

Rain hit his face, as he glanced up to the sky, wordlessly he walked out onto the street. Some of his neighbors had worriedly surrounded his bar, but before they could say anything to him, he pushed them out of the way. His eyes trailed on a disappearing figure to the North, who was running like a mad man.  John fell to one knee, taking off his spectacles as he did, letting them fall to the ground with a thud. He felt the rain on his free face, before his blue eyes narrowed. Something that was blury, become as visible as it was just infront of him; he saw the running man clear as crystal. The crowd that had gathered around him made way, giving him a wide birthe of space. He drew his rifle, wielding the sawed off weapon in both hands. He gently let the level fall, as he breathed in and out, preparing himself for the main event. He adjusted the gun's height, lining up the perfect shot. He waited a single second...and then whispered. "Deo Volente."

John pulled the trigger, the noise drowned out by the falling rain.

******

As he walked back into the bar, John could see Avy furiously scrubbing the bar table with a thick rag, annoyance plainly visible on her face. In the corner, the dead bandits had been piled neatly...their pockets open, weapons missing and their bodies bare of anything but there clothes. Seems like Avy had already helped herself... 

“Help...me…” 

A voice broke him out of his stupor. Dragging himself to the doorway, the first bandit was still alive, John’s Trench Knife was still in his back. Seems like he had been jabbering like this since the Doctor left to deal with his friend. Walking a few feet, John nonchalantly placed the tip of his Mare’s Leg point blank on the injured bandits face, pressing down on his injured stomach with his boot, and before he could scream in terror, pulled the trigger.  After delivering the coup de grace, the man wordlessly retrieved his knife, as he wiped the blood splatter from his face, with a tablecloth he grabbed.

Covering her ears, Abby, who had watched him shouted, angrily, “John!”  She placed her hands to her hips, 

“What? Now don’t you sass me!” The man shrugged his shoulders, pointing his finger

“You got even more blood all over the carpet!” The bartender shouted. “Now i’ve got to clean that up…”  Just as she did, the panel besides the bar lit up, signifying  O'Malley presence in the room. "So I found those Ghoul porn tapes-What in the fucking world..." The Scottish AI, seemingly looked around the room from his computer screen, before he came to the realization. 

"What the fuck happened... “ 

“They wanted a refund.” The man said, deadpanly, “Bloody hell, some Doctor you are...” 

“On the contrary, my medical knowledge simply lets me kill with more efficiency then the average thug. The ability to both take, and save life is a power trip to my brain can’t live without.” John muttered drly

“You must have been a Gallowglass in your past life lad.” 

“Think I would look good with a greatsword?” He said, giving the robot a toothy smile, 

"It's shameless the way you flirt lad." 
 

[BTC]

The Sheriff
 

The road out of Altimoe Bend was an overgrown cobblestone path with chunks of concrete and asphalt instead of rocks. The cart Pancho and Lefty pulled was strong and sturdy, made for exactly this situation. And though it creaked and groaned on occasion, it did not falter. Unlike the path through the southern portion of the Lost Lands, there were no wagon ruts here, not hint of any travellers having passed through. What mankind had left behind nature retook. The cars left on the road were rusted husks. Farmhouses still barely stood or had collapsed in on themselves. Whenever Lawrence looked into a house or car, he found it home to new creatures, rats and squirrels and lizards looking for places to hide from things that stalked the woods.

And that was the sense Lawrence got. That things, not people, stalked the Lost Lands. Maybe it was proximity to the border or that the raiders were itinerant, but Lawrence did not see much to indicate there were people out there. And the traces they did see were not of humans but something else, something barbaric and evil. Heads mutilated and shoved on spikes, faded warning signs written in blood and gore, bleached skeletons piled high in a roadside ditch. He’d seen this all before, though he knew that the raider lands back home weren’t as populated as the Lost Lands likely were. Even evil needed water to survive. And as the day progressed and they moved further away from Brotherhood lands, the signs of raiders increased.

Though she’d never admitted any wrong doing in Roger’s death, Lawrence could see Maxine taking a more cautious approach than their first foray into the Lost Lands. Through the first day of travel they avoided every town or village they came across, giving them wide berths and keeping as quiet as possible. Lawrence knew she was still in a hurry, but she also needed all the help she could get, and someone getting killed by raiders wouldn’t do her any good. And when they made camp for the night, they went twenty minutes out of their way to get off the main road, finding a nice little clearing to settle down in.

“No fire tonight,” Maxine said, as the group went about unpacking the wagon. “And I want watches starting now. Kim, send the eyebot about half a mile out, circling the camp. If it sees anything, let me know.”

Kim typed commands into her Pip-boy while Guillermo started on the food, using their energy cell powered burner. Maxine, James, and Abbey were busy planning out the route for tomorrow, while Ezekiel and Linda were doing some minor repairs to the wagon.

As Ojo disappeared into the trees, Lawrence and Reyna followed suit, taking off in opposite directions and circling the camp themselves. Autumn hadn’t progressed to the point where Lawrence was crunching leaves beneath his boots with every step, and for that he was thankful. He didn’t have enough experience in forests to move quietly, so any little bit helped.  

What also helped was that the forest was alive. He heard small animals scurrying about, birds chirping in the branches overhead, and the leaves rustling in the breeze. There was an occasional snapping branch as something larger moved about, and once Lawrence, thinking it might be a raider, but after a few moments waiting nothing turned up.

As Lawrence walked his path around the camp, keeping an eye trained on the forest, he realized how distracted he’d been. Not since on the road after Roger died had he experienced another episode, those times when the sadness of the past seemed to crush him entirely. The newness of this place, the mystery of what Maxine and James and Linda were up to both had kept his mind on the present, not the past. Part of him hated that he’d let himself momentarily forget, but wasn’t that the point of going on this mission in the first place? Maybe it was time, not to forget what happened, but to forgive himself. He wasn’t sure how, though he recalled what Reyna told him. That you just have to accept that the past will always be part of you, that the loss will always be part of you, and live the best you can.

For the first time in the decade since the attack on his home, and though it was for a brief moment, he was back to doing what he loved. The part of being a sheriff he loved was never putting folks down or even keeping the peace. He enjoyed helping people and making sure the town was safe, but it was solving the few mysteries that managed to find him in a small frontier town that brought him real joy. Maybe it was the two Sherlock Holmes novels his father read to him growing up, or maybe it was that Lawrence had always noticed things others didn’t. Either way, detective work helped him to live the best he could in a way drinking or guarding a caravan hadn’t.

Right then and there he made himself a promise. Whether it was in Texas, Gateway City, Wellstone, or anywhere else in the wastes, he’d find a way to get back to that kind of work. It’s what Lorena would want, if she were still around.

After another half hour Linda and Abbey relived he and Reyna. When Lawrence got back to camp the rest of the group was finishing up their food, with some sausage, beans, and hard biscuits waiting for he and Reyna.

He sat down and started on his food as Maxine began going over the plan for tomorrow. “By tomorrow afternoon we should reach the main road from Wellstone to Columbia. It should take us another two days from there. I’d bet on that being the most dangerous part of the trip, but we still need to stay sharp.”

Whether it was the oppressive danger of the Lost Lands or everyone being tired from walking, there wasn’t much conversation that night. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much sleep either, as a storm blew in overnight, sending sheets of rain and howling winds into the camp. Their tarp held firm, but there was barely enough room for everyone beneath it. They moved their chests and barrels to one side to keep the rain from blowing in sideways, but their makeshift wall didn’t offer much protection, and between it and the wind the night was cold and damp.  It was the most uncomfortable night since they left Texas.

They ate a cold breakfast the next morning and left just after sunrise. The scenery felt much the same, though Lawrence noticed ever-increasing hints of a raider presence. Neither they nor Ojo caught sight of any people, but there were signs. Sometimes literal ones, curses painted over old roadside billboards, or markings that seemed to indicate the boundary of someone’s territory. None of them were fresh, all with some level of fading, which made it difficult to tell whether those raider bands were still around.

It was becoming increasingly clear, though, that the Lost Lands were more populated than the raider infested areas of Texas. Lawrence had traversed the Western Brush more times than he could count, and he’d gone into the Southern Brush on a few occasions. There just wasn’t enough water and arable land there to sustain large populations. But with a slaver hub and a river flowing right through the heart of the Lost Lands, Lawrence had a sinking feeling in his stomach that told him there were more raiders here than anywhere he’d ever been.

It was right around midday when they came upon the city limit sign for the town of Arrow Rock. Maxine was in the front, followed by Linda and Abbey, Ezekiel and Kim, Lawrence and Guillermo walking on either side of the cart, and then Reyna behind them, with James bringing up the rear. Maxine threw up a closed fist and the caravan came to a stop. She called Kim and Abbey to the front, and they started discussing something intently.

After a few moments Maxine broke off and said, “The river curves right next to this town, and from what the eyebot’s seen the land is too swampy to get the cart through, west or east.”

“There another road we could backtrack to?” Reyna asked.

Maxine shook her head. “We’ll have to go through the town. Kim, send the eyebot up in the air. I want a clear look at the town, see if there’s any movement. You and Ezekiel swap places with Lawrence and Guillermo, and stay on the west side of the cart. Any attack is likely to come from the town. Everyone look alive and keep your eyes peeled for any movement. You see something, say something.”

With that they started down the road once more. A few rotted wooden houses lay on the outskirts of the town, and on a hill away from the road stood a grand old brick house, though it too was mostly collapsed. They were rounding a wide curve in the road now, with the main town in sight. There were plenty of trees still standing, which blocked most of the sightlines from the buildings Lawrence could see.

But they were getting closer to the town now, and there weren’t enough trees to cover every angle. The houses to the west, off to Lawrence’s right, were mostly wood and had rotted away, and they didn’t leave enough cover for someone to hide behind. But the bulk of the town was off to his left, including a few two story buildings and houses with clear lines of sight on the crossroads ahead. At that crossroads was a wrecked school bus, a short one that was tipped over on its side at the edge of the road closest to the town. The caravan was giving it a wide berth, but Lawrence was more concerned with the houses. The main drag of the town stretched out to their left, while a road leading out of town stretched to their right. Off to their right, at the intersection of the road they followed and the one leading out town, was a slight hill with another rotted wooden house atop it.

Every instinct Lawrence had was telling him this was a good place for an ambush, and he could see from the tension in the others they knew it too. With every step his heartbeat grew louder, even as his hands remained steady. He noticed a dark stain on the road, just up ahead, where Maxine was.

He scanned the windows at the two-story house, since that’s where he would have set up if he was planning an ambush. At first it looked like someone had turned on a flashlight in the second story window, but after another heartbeat Lawrence realized it was the glint of a scope.

“Get down!” he yelled as he shouldered his repeater, but before he could fire he heard two simultaneous shots go off.

Maxine fell face down in the road, and when Lawrence looked to the back of the caravan James was down as well. Lawrence and everyone else scrambled for cover behind the overturned bus when several more shots rang out. Pancho and Lefty had fled down the road, but died in a spray of machine gun fire from somewhere. The cart was tipped over, and one of the barrels of water had fallen out and spilled onto the road.

Safe behind the bus Lawrence looked at James and Maxine. James wore some leather armor and a combat helmet, but the pool of blood seemed centered on his face, and no one could get close enough to check if he was alive without getting shot themselves. As for Maxine, she hadn’t worn much in the way of armor, though looking at her it wouldn’t have mattered. The sniper had missed her head and the bullet hit her in the neck, and she was certainly dead.

But there was no more shooting, and a few seconds later a voice called out, “We know where y’all are and y’all’ve seen what we did to your friends. Come out nice and calm like, hands in the air, and no one else dies.”

Lawrence looked at Kim, and in a low voice said, “You still got control of Ojo?” She looked confused for a moment, then nodded. “What’s he see?”

Lawrence had a pretty good idea of where the snipers were, but the rest were hidden now that he was behind the bus. Lawrence looked to Guillermo and said, “Stall for a second, would ya?”

Guillermo nodded and, putting on a frightened voice, called out, “Why, so you can…eat us?”

“Eat you? Fuck no, we’re goin’ to sell you.”

Kim whispered to Lawrence, “One behind a big tree, over there.” She pointed to where Pancho and Lefty had died. “One behind a car on the main road, another behind that building.” She pointed to where James had been shot from. “And another behind a tree, closer towards us.”

That meant six in total. Maybe a couple more hiding somewhere else, but Lawrence doubted it. They’d set up here in a good ambush position so they didn’t need numbers. Hell, they’d probably left the bus here on purpose, give people somewhere to think through their offer of slavery or death.

“How do we know you aren’t going to kill us if we step out?” Guillermo said, laying the frightened caravaneer act on thick.

“If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Now, y’all either do what we ask or join your friends, what’s it going to be?”

“Now hold on a minute,” Guillermo said. “You’ve got all of our stuff and what our two friends were carrying. Can’t you just let us go?”

Lawrence was busy planning now, knowing they only had a few more moments if they were going to get out of this. “Reyna, how many grenades do you have?”

“Just the one.” She already had it in her hand.

“Can you get it in that window?”

Even with the circumstances as they were, she cocked a smile. “You can bet on it.”

“Alright. You, Guillermo, and Ezekiel will cover that side.” Between her 10 mm, Ezekiel’s .45 auto, and Guillermo’s shotgun, they could suppress the anyone trying to shoot from the back side, which would allow the others to line up shots at the enemies further away.

“Linda, you, Abbey, and me will take the rest. I’ll take the sniper, Abbey you take the one by the brahmhorn, and Linda you take the one nearest us.” That still left one hiding behind a car, but he didn’t have an angle on them to shoot, and could be saved for last. “Kim, if you can get Ojo to draw any fire, that’d be great. Send him coming at them from behind.”

Guillermo was running out of time now, as the sniper was clearly frustrated. “That’s enough talking out of you. Toss the guns out, then come out with your hands above you head.”

Lawrence fished out the snub nosed revolver he had on him and tossed it out. Guillermo did the same with his, and Linda threw out laser pistol. Lawrence turned to look at everyone and gave the go ahead.

Reyna leaned out just enough to throw the grenade threw the open window of the two story building to the north. It was a hell of a throw, and when it exploded inside the upstairs room, the sniper screamed his last. Reyna, Guillermo, and Ezekiel laid down their suppressive fire.

The only problem with this plan was that now the other sniper would be ready. Lawrence peeked around the end of the bus. The second he was in the clear to shoot, he felt like a house had been dropped on his chest, directly in the middle of his combat armor. Linda turned from her target, shooting laser bolts at the sniper. Abbey was on a knee in front of her, sending splinters off the trees in the forest. He heard a spray of automatic fire, and from his back he saw Ojo spiraling out of the sky and toward the swampy land to the west. Abbey ducked back behind the bus to reload, when another spray of machine gun fire pinged about a dozen bullets against the bus. Linda staggered back, a dark red stain spreading just below the bottom of her chestplate.

Lawrence rolled over, not even bothering to pick up his repeater. He crawled over to the bus and used it to climb to his feet. Each breath was a horrible, ragged thing as walked to the end of the bus. He drew his revolver and stepped out into the open. Abbey resumed her kneeling stance, alternating her fire on the tree one bastard was hiding behind and the house the sniper was in. Lawrence hoped to God Linda had got the sniper, as he stared down the barrel of his revolver, right towards the raider behind the car who’d hit Linda. The raider’s head rose just above the rusted hood, and Lawrence put a hole in it.

He then felt a tug and he stumbled back, Abbey dragging him by his collar back behind the bus. Another bullet from the sniper bit into the pavement just a foot away. The shooting stopped for a moment, and Lawrence grunted out, “How many?”

“We still got one on our side,” Reyna said.

“The sniper, and two behind those trees,” Abbey said.

Linda just coughed, and didn’t do a good enough job of hiding the blood in it.

“Abbey, Ezekiel, you first. Get across the road to that hill, then lay down covering fire for the next pair. We’ll cover you from here.” Lawrence picked up his repeater, then asked, “Ready?”

They gave a nod, and the firefight began again. He took aim at the sniper’s hiding place, sending a few shots in his direction while keeping in cover. Linda fired off into the forest, while Reyna and Guillermo kept up their assault on the raider hiding near the building on their side. Abbey and Ezekiel made it safely across, taking cover in what was left of the house there.

“Guillermo and Kim next.”

Lawrence gave Abbey a nod, and she started firing at the sniper. Guillermo and Kim took off and made it to cover, leaving only Linda, Reyna, and Lawrence hiding behind the bus. For the first time since she’d been hit, Lawrence got a good look at Linda’s wound. There were actually two of them, what looked like small caliber bullets, one slowed by her leather chestplate, the other impacting just below it in the lower part of her stomach.

“Can you make it across?” Lawrence asked.

Linda spat blood on the ground, put a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. After a long drag she nodded. “Get him this time, would ya?”

Lawrence gave a half-cocked smiled and reloaded a few rounds in his repeater. Linda broke into a run, Abbey and the rest on the hill opened fire, and Lawrence took aim at the window on the second story of the house. He took a deep breath in, counting down the seconds, waiting for the sniper to pop back into view. Linda was across by now, but still he looked down the sight, waiting for the slightest bit of movement. But there wasn’t any, and most likely the sniper had moved positions, with Abbey up on that hill getting a better angle on his first perch.

Lawrence hid back behind the bus and caught his breath. It dawned on him then that no one had checked on James. Lawrence had survived a shot to the chest because of his chestplate, and it seemed possible James’ helmet had protected him. He was still face down in a puddle of blood, and when Lawrence motioned toward him, Reyna said, “He took another in the ribs.”

“Shit.” James was out in the open, Reyna still had the raider on her side, and Ezekiel was already across on the hill.

“We’re up,” Reyna said.

Lawrence reached out and grabbed the weapons they’d tossed to the ground and put them in his pack, and then they sprinted across the road to the hill. The Texans provided cover, but there wasn’t any return fire from the raiders. From atop the small hill, Lawrence could see down the main street of the town, where another raider was running to join the fight. Probably a scout, or someone watching another road or the river.  

The Texans didn’t have a choice but to retreat. Linda was injured, Kim wasn’t a fighter and Ezekiel not much of one either. Going in pairs of two once again, they snuck off the backside of the hill and ran down the westward road. They carried on like that for the next mile, trying to keep out of the open and watch their backs if the raiders decided to follow them.

After that mile, though, they were forced to stop. Linda was bleeding heavily, and she couldn’t carry on much longer. They were at a curve in the road, where it turned from heading west to south. They made their way off the road and across a muddy field to a small, rusted tin barn.

“We need something to lay her on,” Ezekiel said.

The barn had a dirt floor, thankfully dry, with holes in the roof, cobwebs in the rafters, and mice droppings in the corners. There wasn’t anything to lay her on except the ground, so Guillermo took the bedroll from his pack and laid it out. As operating tables went, it was shitty, but it would have to do.

Linda took off her chestplate, revealing a blood soaked shirt beneath. Ezekiel was laying out his instruments, while Kim and Reyna were heating them with lighters. Abbey and Guillermo were guarding the door, and Lawrence was cleaning the blood off of Linda’s stomach with a rag and water from his canteen.

“I need something to drink,” she said.

Ezekiel added, “Anyone have any liquor?”

Guillermo came back over and fished a flask from his bag, and tossed it to Linda. She drank it down in one go, then laid her head back down and closed her eyes. “We ready, Doc?”

Ezekiel nodded. “Reyna, Lawrence, hold her down. Here, you’re going to want to bite down on this.” He handed her the strap that attached her leather shoulder pauldron to her chestplate.

Ezekiel pulled out a pair of forceps and went for the shallower wound first. It was only a moment before he pulled the small caliber round out, as Linda’s leather armor had slowed it considerably. She didn’t react much, just let out a muffled grunt and bit hard into the leather.

Ezekiel asked, without looking up, “Can anyone close this? I need to stop the bleeding on her other wound.”

Lawrence looked at Kim, who shook her head. He said, “Come here and grab her arms.”

He then went to work to stop the bleeding, which was easy enough. He didn’t have Ezekiel’s surgical experience but he could seal a wound and stop bleeding. He dressed the wound, then looked up to see if Ezekiel needed any more help.

The young doctor had a nervous look on his face. “I need a flashlight.”

Lawrence got one and held it above the wound, as Ezekiel tried to find where Linda was bleeding from. She was unconscious by this point, and Lawrence was glad for her sake. “She’s already lost a lot of blood.”

“Motherfucker,” Abbey said. She had a pair of binoculars in hand, and was scanning the road they’d left town on. “I see one of them. Might just be a scout, he’s hiding in the woods.” She turned around and said, “We’ve got to go.”

“Shit.” Ezekiel started dressing the wound, but having not stopped the bleeding Lawrence knew it wasn’t a permanent solution.

“We’re going to need a stretcher,” Lawrence said.

“No time,” Abbey said. “Carry her, and we’ll fix one up later. We can pry a piece of metal off and go out the back so they don’t see us.”

Ezekiel finished dressing the wound, Lawrence and Guillermo each got under one arm and carried Linda, and the Texans once again retreated. Everything’s going to shit. Linda wouldn’t survive long if they couldn’t stop and treat her wounds. Not to mention treat her for any infections once the bleeding was stopped. Lawrence only hoped staunching the bleeding would be enough. Looking at Linda’s pale, bloodstained body as they carried her across the field, he felt his stomach sink.

***

A few miles east of the Brotherhood’s border, the group finally came to a stop, long after the raiders had stopped following them. The Texans had walked all night and most of the next day without rest, but all that effort didn’t seem to be doing any good. Ezekiel had managed to stop the bleeding, but Linda was losing so much blood that their only hope was to get her to somewhere they could give her a transfusion. And now she’d barked at them to stop, so they set her down beneath a stand of trees alongside the road.

Everyone was gathered round her. Lawrence gave her a drink of water, while Abbey lit her a cigarette. Linda wiped water and blood from the corner of her mouth and said, “I’m not going to make it. Shit way to go.”

Lawrence didn’t know what to say, and apparently no on did either, so Linda continued, “I’ll be damned if I don’t finish the mission Roger and I were sent to do. Kim, is Ojo’s recording equipment functional?”

The eyebot had caught up to them not long after the retreat from the barn. Some of the sensors were damaged, and its propulsion system was noticeably weaker than before, but it was trucking on all the same. “It is,” Kim said. She had tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Bring it here,” Linda said. The hand that held her cigarette was shaking, and her face was pale and gaunt. Lawrence knew she was right about not being making it. Ojo floated close and Linda said, “This is Lone Star Ranger Linda Breckner, recording on…shit, I don’t know and couldn’t care what the date is. This eyebot should contain information relating to nations and groups here along the Missouri. It was more than we’d expected. No sightings or word about the group that sacked Old Paso. The distance between our northern borders and the Nation of the Middle Waters and the Brotherhood, as well as the heavy raider presence between and the internal conflicts of both nations means they present little immediate threat to our security.” She stopped and coughed up blood, and wiped it on her shaking hand. “It is my recommendation that no other scouting parties be sent, due to the danger from raider groups. And I request we inform Jean von Roemer that we were unable to make contact with any slavers, and that both Maxine O’Rourke and James Hudson were killed. Roger Grant is dead, and I soon will be, so consider this the final report.”

She closed her eyes and went back to smoking her cigarette. “Fix up the eyebot and send it back, whether y’all stay or go. They deserve to know what we learned.”

Linda died less than an hour later.

Lawrence couldn’t help but wonder what the point of this whole mission was. They’d lost half of the group that’d set out from the Lone Star Republic, and all to send back some useless information, and rescue people who might have been dead for fifteen years. But he knew what the point was for Maxine and for Jean von Roemer. They were trying to save those they loved. Even the slightest bit of hope was enough to risk everything for. In their shoes, Lawrence would’ve done the same. And he couldn’t sit by while they risked their lives alone. None of the group could. He’d just never expected it to end like this.

It took them the better part of a week before they made it back to Wellstone. Once they made it to a safe town, they slept for an entire day. After that travel was slow, with the only supplies they had those they could buy and carry. Most of the money was on the wagon, and so they were stretching to make what they carried last until they got back. In Wellstone they rented rooms in a place far less nice than the Scholar’s Rest. Lawrence spent that night trying to get used to the idea that this city might be his new home.  

[BTC]

The Paladin Lord
 

Ten dead. Three wounded. One missing. Two vehicles disabled, one wrecked. And all in broad fucking daylight.

The two weeks since the assault on Taylor Simon’s hideout had been quiet, all told. There’d been only one other patrol attacked since then, near 12^th and Euclid. Ben Fisher and the remnants of Taylor Simon’s group, Alan figured. Or copycats. That had been concerning, an attack in the city itself. But nothing could compare to this ambush.

It was one thing to wipe out a squad in the dead of night and during a rad storm. It was one thing to have a shoot out with some rebels and be forced to retreat. It was something entirely different to stage such a brazen attack, within the city and in the middle of the day. Part of Alan had hoped that by taking out Taylor Simon’s group, he had scared off any other groups. But that was a small hope, something he knew wouldn’t happen.

Now the question was whether this attack signaled a shift for the rebels. Would they leave the shadows and bring the war into the open? Was this a statement, something to draw attention back to their cause after two quiet weeks? Or something else?

One missing. A scribe. Garret Rickson…I sparred with him.

A scribe gone missing certainly stood out. He could be dead, his body lying somewhere and no one had yet found him. Or maybe he fled, and hadn’t reported back in yet, though Alan doubted that. The other option was that the rebels had taken him.

And then there was the C-27, the reason anyone was there in the first place. The reason why a scribe in particular was there. A scribe who was now missing. That seemed important, and Alan was beginning to feel like he knew the motivation for the attack. The C-27 wasn’t just an unexpected enemy to kill Brotherhood soldiers, but the bait on the end of the hook. And the quarry wasn’t Brotherhood soldiers to kill, but a scribe to capture.

Or so Alan suspected. It very well could be that Garret’s body would turn up in some Forgotten Homes alleyway, or that he might turn up at a Brotherhood station. But right now, a missing scribe seemed the clearest avenue of inquiry. Alan had planned to visit the site of the ambush, see if there was anything there he could uncover. But first, he would pay a visit to Garret’s superior.

The walk from Alan’s office to the scribe’s workshop was a short one. The mood inside the long metal building was quiet and tense. Evidently word had already spread of what happened. Alan inquired after Garret’s superior, and soon found himself knocking on the door to Senior Scribe John Quinlan’s office.

"Come in," Alan heard from the other side of the door.

Alan entered the office, which was lit by a lamp on the desk and a window on the opposite wall. The Senior Scribe was a short man in his late thirties, somewhat handsome with a clean-shaven face and short brown hair. Alan could see slight confusion change to recognition when the Senior Scribe identified the pins on the lapels of Alan’s leather coat. The shield, crossed spears, and four stars that indicated he was a Paladin Lord.

Alan took a seat without waiting to be offered one. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. “Have you heard about the ambush?”

"Yes, I have," said John, still looking slightly confused at the visit.

"The scribe you sent, Garret Rickson, is missing."

"Yeah, I heard."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He was usually quiet and kept to himself. Bit of an odd person."

"In what way?"

"He seemed to care more about the machines than he cared about people. Had a tendency to lash out when anyone approached him when he had his nose stuck in a computer."

"What projects was he working on?"

"I had put him on fixing up some buggy software we use for some logs. He didn't much like it."

"Did he have any personal projects? If he didn't like debugging, what did he like?"

John shrugged. "I don't know. As I said, he liked to keep to himself."

"He wasn't a field scribe, yet he was assigned to shut down the C-27. Did he request that or what it your decision to send him?"

John looked a little uncomfortable for a second. "I decided to send him. Figured getting out and doing some field work would be good for him."

"Was this his first field expedition?"

John shrugged again. "Don't think so."

"He must have had robotics experience, for you to send him. What kind did he work on here, and what type of work did he do?"

"Fixing broken stuff mostly. And what comes in broken varies."

"Right." Alan relaxed a bit in his chair, though he didn't take his eyes off the Senior Scribe. He waited just long enough to make him uncomfortable before he said, "With Garret missing, I see two possibilities. Well, three, but if he'd dead in an alley there's nothing you can do to help me. But it could be he fled and hasn't reported back yet. Does he strike you as the type to possibly desert? Or even to delay in performing his duty?"

"Delaying in his duty definitely sounds like him. Though deserting sounds a little extreme, even for him." John paused for a second with a thoughtful expression. "Unless the rebels somehow promised him something. He never struck me as the loyal type."

"What do you think would entice him?"

John scoffed a little. "Some fancy tech if I'm to guess. But it might just be what most men want; money, women, fame."

"Right." Alan said. "If he hasn't reported in yet or didn't desert, and if he's not dead, the other option is that he was captured. What's your assessment on the danger he poses if the rebels plan to use his knowledge against us?"

"If they can get him on a terminal that is hooked up to our network, I'd say quite a lot. Else I'd say it would depend on what hardware and software they got for him to use."

Alan stood from his chair. "I want you to begin an audit of our terminals and robots. Anything he had access to needs a new password and needs to be checked for any back doors he might have left. Whether he was abducted or defected, I want to make it as difficult as possible for him to regain access to our networks. I'll inform the Head Scribe so that the other Senior Scribes can begin that process as well."

“Yes, sir." John stood also up and gave a salute. Though it was clear from the way he carried himself that he almost never did any salutes. "Will do at once."

Alan returned the salute, and left the office.

He spent the next half hour going through the rest of the workshop, asking other scribes what they knew about Garret. The responses he got were similar to the Senior Scribe's, as Garret did not seem to have many friends, and usually kept odd hours. More enlightening was what he learned about Senior Scribe Quinlan, a man notorious in the workshop for disappearing during the day and saddling his subordinates with most of his tasks. Alan began to get a better sense of why Quinlan and Garret clashed.

Eventually, Alan made his way to Garret's quarters. Floating outside the door was a modified Mr. Handy that one of the other scribes had mentioned Garret owned. It seemed to dormant, so Alan asked in a louder voice, "Your name is Cody, correct?"

It took a second for the robot to awaken. At first it just floated up from the ground and assumed what looked like it's default state before turning it's three camera eyes towards Alan. "That is correct," the robot answered in a strange accent.

"I'm Paladin Lord Alan Ogawa. Maybe you can help me. Garret is missing, and I was hoping you might know something that could help me find him." Even after years of it, talking to robots was still a strange experience. The middle space they occupied between appliance and person, given their ability to communicate and have somewhat distinct personalities, was always off putting.

"Of course he's missing. He should be back by now. And I don't know where he is. He's nowhere in this compound."

"He was out to deactivate a C-27 unit when the vehicle he was in was ambushed by rebels. It's possible they staged the ambush to capture him." Or he staged it to defect, thought Alan, but he wasn't going to mention that. Though now that he considered it, had Garret been planning, would he have left this robot here? Or at least, left it active? It seemed unlikely. "What do you think the rebels might have wanted Garret for? What might they force him to do?"

"I haven't the slightest clue. If they wanted him for anything they should also have taken the project he was working on; a computerized rifle scope. But the prototype was still in the workshop last I checked."

"What about projects in the past he might have worked on? Would any of those be of use to them?" Alan didn't think the rebels had targeted Garret specifically, but knowing what Garret knew might help prepare him for whatever it was the rebels would do with him.

"I can't see them wanting computer games unless they're extremely bored. Targeting programs for our turrets may be something. Though the railgun was just an idea. Not that I think they would have the tech to realize it."

"Targeting programs for our turrets? Was that something he controlled?"

"He did some minor adjustments and improvements to an existing one. And did experiment with a newer version for the scope prototype."

The thought of the Brotherhood's turrets turning against them made his blood run cold. "Anything robotics related?" Alan suspected that the rebels had chosen their bait carefully. A malfunctioning robot was sure to draw a scribe who knew something about robotics, if that's what they were after.

"Nothing apart from sketches and ideas that never went anywhere."

"But he has a basic grasp, I'm sure, between his arm and you. Has me modified you in any way?"

The robot became strangely silent and just kept staring at Alan as if it hadn't registered the question.

Alan spent another several minutes going through Garret’s private quarters, but didn’t find anything helpful there. Or at his corner of the workshop either. With that he informed the Head Scribe of the audit and of the turret targeting program, donned his power armor, and set off in an IFV for Forgotten Homes.

The last time he’d gone out there’d been no need for power armor, but it was clear the city was growing increasingly dangerous. He wasn’t going to take any chances that a lone sniper or bomber might do him in. His work was too important to let something so stupid kill him.

It wasn’t long that he arrived at the site of the ambush, the overgrown park near the southeastern corner of Forgotten Homes. The Brotherhood soldiers were still out in force, having surrounded the park entirely. Alan’s IFV parked on the road just north of where the reinforcement vehicles were still being repaired.

Alan walked to those first. A scribe was lying on his back beneath the front of one, doing something to the undercarriage. “What stopped them?”

The scribe crawled out and looked up, apparently cued in by Alan’s modulated voice that this was someone he shouldn’t ignore. “Pulse mine, sir. Hit them both. But right now I’m fixing some of the damage from the shooting. Should have it done within the hour, sir.”

Alan left the man to his work and walked once around the dead vehicles. There wasn’t much to glean there, though, nothing that the survivor’s report didn’t also contain. The real scene was the jeep and the bus. The jeep was on its side, marked by laser fire and bullets. The bus had rolled on after impacting the jeep, and was a few yards away. Looking around, even with the overgrown grass and the trees, it was the perfect spot for an ambush. A few people could hide on the hill, the others in buildings on either side of the park. Maybe a sniper in an apartment, no, the angle was too low, the trees in the way. He looked around and saw the water tower, with perfect sightlines over the park and the roads on either side.

Looking at it all, the park, the bus, the water tower, something about it was different, Alan felt, than the previous attacks. The scale was larger, certainly, but it was also so thoroughly planned. There were no rebel bodies, though the survivors were certain a couple had been killed. And there was a goal besides death and destruction. This didn’t seem like the work of someone like Taylor Simon, much less his escaped subordinates. This attack spoke to some long-term plan, and a tactical mind at work. Why else had they taken a scribe, if not for something else down the road? And how else had everything gone so smoothly, if there was not someone smarter than Taylor Simon’s allies behind it?

Alan heard mechanical stomping behind him. Turning around, he saw power armor identical to his, with the horned helmet and cape dangling from the shoulder. “Inquisitor Welles.”

“Paladin Lord Ogawa. I was wondering when you’d show up,” Sterling said. The smirk was plain in his voice, even if Alan couldn’t see his face.

“So you’ve been over the scene already?”

“Of course. Did you see them?”

“See what?”

“The boot prints.” He began to walk back toward the jeep, and Alan followed him. Once there, Sterling said, “Do you see them now?”

Sure enough, he did. They weren’t as clear as the ones he and Sterling made, but around the jeep and heading off towards the houses were a pair of power armor boot prints. “Our Paladin only arrived with the reinforcements, and never entered the park,” Alan said.

“I’ve been here since soon after the platoon that secured the area. These prints are the enemy’s.”

Alan peered closely, but the grass made it impossible to tell from what kind of power armor the prints came from. “Are you sure they aren’t the C-27’s?”

Sterling’s horned helmet shook, and he pointed over to the side of the hill where the deactivated robot was lying in the grass. “Look at its feet. The protrusions on the side, the width, its not close.”

Alan did, and found Sterling was right. “It would’ve taken some skill to program this robot. We haven’t seen that sort of knowledge from the rebels yet. And it means they did not want the scribe for his robotics knowledge. They clearly have someone who can handle that.” Alan turned on his radio, contacting the Brotherhood headquarters. “This is Paladin Lord Ogawa. I want inspection teams sent to gun stores, electronics stores, and robotic repair shops. Call it a contraband search. Look for any indication of C-27 parts. If found question owners intensely.”

“That might turn up something,” Sterling said. “Though more likely than not, whoever did this will hear of the inspections before it’s their turn. Still, it can’t hurt.”

Alan ignored him and turned back around to look at the jeep. “Lets find where the prints lead.”

It took a few minutes to find and keep the power armor’s trail because of the multitude of other prints in the grass, but eventually Alan and Sterling found themselves at the edge of the park, facing a row of houses. Alan took one end and Sterling the other, and they went from house to house, questioning those inside about the power armored rebel. About a quarter of the houses were uninhabited, and those that were held less than friendly citizens. They answered Alan’s questions with ‘Yesses’ and ‘No’s’ and little else.

Alan and Sterling had only two houses between them when Sterling said over the radio, “I think I’ve got something.”

Alan joined Sterling in a positively filthy home that made him glad his helmet was filtering out the smells. Cowering on a stained couch was a balding middle aged man with an unkempt beard. Sterling said, “He let slip he was here during the ambush.”

“What’d you see?” Alan asked the man.

“Nothing! I hid soon as the shooting started.” The man was clearly afraid, his hands digging at the couch and his voice cracking when he spoke.

“Did you happen to hear my speech when I first arrived?”

“Your s-speech?” When realization hit him about who he was talking to, the man’s eyes grew wide. “Uh, yes. Yes sir! I did.”

“I distinctly remember saying that anyone caught assisting the rebels is a rebel in the Brotherhood’s eyes and will be sent to Paradise. Withholding information from us is assisting the rebels.”

The man was on the verge of tears now, and when he tried to speak his voice caught in his throat. After a few moments he gathered himself and said. “He came in here, kicked down the door.”

“The man in power armor?” Alan asked.

The man shook his head. “The scribe. He hid in the cabinets. Then the man in power armor came.”

“What did it look like?” Alan asked.

“E-exactly like yours. It had the horns.”

Alan and Sterling looked at each other. Alan couldn’t see Sterling’s face, but he knew they shared the same look. One of recognition. Without another word they left the frightened man behind and walked to the middle of the park. Safely away from any ears.

“Felix. It has to be him.” Alan couldn’t believe what they discovered. Now the pieces of the ambush were falling into place. “That means the Thatches will be hear as well.”

“It explains all this.” Sterling waved to the jeep, the bus, the robot. “Still, they’ll have had help.”

“Contacts in Forgotten Homes, no doubt. Explains how they were able to set up, escape, pull this all off. I wouldn’t be surprised if the gangs were involved again,” Alan said.

“You going to question them?” Sterling asked. Alan caught something in his tone, even through the modulator.

“Yes. Why?”

“You played that card once with Little Grog. I don’t think it’ll play again. Especially not after this. The people here have shown us they aren’t on our side.”

It was always like this, Sterling always questioning Alan about something. “What’s your plan, then?”

Sterling’s power armor creaked a bit as he shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I know it won’t be dragging two bit gangsters off the streets to kick their shins in. This ambush was the prelude to something. Which probably means we have time. I think it’s better to listen now than to act.”

“Not all of us have the luxury of doing nothing,” Alan said. “You might get to hide and search in the shadows, but I’m in the public, and I’m beholden to the soldiers, to the people, to the Elders, and Barnaky.”

“Well, good luck. I’ll let you know if I find something I need your help with. Until then, I’ve got some shadows to skulk in.” The smirk was in his voice once again as Sterling walked away.

It was time for Alan to leave to, but he wanted Sterling gone before he did. Even with the Inquisitor’s dour notes, this was still a wildly successful trip. Felix, a former Inquisitor, who, along with Gregory Thatch and his family, stole Brotherhood equipment and turned rebel. These were not just up jumped criminals like Taylor Simon. They were Brotherhood traitors, men who had abandoned their brothers and sisters and turned to savagery and barbarism. Alan would like nothing more than to see them strung up where all of Wellstone could see them. Bringing them to justice was a ticket to becoming an Inquisitor, of that he had no doubt.

For the first time since his arrival in Wellstone, Alan saw the path in front of him clearly. He would pacify the city by bringing the Thatches and Felix to justice. He would become an Inquisitor, and continue to root out rebels. The Brotherhood army, under someone else’s command, would take on the mutants of Gateway City. It wasn’t his destiny to rise to general or lead that army, but to serve Barnaky in rooting out insurrection wherever it lay. In this dream, Alan even took down an Elder or two who had mutant sympathies. But first, Felix and the Thatches.  

Alan left the park behind, heading not to the Brotherhood Headquarters, but to Wellstone Security’s headquarters in the Market District. He left his power armor in the IFV, donning a leather jacket and his beret.

He entered the building and was immediately escorted to Chief Harrington’s office, and it was only a couple of minutes before she arrived. A much quicker response than his first few times meeting with the Chief. And a much warmer one. After initially resenting the Brotherhood’s arrival, the Chief had come around to their presence. Alan found her much more cooperative now, eagerly so.

She lit a cigarette and said, “I though you’d be out at the site of the ambush. Hell of a thing, that.”

“I just returned from there. I think it’s likely that Felix and the Thatch family was involved.”

Her eyes went wide. “No shit? Well, what do you need from me? We didn’t know they were here, so we don’t have anything on where they might be hiding or working with.”

“I think they had help from the gangs in Forgotten Homes. Likely those around the park where they ambushed my soldiers,” Alan said.

Chief Harrington ran a hand through her short red hair. “You’re not going to like this then.”

“Like what?”

“A few days ago, we stopped getting information from our informants in the gangs around the ambush. It was the Blackcoats first, probably in retaliation for us shutting down their brothel and chem kitchen. Made sense, all things considered. Then it was the Empty Eyes. Those fuckers are high more times than not, and we found our informant dead from an overdose. Didn’t think anything of it. But most recently, our friends in the Nines and the Untamed went quiet too.”

“That means you have no way of gaining information from inside those gangs.” Alan ground his teeth together, and he wondered if the Chief could hear it.

She nodded. “There’s not much help we can offer. It’ll take time to find new informants, and at this point they’re likely going to tell us whatever the gangs want us to hear.”

“Do you know their leaders?”

“Of the gangs? We know a couple. A woman who goes by the name Sister Lee leads the Blackcoats. And Dominic Maceo leads the Nines. The Empty Eyes are weird. We don’t know if they’ve even got a leader. And the Untamed play things close to the chest. I’m pretty sure our informant there was filling our ears with what we wanted to hear before, and now they’re not bothering to do even that.”

“Where can I find Dominic Maceo?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. He does a good job of staying hidden.”

“What about Sister Lee?”

“I don’t know what you want, but I don’t know where these people are. You could find one of their subordinates, if you were set on trying to find them.”

“Where can I find a Blackcoat, then?” When he’d been looking for Taylor Simon, Alan had gotten lucky, and the Chief had someone in custody who could help him. Now his luck had turned, and he was going to have to find someone himself.

“If you want to go looking, check the old churches in the southwestern corner of Forgotten Homes. They like to move around between them, but chances are you’ll find someone there who could help you.”

Alan stood, but before he left said, “Chief Harrington, by the next time we meet, I want whoever leaked your informants’ identities caught. I’ll have questions for them.”

She frowned and stubbed out her cigarette. “Understood.”

Alan’s IFV travelled back to Forgotten Homes, and once again he donned his power armor. He was going to have to get used to wearing it anywhere he went in Wellstone. There would be no more parties in the foreseeable future for him.

The first church they checked was empty, and the one following that. By the third Alan had grown increasingly frustrated. His day had started off poorly because of the ambush, and then he’d found a very important lead, but now it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to capitalize on that. If he couldn’t get to the criminals that helped Felix and the Thatches, he wasn’t sure how he’d find them at all.

It was dusk when they pulled up to the third church, on the furthest end of Blackcoat territory, Alan saw that the lights were on. Already a better sign than the first two. He didn’t wait for the vehicle to stop before he jumped out and marched up the steps. There was no knocking, only a fist breaking the locks on the doors. They slammed open, and there was a bright flash of muzzle fire from Alan’s left. The shotgun pellets dinged harmlessly against his power armor, and he ripped the shotgun from its mount on the wall and tore it in half. He turned and looked down the center aisle, and saw, stretched between two couches, a tripwire.

His men were beginning to move inside now, but he halted them with a raised hand. “No one’s here. They knew we were coming after the first two.”

“Should we fan out and search the surrounding buildings?” a soldier asked.

“No. We’re done for today. There’s nothing for us here.”

With that they boarded the IFV once again and set out for the Brotherhood headquarters. Alan knew it hadn’t been a wasted day. He was certain the goal was to capture a scribe, and thought it unlikely Garret had defected. And now he knew that Felix and the Thatches were in the Wellstone area. Both of those things were important, certainly. But like with the initial search for Taylor Simon, he couldn’t help but feel he was playing catch up to the rebels. He didn’t know how to get out ahead of them, how to stop their next attack. The straw would continue to pile up, and he just hoped he could stop it before the piece that broke everything.

Edited August 28, 2018 by BTC

[Witchking of Angmar]

Blacksmith

Two letters there had been. One with a very visible stamp that looked like a modified Brotherhood sigil, with the cogs but with a court hammer instead of the sword, and a circle around with text reading: Wellstone Court of Law. The other had no direct visible sign of the sender, but quite heavy and thick for a regular envelope. The letter from the Wellstone court was very formal and informed that he was to be at the Wellstone courthouse 10 am within 5 days. The anonymous letter held a letter that had ten gold coins taped to the back of it and read:

"Mr Hudson was on the ground floor in the living room. Drunk and asleep."

Given that Richard wasn't the only witness he was sure the other guards that had been there that day had received similar letters. Which in a way made the choice easy. A lone divergent testimony wouldn't change anything. It was still a sad affair that it would come to this. 

A large shootout happened in Forgotten Homes two days before Richard was to appear in court. The city became a buzz of gossip and rumors, although the streets became a little more empty. Brotherhood patrols became larger and more frequent. Almost every street corner was within the view of one patrol or another. It was as if they had almost all of their forces out and ready to respond to another attack. At least Richard didn't have to worry about any more muggers. Although getting stopped whenever he was delivering a package bigger than a fist was getting annoying. 

On the day Richard was to appear in court he managed to make a couple of deliveries to a few houses near the courthouse. Hopefully he would be able to testify quickly and then get back to work. 

The courthouse was a large, white building with roman styled pillars at the entrance. A mixture of old and modern design. Inside it was a grand hall with a painted roof high above. The wear and tear made it clear the paint was from before the war. Only things on the ground floor seemed to be any new at all. At the reception in the middle of the hall sat an old woman with glasses. She held herself with such proper composure that she reminded Richard of one of his old friend's grandmother; a woman that had followed the rules of etiquette with an almost religious fervor. 

Richard half expected her to sneer and lecture him that his back wasn't straight enough as he approached her, making him feel a little like a boy again. Instead she only gave him a disinterested glance over her glasses. 

"Where is room C-12?" asked Richard. 

"Third floor. Up the stairs on my left, then take right. It's on the left side of the hallway," she replied in a courteous tone and a friendly little smile. 

"Thanks." 

Richard followed the direction and soon found himself in the hallway, so tall and broad that in any other house it would be a main hall. The room wasn't that far from the stairs. Outside it on benches and sofas sat a bunch of people. Richard recognized one of them as the elder guard he had met at the Hudson residence on the grey moustache. The three people besides him Richard figured were his colleagues that had also been there that day. They weren't wearing their riot gear and instead wore some plain clothing. 

Opposite of the guards on a sofa sat a woman that looked to be in her forties, with two mid teens, one boy and one girl, besides her. The woman and girl both wore fine, yellow dresses while the boy wore a white shirt and black pants. All three of them looked like they didn't want to be there. Most likely the Hudson family. 

A little bit further away from them sat a young, blonde girl with medium long hair and a soft but slim face. She wore baggy clothes and oval shaped glasses, and held a pen and notebook in her hand. Most odd about her though was that the tips of her hair were colored bright blue. A somewhat pretty girl Richard thought, and even with the very baggy sweater he could spot that she was rather buxom.

Seeing as how the guards and the Hudsons had taken all the seats near C-12, Richard sat down on the same bench as the strange girl. Although he sat down at the far end from her, not sure what kind of person would have blue hair. She however quickly noticed that and scooped over closer to Richard, much to chagrin. 

"Hi, are you here for the murder in the Gold District?" she asked with a friendly smile. 

"I'm here to testify for a murder in the Gold District," replied Richard. 

"I'm Isabelle Silver." She reached out her hand to shake. "I work for Hard Facts & News. I'm sure you're familiar with us?"

"Somewhat." Richard was sure the others were now staring at him. The press was probably the last thing they wanted here and now. 

"You new in this town?"

"Let me guess: my accent." Richard gave an annoyed frown. 

"Yeah." The woman tried to look as innocent as possible. There was a moment of awkward silence before she continued, "So you saw the murder?"

"I saw the victim after she was murdered."

"What did the crime scene look like?"

"She lied dead on the floor with her head smashed in."

"You don't sound at all bothered by that." She gave him a skeptical look.

"You said it yourself: I'm not from this town."

"So where are you from?" 

"Far away. To the northwest."

It looked to have peaked her interest as she turned a page in the notebook and prepared herself to write. "How is it out there?"

"Intending to write the story of my life?" said Richard half jokingly. 

"If it's interesting enough for an article."

Richard quickly checked his watch; five past ten and no sign that the court was about to begin. He drew a small sigh. "I guess I could answer a few questions."

"What's your name?"

"Richard. Though I'd prefer if you left my name out of any article."

Isabelle only gave an unconvincing nod. "So where are you from?"

"Didn't I already answer that? Far to the northwest."

"No I mean your home where you were born."

"A relatively quiet place."

"Why did you decide to come here."

"Was forced onto the road. Wandered it for a while. Then came here because I heard this city was a nice place to settle."

"Why were you forced onto the road?"

"Bad luck." Richard gave her a look that he didn't want to extrapolate on that subject. 

"How was life on the road?"

"Brutal."

"Only brutal? Come on, give me details."

"Details?" Richard gave her a skeptical look. He couldn't imagine that anyone would really want to hear the details of the brutalities of the wasteland. In part he envied her ignorance. Some things weren't something you'd just forget. No matter how hard you tried. 

"Yes, details." She seemed very insistent. 

Richard was quiet for a little moment. He wasn't in the mood to tell her some stories, at least not there. But after some more thought he turned back to her, "Sure I'll tell you some stories. After I'm done with this court. And if you give me twenty P."

Isabelle didn't look that pleased. "Fine. But-"

She was interrupted by the door to C-12 opening and a man in a relatively fancy, grey uniform stepped out. 

"Alright, court is about to begin. Everyone take your seats and remain quiet," he said in a stern but calm tone. 

Everyone got up on their feet and began to slowly shuffle into the courtroom. It was a small room with wooden panels, booths and desks in pre-war style. The guard in uniform motioned for them to take a seat at the grandstand at the back of the room. Though as Richard stepped into the room the guard stopped him.

"No weapons in the courtroom."

Richard grumbled a bit before handing over his dagger. At least he still had his other knives that were hidden on him. Not that the guard seemed that keen to investigate as he seemed content enough with the dagger and let Richard through. 

Some fancy old man appeared and took a seat in the main podium in front of them. He declared the court in session with the bang of a wooden hammer against the desk. Richard pretty much zoned out and only paid nominal attention to what was going on after that. Mr Hudson was in there with another man by his side, both wearing a suit. A bit further to the side of the two were another man in a suit along with some woman in a flowery dress. 

The fancy old man, the judge, made some proclamations that Mr Hudson was accused of murder by the woman in the flowery dress that also was the murdered girl's mother. That was followed by some formalities after which Mr Hudson was called to testify first. He was made to swear to tell only the truth upon some odd black book. Then he gave his story of how he had been out drinking, came home and fell asleep in the living room at the ground floor. The murdered girl had been the housekeeper of the Hudsons and he denied having even seen her that day. The victim's mother rose up and accused him of a number of things, foremost of blackmailing the victim into sleeping with him or lose her job. All while the judge banged his hammer against the desk demanding order. It was such a cirkus. 

After some very lax questioning from the prosecutor, not even pointing out the couple of obvious contradictions even Richard had noticed in Mr Hudson's story, Richard was called to testify. The whole thing made him slightly uncomfortable, but mostly annoyed. As Richard walked up to the small booth besides the judge he gave the other a quick glance. The guards and Ms Hudson looked calm but also gave him subtle looks of expectation. Everyone else only gave him various curious looks. 

He took the seat in the little booth and the book was brought forth. It was old and weathered so much that whatever text or markings it may have had was too faded to make out. Richard placed his hand on it as Mr Hudson had done. 

"Do you swear to tell the truth, only the truth and nothing but the truth. You swear to God," said the prosecutor. 

said the prosecutor. 

"I do," said Richard. Not much of a god of justice to swear anything to though. Words of truth seem to hold little value here, thought Richard.

The book was removed and the prosecutor made some attempt at being dramatic by pacing back and forth as he talked, "So you work for The Post Office, correct?"

"Correct," replied Richard. 

"And your name is?"

"Richard."

"Only Richard?"

"Richard Smith if you want to be exact."

"And you found the victim's corpse?"

"I did."

"Where did you find it?"

"A room on the third floor."

"What else did you find in this room?"

"I only peeked inside as the door was slightly open. I only saw a body with a head smashed in. After that I went straight out of the house to the nearest guard."

"Thank you. That was all," said the prosecutor. 

After that Richard returned to his seat as one of the guards was called up. One by one they gave the testimony that Mr Hudson had been found in the living room on the first floor while the victim had been found where Richard had said she was. When asked about any solid evidence linking Mr Hudson to the scene of the crime there was nothing other than that he had been in the same house. Something the defendant pointed out didn't prove anything as it was a big house and someone could very well have murdered the housekeeper and left before Mr Hudson had arrived back home without noticing a thing before he fell asleep. 

Eventually the judge ruled not guilty and everyone was free to leave. Everyone seemed slightly relieved that it was over, except for the victim's mother that looked almost broken and about to burst into tears. The entrepreneurial side of Richard thought about seeing if and how much she would pay for an assassination. But he pushed those thoughts out of mind. He hadn't come to the city to create a trail of corpses. 

Richard was the first to leave the courtroom. Quickly retrieving his dagger from a small bench before the guard could even hand it to him. He had already missed out at least a couple of deliveries. As he made his way down the stairs he heard Isabelle shout after him, "Mr Smith! Wait!" To which Richard didn't stop but only slowed down enough for her to easily catch up. "You promised me to tell me some stories of the wild wasteland."

"I did. But I still got work to do. Try to keep up," he said in an as friendly tone he could muster. 

She began to walk besides Richard, although having a little trouble to keep up with his brisk pace. "Why were you snooping through the house of the Hudsons?"

"Well if you must know, I get paid per delivery and I need a signature from the person I deliver to to get paid. The door into the house was open and I heard a sound from the floor above. I didn't want to leave because that meant I wouldn't get paid. So I decided to investigate."

"What sound?"

"Something heavy hitting the floor."

"So the murderer might have been in the house while you were there," she said, more to herself than to Richard.

"If so I was lucky to miss him." Richard opened the door out of the courthouse. "Ladies first."

"Did you learn those manners out in the brutal wasteland?" she asked with a humorous smile as she walked out the door before Richard.

"No," he simply replied, not showing any desire to explain further. 

Isabelle seemed to get the hint. "So what can you tell of the lands not controlled by the Brotherhood?"

Richard gave a weary sigh before beginning to tell her some of his stories. Even though she seemed to like the gory details, Richard still decided to change some parts and a few details here and there. She didn't need to hear the most horrible stuff. He didn't want to remind himself too much of it either. Especially the parts he was responsible for. 

"So was that all?" she asked with undiminished expectation.

"Pretty much," lied Richard. "At least the interesting parts."

"And what about the uninteresting parts?"

"Haggling for food prices and the like," said Richard dryly. 

"Well, I think I got enough for a nice article. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And which newspaper did you work for again?"

"Hard Facts & News."

"Isn't that the one that keeps inserting a mention of how good the Brotherhood is into almost every article?" 

"Not every article. But yeah," she gave a slightly painful expression. "I'm sure my boss will want me to insert a couple of lines of how the Brotherhood keeps the dangerous wasteland at bay."

"I get the feeling you don't particularly like your job."

"I like it in parts. Mainly the writing."

"Feeling underappreciated?" 

"How did you know?"

"Just a guess."

"Yeah, most of the top journalists are running around the Homes and Steel District looking for new angles and stories regarding the big shootout."

"And why aren't you?"

"They told me to not get in their way or steal their stories."

"So you're instead hanging around the courthouse looking for them?"

"Nah. I just happened to overhear my boss mention to a coworker that some man from the Gold District was going to be charged with murder. But that there wasn't enough evidence and he'd likely go free. I had nothing else so I came to see if I could find something, anything."

They arrived outside The Post Office near the center of the Market District and just south of the I-35 and I-70. There they took their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Richard made a few more deliveries. The second to last one he made sure to stop by his home, an apartment high up in a skyscraper just east of the Tower Market. A cheap place with no electricity and a big hole in the outer wall. There he picked up the ten gold the Hudsons had given him. The last delivery he made was to the Forgotten Homes. Something they were rather surprised at at the Office. In the Homes he made a detour and a stop outside the orphanage and put the ten gold into the donation box outside. Bribes were for the corrupt and honorless, and he had only kept his mouth shut as to not get into trouble. 

He then headed back to the Office to pick his last payment for the day. To his surprise, Aly Hall was inside, chatting up a couple of the sorters. She looked up and smiled when he came in. "There you are." She left the sorters without so much as a goodbye and threw her arms around Richard in a surprisingly strong hug. When she pulled away, he noticed there was something serious in her eyes. "Can I walk with you?"

"Uhm, sure," replied Richard, unable to hide his surprise. 

They set out, not really discussing where to but ultimately heading north towards the riverfront throngs. Warning signs had been recently posted along the warehouses reading: SAVE YOUR CITY! REPORT ANY SUSPECTED REBEL ACTIVITY! A few of them were covered in graffiti saying things along the lines of FUCK THE BOS! 

As they walked, Aly talked about her work. A bunch of it was mechanical mumbo-jumbo or stories about some ornery customers she had dealt with. Though Richard could tell something was off. He did not know Aly all that well, but in the short time since meeting her, he had picked up that she was a very expressive and involved speaker, who used lots of gestures and asked a lot of questions throughout their conversations. Today, it seemed like she was distracted, as though what she was saying wasn't really what was on her mind.

"... I had to leave the city for that one," Aly said, speaking of a job to fix some farming equipment down in Rockmasha Turf. "Me 'n my brothers. It was the farthest I'd been from Wellstone. Crazy, huh?" She looked up at him, and that serious look returned. "You came a long way to be here. I know what that means. You've killed plenty, haven't you?"

"Yeah." Richard averted his eyes in slight shame. Like if Isabelle hadn't been enough in regards of reminding him of that. 

"How did you... I don't know... feel afterwards? The first time, I mean."

"Well, my first was during rather hectic times. I didn't even get a chance to stop and think on it. Later however... Let's just say that I pushed it out of mind. Hard to sleep otherwise." 

"Just like that, huh? You just pushed it out?" Aly sighed. "You wastelanders are made of different stuff. I don't think I could do that."

Not even Isabelle had asked such questions. Richard began to wonder what Aly had done, or intended to do. Not that he expected an answer if he asked. Instead he just silently hoped she would stay out of trouble. "I guess it becomes easier when you worry about whether or not you will survive the next day."

"Then you've got different problems. Still, though, I..." She paused. "You know what, nevermind. I'm sorry for bringing it up."

They walked in silence for a bit. The temperature started to drop as it got later in the evening, and Aly shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. This part of town was normally dim by now due to the sun being blocked by the tall buildings to the west, but tonight their path was illuminated by a bunch of glowing pumpkins that the locals had carved up and stuffed with candles. Aly did not seem to think much of it. She even motioned to one of the pumpkins and asked, "So what are you gonna be dressing as?"

"What? Dress?" He looked at Aly with confusion. 

"For Halloween?" She looked surprised by his ignorance at the word. "Hell, I guess it is different out where you're from. Even the Lost Landers have Halloween. That's some Old World shit."

”Only pre-war holiday I know of is Christmas.”

"Halloween is way more exciting." She grinned. "There's a festival along the riverfront, with music and games and food from the harvest. And everyone makes costumes for it. Ghosts, mutants, famous dead people they saw pictures of... It sounds creepy, I know, but I swear it's better than it sounds."

"So it's a form of masquerade?" 

She stared at him blankly. "A what?"

Richard couldn't help but to chuckle at the two's disparate ignorance of the past. "A feast where the guests dress up and wear masks."

"What, like in tuxedos and dresses?" She made a face. "Now that is creepy. Halloween's supposed to be a little scary. That's what makes it fun... So now that you know, whatcha think you'll be dressing as?"

"I got an idea regarding a picture I once saw on the cover of a book. Though it'd require a hat, a long coat, a mask and some paint."

"Sounds mysterious. I like it."

They continued on past the rows of glowing pumpkins until they reached the river. The sun was good and set by then, and most of the venders were gathering their wares to put up for the night. Of course Brotherhood soldiers could be seen no matter what direction you were looking, but the people of Wellstone were starting to get used to their increasing presence.

Aly nodded her head towards a patrol as it passed them by. "Let's hope these jerkoffs don't shut it all down, eh? Wellstone needs a holiday."

"Aye, let's hope." At that moment Richard saw something strange swim by right near the surface of the river. It was only there for a second before it was gone. But it hadn't looked quite like a fish. "You saw that?" he said and pointed at where the thing had been. 

"Probably a mander or riverlurk." Aly gave a dismissive wave. "Don't worry. They hardly ever beach in the city."

"Still, I hate stuff that lurk like that." Such creatures gave him an unpleasant feeling and a strange desire to get his hands on a flamethrower. 

She seemed amused by that. "They make good eating." Her expression softened. "Thank you for coming out here with me. I needed this."

"No need to thank me." At that moment he saw movement in a dark alley a bit farther away behind Aly. Nothing came of it and it was probably just a stray cat. But he found himself still reaching for his dagger and scanning his surroundings for threats for a second before snapping out of it. He still hadn't gotten used to the city life and the constant sudden movements and sounds were a bit taxing. He then returned to Aly. "And it's nice to have someone to talk to in this city."

"Damn right it is," She smiled. "We'll have to do it again, soon. Maybe even at the festival?"

"I think I'd be lost there if I don't have someone guiding me."

"Don't worry, we'll probably get lost there anyway." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then pointed over her shoulder with a thumb. "I should get going. Guess I'll be seeing you around."

"Didn’t you live in the Crossroads?" Richard gave her a curious look.

"I do." Aly's expression became sly. "Didn't say I was going home."

"Just do me a small favor," said Richard as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Stay out of trouble."

Her eyebrow raised. "Me? Trouble? Never."

Richard smiled but still gave her a skeptical look. ”You should hurry up then. Hard to avoid getting caught during curfew now.”

"Only if you don't know how." Aly winked and started off. It didn't take long for her to disappear in the thinning crowds of the river market.

That girl would be trouble. Richard just knew it. Hopefully it wouldn't be anything too bad though. Then with quick feet he steered his journey home.

Edited September 26, 2020 by Witchking of Angmar

[BTC]

The Sheriff
 

Lawrence was about ten or eleven when the brahmhorn kicked him in the chest. They’d only been in Horse Head for a year, and Lawrence wasn’t quite used to the wasteland then. Wasn’t quite used to animals in general, since there hadn’t been any in the vault. It was a mean old cuss of a brahmhorn, not unlike Pancho and Lefty, he thought. Some kids were messing with the animal, throwing rocks at him and running across the corral. Not all the way across, just enough to get the brahmhorn to charge at them a little before they slipped out. Really, doing anything they could to aggravate the animal without getting killed.

He wasn’t even in the pen when he got kicked, either. He was running around the outside, when the brahmhorn decided he wasn’t going to wait for someone to get in the pen with him. It hit Lawrence with a back hoof, neither head bothering to even look at him. Knocked the breath clean out of him, and he lay there on the dusty ground gasping while that brahmhorn bull trotted around his pen, proud as he could be.

Lying awake in bed at a shitty South Union hotel, Lawrence felt real similar to how he did back then. Except with each breath, it felt like that brahmhorn was kicking him again and again. The bullet that shattered his ballistic chestplate had left a nasty purple and green bruise in the center of his chest. Where the bullet had hit was dark purple, almost black. It was getting better, but he thought it was probably a good idea to have Ezekiel check him out just to be safe. Last thing he wanted was the injury to linger because he had a fractured rib.

Lawrence crawled out of bed and pulled on a shirt, wincing the whole time. The first rays of sunlight were shining through the holes in the curtains, and he guess it was about six o’clock. He pulled on his pants, which had nearly as many holes as the curtains, and his boots, which needed resoling or they’d fall apart soon.  The last thing he did was put his holster and belt on as he left the hotel and walked into South Union.

Things had changed quite a bit in the time the Texans were gone. The day they’d left there was some sort of shootout, and the Brotherhood took down a group of rebels. Since then there’d been attacks and ambushes by both sides, near as Lawrence could tell. There were more Brotherhood soldiers about, and everyone seemed much more on edge. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about all this, the Brotherhood, the rebels, whatever else was going on.

It reminded him of the Alamo Cult at home. He’d only had a few run ins with their members, and every one left him with a sour taste in his mouth. Lawrence never could see why they hated ghouls. They called them ticking time bombs and the reason why Texas fell. He didn’t know what that last part was about, but as for them being time bombs, he didn’t think they were any more dangerous than a regular human. The feral ghouls he’d run into only ever tried to scratch and bite. He much preferred fighting that to someone with a gun.

Still, there was something to be said for Wellstone. It was unlike any place Lawrence had ever seen. So many people, with reliable water, electricity, and food. There were movies, shops with repaired pre-war goods, industry like he’d never seen. He knew it wasn’t great for everyone, though. They’d passed by Forgotten Homes heading to board the boat that took them toward the Lost Lands.

The old captain and mate of that boat had explained some of the Brotherhood’s history, about the rebel Mutant Liberation Army and how it had lost and the mutants built a fortress in Gateway City. It made Lawrence wonder what the goals of the rebels were. Kick the Brotherhood out? Reform it? Revive that army and go to war? He certainly hadn’t expected to run into any of this, but he’d be a liar if he wasn’t at least a little interested in what was going on.

Especially now that the Texans were in Wellstone for the foreseeable future. They were going to discuss that this morning, which meant Lawrence probably needed to head back. He’d walked north, toward the row of shops across from the Scholar’s Rest, where they’d stayed at the first time they were in South Union. He finally found what he was looking for, and made a note to come back later. He then turned south, away from the nicer parts of the town and back to the grimy hotel where they were staying.

It was almost eight when he returned. Everyone was awake by then. Ezekiel gave Lawrence a look over and said he thought Lawrence might have a cracked rib or two but nothing that wouldn’t set and heal on its own. By the time he finished getting looking at, the rest of the group had gathered in his room.

There was an air of sadness in the room, with little talking and downcast expressions. Not just for Linda, James, and Maxine, but for Roger, Henry, and Otis too. They’d left the Lone Star Republic with twelve members, and now they had half that.

“Well, we’ve got to get to it sometime. What’s the plan?” Reyna asked. Lawrence appreciated her bluntness. This needed to be a conversation where they addressed things head on.

“We can’t go back,” Lawrence said. “Not unless we want someone else to die.”

“What are you suggesting, that we stay here forever?” Kim asked. Her voice had cracked and gone a little high-pitched. He could tell she was afraid.

“We try and go back, someone’s likely to be killed. We don’t have the fire power or the skill to survive the Lost Lands again,” Lawrence said.

“I wanted to see and study new things, not leave home forever!” Kim said. She was on the verge of tears. “My parents are back there. Am I supposed to never see them again?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lawrence said. “I think we send Ojo back, inform folks back home what happened, and tell them to send another group. Of Rangers and soldiers. The Republic will want to know more about what’s up here, and that way when we return we’ll be much less likely to get killed.”

“How do you know they’ll send anyone?” Kim asked.

“We can’t know for sure,” Abbey said. “But Lawrence is right. I’ve travelled most of my life and I’m not comfortable trying to make it back.”

Guillermo nodded. “There’s been too much death on this trip already.”

“Most of us left for one reason or another. Maybe some time away will do us good,” Ezekiel said. Of the others, Lawrence had figured he’d be the most likely to want to stay. No family back in the Republic and powerful folks who wanted him dead.

“Once word reaches the merchants they’re going to start sending expedition to the Nation of the Middle Waters. There’s too much money in it for them not to. The Republic will follow sooner or later, and when they do, we can go home,” Lawrence said.

“What do you say, Kim? You alright with staying?” Reyna asked. She hadn’t said her own opinion yet, but Lawrence figured her for wanting to stay too.

Kim looked around at everyone and wiped away the tears at the corners of her eyes. “Yeah. Yes. What y’all said made sense. Zeke and I aren’t soldiers and it would be stupid to expect the four of you to be able to protect all of us. Sorry, I just-“

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Lawrence said. “I think we’d all the feeling the same, in your situation. I know for a fact I would.” He thought back to Maxine’s drive to find her friend. If Lawrence had anyone in Texas to return to, there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d stay in Wellstone. He was glad Kim had a little more sense than either he or Maxine did.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Abbey said. “Next thing up, we need jobs. We don’t have any money and I don’t want to contract something from staying here too long. At least sleeping outside I don’t have to worry about bedbugs and black mold.”

“We can check out one of those job boards in Wellstone,” Reyna said. She turned to Ezekiel and Kim, who were holding hands now, and Lawrence almost didn’t hide his smile. In spite of everything, he was happy that something good had come of this trip. Reyna continued, “Though you two should probably fix up Ojo before you find something. The sooner we send him off the better.”

“We’ll need a few parts, but they shouldn’t be too hard to find or modify from other robot parts,” Kim said. “It’s the fiber optics that’ll be difficult to find…” She was back to the usual Kim, lost in her own thoughts and furiously using her Pip-boy.

“We’ll leave you two to it, then,” Lawrence said. “But before we go to Wellstone, I could do with a haircut.”

Lawrence led them to the row of stores by the Scholar’s Rest, where he’d found the barbershop on his morning walk. They took their turns in the chair, with Lawrence getting his hair trimmed and his beard shaved off, save the mustache that followed the downward curve of his frown. He realized he was noticeably grayer at the temples than he was when the trip started. There were a few more creases on his forehead too. His eyes were as dark brown as ever, and his nose hadn’t straightened out, but he didn’t look too worse for wear. He continued to toe the line between rugged and leathery, handsome and ordinary. At this point in his life, he didn’t much care which way he fell.

Guillermo’s shorter beard was shorn off, and he and the barber had a long discussion about how exactly he wanted his hair cut, with Guillermo deciding on a coifed, dapper style. Abbey usually kept her hair braided, and it reached down to the small of her back. She got it shortened so that, when she braided it once again, it fell between her shoulder blades. Reyna’s wasn’t that long now, but she cut it short so that it fell just past her ears. Afterwards she put it up in a short ponytail tied her green bandana back around her head.

By the time they were finished they looked almost respectable. Everyone’s clothes were dirty and had too many holes, but they didn’t look they they’d just stepped off the road either. Though they would need to get some new clothes at some point. He was wearing the thigh length black trench coat he’d bought to help disguise himself when he followed James, but besides that they weren’t exactly dressed for living in the city. But that could come later. First they had to get some money, and that meant finding jobs.

The jobs board was on the Wellstone side of the Grand street bridge from South Union. As they were crossing the bridge, a train set off from the station nearby, and they stopped and watched it disappear back into Wellstone.

“Can’t say I ever expected to see a train,” Lawrence said.

“It sure is something,” Abbey said.

“Shame they’re a bunch of pendejos,” Reyna said, now looking at the Brotherhood soldiers guarding the bridge.

They all murmured in agreement and made their way across the bridge. The jobs board was posted outside the fortress of a three story building that the Brotherhood stored weapons in. There were turrets guarding the doors and snipers posted on the roof of it and the run down apartment building across from it.

Notices and jobs were nailed one on top of the other, but one stood out. The paper was larger than the rest, with a flourished border and the words printed in a fancy font while most of the others were handwritten. It read:

See your dreams realized upon the stage! Become Wellstone’s next celebrity! 

Singers and musicians wanted to join the best entertainers the Belt has to offer. Steady pay, room and board included.  

Inquire with George Parker at Clara’s Cabaret and Casino in the Market District

Guillermo smiled and said, “Well, now you what my job will be.”

“And here I thought this city would be big enough to contain your ego,” Lawrence said.

“I’d be nicer if I were you, Lawrence. You’re looking at Wellstone’s next big celebrity, after all,” Abbey said.

“Very funny,” Guillermo said. “We’ll see if it’s not true, though. A mysterious stranger from dangerous lands to the south with nothing but his guitar and his good looks? I’ll have these city folk eating out of my hand within a week.”

They all had a good laugh at that before they went back to the board. It didn’t take long for Lawrence to figure out that a lot of the posters were not jobs but advertisements for private investigators. He pointed one out and said, “Y’all see this? I wonder why there’s so many.”

“Apparently the security guards and soldiers don’t do much investigation,” Reyna said. “While you were off following James, we went to a bar and got to talking with some folks from around here and one called himself a private eye. Said people usually hire one to solve crimes.”

It sounded like the perfect job for Lawrence, but there weren’t any postings for such work that he could find, just advertisements for different private eyes. At least, nothing that said, “Come solve this murder” or “Priceless family heirloom stolen.” There was one advertisement, however, that caught his eye. The paper was once nice, though now it was water stained and tucked behind more recent job postings. It read:

Discrete help needed. Meet in front of Gold Station at nine o’clock at night. Look for the white jacket. Prior investigative experience recommended.

“What do you think this is?” he asked the others.

Abbey took it, read it over, checked the back, and then handed it off. “I don’t know, but the Gold District is where all the rich folk live.”

“Well, it can’t hurt to check it out,” Lawrence said. “You two find anything yet?”

“I think I’ve got something here,” Reyna said. “It’s for The Lodge. Says they need experienced hunters and trackers for a hunting expedition east of the city. You down for that?”

“We should ask around about it first. But I can handle a hunt, if that’s all it is,” Abbey said.

“We’ll need to look for steady employment after this,” Lawrence said. “But it’s a start. Y’all going to head there today?”

“It doesn’t say when the expedition is leaving. We’ll find out what we can and head down there afterwards, see if we can go ahead and get hired on,” Reyna said. “Sound good?”

Abbey nodded, and then said, “Let’s go ahead and get going. We’ll see y’all around.”

Guillermo said, “I’m going to head back and grab my guitar. I need to figure out what song to play for the audition. What’re you going to do?”

“If I want this job I’ve got to make an impression. Figure I’ll get some new clothes after all. At least, something without holes,” Lawrence said.

“In case you don’t have enough.” Guillermo handed over a few gold coins. He cracked a smile and said, “I’m about to be the next star of this city, so I can spare some money.”

Lawrence laughed at his friend as they went their separate ways, Guillermo heading back into South Union and Lawrence going north to the Market District. Now that he wasn’t following James, he had the chance to take in the city. As he got closer and closer to the Market District, the buildings grew up around him, a mountain range of glass and steel and brick, all leading to the central peak that stood above it all. The Brotherhood Lookout Tower was the perfect reminder that they were always watching and looking down on their citizens. Or was it subjects?

The people didn’t seem to mind. At least, those busy shopping in the Market District didn’t. They flitted in and out of stores, chatted with friends on the sidewalks, seemed altogether oblivious to the soldiers standing watch on the street corners. Lawrence wondered if you got used to just closing your eyes and enjoying the comforts, ignoring the omnipresence of the Brotherhood.

A richly adorned brahmin cart came down the street, with a pair of guards clearing folks out of the way. Folks like that probably didn’t even have to ignore the Brotherhood. He’d read a story in one of the newspaper about a rich man acquitted of murder in a case that seemed clear as day malfeasance. Hell, he’d probably be working for someone like that soon enough. For someone like that, it would do well to buddy up to the Brotherhood, not pretend it didn’t exist. But he figured most of the people just wanted to keep their heads down and survive. The Brotherhood made that easy.

Lawrence pushed those thoughts of his mind as he entered the store. There’d be time to worry about this city later. First, he had to get some nicer clothes. He spent the next half hour finding a pair of jeans his size that didn’t have any holes, which he promptly bought, along with a gray button up shirt. He considered buying a fedora, but though his black felt cowboy hat was faded and worn, it didn’t seem right to wear something else. All told the clothes didn’t set him back too much, so he went and got his boots shined by a boy on the street. They still needed new soles, but at least they wouldn’t be covered in mud. Between his black trench coat, newer clothes, and cleaned up boots, he almost looked the part of seasoned detective.

With that done he left the store. It’d been a week, but it still felt strange to be shifting so quickly away from finding the lost expedition. Not long ago they’d been trudging through the Lost Lands again, and now here he was buying clothes and getting a haircut. Life moved quickly, he knew, but it seemed like Maxine’s feverish search for her friend had rubbed off on everything she’d touched. Still, he wished he and the others could’ve slowed down, been able to take some time to remember those that had passed. Linda got a funeral, but James and Maxine didn’t, and there hadn’t been enough energy on the return trip to properly mourn. And now everyone was out looking for jobs or robot parts. Maybe that was just what city life was like, or what their lives were like now.

Lawrence spent the rest of the day exploring, learning the main roads, figuring out which districts were where, and getting some idea for what was in each. Hopefully, if the conversation was short enough, he could pass for a local. He stuck to the south of the river and west of Forgotten Homes and the Industrial District, since he’d passed by both of them before.

At one point, he stopped to hear a lecture by a man with one good eye, the other milky white and his eyelids a bright red ring around it. He wore uncomfortable looking brown robes, his head shaved completely bald. There was a small crowd gathered around him as he spoke and gesticulated enthusiastically.

“The All-Seer reports visions of danger and evil in Wellstone! Your earthly senses betray you, and you are blind to the truths the Sight reveals. Make your offerings, seek the guidance of the All-Seeing, and only then can you be sure of what lies ahead!” The half-blind man stepped off the box he’d used to address the crowd, and a few people shuffled forward and pressed coins into his hand. The man closed his one good eye while the other remained opened, and he said, “Yes, yes, I see you are considering a decision, a difficult one. Do what your heart, not your mind, tells you. Only then will you have happiness and prosperity both.”

Lawrence scoffed and moved on to find some food. If all he had to do to make money was close his eyes and make vague pronouncements, maybe he should’ve bought a pair of robes and an eye patch instead. He was near the River Market, so he stopped there for some food. He had some fried fish that tasted better than he’d expected, given that the part of the river than ran through town didn’t look especially clean.

After that he headed to the Gold District and spent several hours walking it, though he made sure not to linger too long in any place. He knew how rich folks could get if they thought some vagrant was hanging around, and he didn’t want someone to sic Wellstone police on him. Two hours after sunset he found a place with a good view of the benches out in front of the Gold Station. He didn’t spot anyone else who’d showed up to watch the place, or anyone with a white jacket. It wasn’t until just a couple minutes before nine, judging from the clock on the Gold Station, that a woman in a white coat walked into view and sat down on a bench.

She had platinum white hair, curled and flowing to her shoulders. He was certain it had to be fake, because she didn’t look nearly old enough to come by it naturally. Beneath her white overcoat she wore a simple though well made blue dress, and she was wearing shoes that didn’t seem very sensible, with a heel several inches tall. In both hand she clutched a purse that matched her hair and her coat. All the white and her pale skin made her already angular face look even more so. She was a striking woman, though Lawrence wouldn’t have called her beautiful, though others probably did. The hair and the angles of her face were too artificial for his liking.

Lawrence checked around, made sure she wasn’t being followed, and didn’t see anyone besides a few folks rushing to make the nine o’clock train that they’d certainly be late for and the pair of police officers chatting with each other near the building’s entrance. The woman in the white coat had enough sense to take the bench furthest away from the entrance, which was a good sign.

He approached from an angle that she could see him coming, so he didn’t scare her by sneaking up. He kept his head down, mostly so the police wouldn’t get a good look at him, but did glance up enough to see the woman smiling. Her teeth were almost as white as her hair. Lawrence sat down on the end and looked at the woman expectantly.

She was oddly chipper, he thought, between her demeanor and her smile. She said, “I didn’t think anyone would ever show up. A few more days and I would’ve stopped coming myself.”

“No one brave or stupid enough to take a chance on something so vague, I guess,” Lawrence said.

“Which are you, then? Brave or stupid?” the woman asked.

“I like to think I’m more brave than stupid, but more curious than either,” Lawrence said. And desperate above all else.

“Brave and curious I can work with,” she said. “You’ve done this work before?”

“Not this exact work.” He fished the badge out of his pocket and showed it to her. “I was a sheriff a few years back. A small town, but on the frontier, so we had our share of crime.”

“I’m sure you did. Though I would say this requires a bit more tact than gunning down raiders. But beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.” She offered her hand for a dainty sort of shake. “I’m Patricia Devereux. A pleasure to meet you, Mister…”

“Lawrence Harding.” He shook her hand and left it at that. He wasn’t sure if it was a pleasure to meet her yet, and he didn’t see the point in empty platitudes. But there was something else there, something in her voice when she said her name. And the look she had, like it was her turn to expect something. Devereux must be a name he was supposed to know, so he cocked his head to the side and feigned realization.

“Yes. My husband is Robert Devereux, of Devereux Munitions,” Patricia said. Lawrence nodded, though he didn’t have the slightest clue about her husband. She continued, “And he’s what I wanted to talk about.”

Lawrence saw that her left ring finger was naked, and that there wasn’t even a tan line there. Like she hardly ever wore her ring, probably only when her husband was around. He figured Robert for a cheater and that’s what this was all about. “What do you need me to?”

“I believe he’s having an affair. He spends so much time ‘working’ and avoids my questions. He’s never home before dark. But I can’t prove anything.”

“And that’s where I come in. Why all this mystery though?”

“I’ve tried to go to others. They won’t take it at all once they hear his name. The few who might’ve would turn around and sell the pictures to his competitors, and I don’t want that. He’s paranoid about the other munitions merchants trying to undermine him and has always kept an eye on the P.I.’s.” Her hands clenched into fists. “He’s ended the careers of better men than any of them. No one wants to be the one to cross him. All the while he acts as if nothing is wrong, like he’s not bribing and threatening people into ignoring me. I’m not going to sit by and be made a fool of.”

There was some resentment in her voice, but it wasn’t quite what Lawrence had heard before from other scorned spouses. He figured she probably wanted out of the marriage, and her husband cheating was as good an excuse as any. She was looking for leverage more than anything. Lawrence asked, “What kind of proof do you want?”

She fished around in her purse and pulled out an old camera. “Do you know how to work one of these?”

Lawrence took it in his hands. It’d been a long time since he’d seen one that worked. His family had one in the vault, but they’d left it behind. “I do, actually.”

“Good. Get me pictures of him with whoever he’s sleeping with. Here,” She reached back into her purse and pulled out a small pouch. “To cover any upfront costs. Once I have the pictures, I’ll double that.”

Lawrence tucked both the camera and the pouch in pockets on the inside of his coat. “Where do you live? So I know where to find your husband.”

“On the south of the main road here in the Gold District, on the west side of the street. Our name is above the gate, you can’t miss it. When you get the pictures, come by some time during the day. He’s not home until late, midnight usually.”

“I’ll get you those pictures. A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Devereux.” Lawrence stood and tipped his hat.

“Mr. Harding, do be careful. My husband won’t take it well if he catches you. And I don’t want to go through the trouble of finding your replacement.”

Lawrence nodded and walked into the train station. He didn’t take lightly Patricia’s warnings. The way he figured it, Brotherhood connections and wealth meant Mr. Devereux could disappear someone if he wanted to. Which meant either Lawrence’s death or Robert’s, and neither sounded appealing.  

It was a few minutes before the train arrived. Lawrence was a bit excited to ride it, but his feelings soured when he remembered all of this was built on the backs of whomever the Brotherhood didn’t like. When he arrived at Union Station, he turned his tags in, got his gun back, and headed toward their ratty hotel. He hoped there wouldn’t be many more nights spent there.

**

The Doctor and the Scientist
 

It was only a couple hours after the others left that Kim had conclusively determined what parts they needed to repair Ojo. Both she and Ezekiel were glad that working on the eyebot provided her a distraction from thinking about their conversation with the others, about staying in Wellstone for the foreseeable future.

Kim hadn’t expected the trip to go how it had. Her expectations for the whole thing were foolish now, looking back. She imagined an expedition with plenty of stops to study the world beyond the Republic, not a forced march through extremely hostile territory. Before the trip she’d travelled outside of the vault before but never really been in danger. She wouldn’t have been on the trip at all had she not been able to cover the jobs of at least two people with what she knew. But she had wanted to go, so see the world and study it firsthand. The idea of never returning home hadn’t crossed her mind before it had suddenly become the reality. Even now, while she was trying to distract herself from the idea that she might never see her parents again, tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.

At least she had Ezekiel. The one good thing that had come out of this trip, since she didn’t even care anymore about the discoveries she’d made or the information she’d uncovered. She’d had romances before, both in the vault and the places she’d travelled to in the Republic, but looking back none of them were serious. He was the same way, having only had what he now realized were flings before this. Danger certainly put life in perspective, and made both of them realize that they didn’t want to spend whatever amount of time they had alone.

Though for Ezekiel, staying was an unexpected reprieve from the idea of returning to the Republic and living with the target on his back. He didn’t regret what he’d done back in the Republic. But he hadn’t realized how truly heavy the weight he’d been carrying was until it was suddenly lifted, when they all decided to stay. Not that Wellstone was his idea of paradise. From what they’d learned, it was a city of the same kind of corruption, in a nation even worse than the Alamo Cult. At least here there wasn’t a bounty on his head. Not yet, anyway.

“I have the list of parts we need, Zeke,” Kim said, bringing them both back to the present problem of fixing the eyebot. “It could take us a while to find them all. Some of the parts I can modify, but the fiber optics and some of the wiring won’t be easy to find. And especially the heat resistant sensor module.”

“We should probably get going, then,” Ezekiel said, smiling despite his thoughts on the city. He’d didn’t like to be called Zeke, though he made a special dispensation for Kim.

They left the hotel and South Union, heading into Wellstone to look for the robotics parts. At the checkpoint the Brotherhood soldiers gave a second look at Kim’s Pip-boy, but otherwise they passed through without issue. Ezekiel kept a scowl from his face, though Kim wasn’t any more or less cordial with the soldiers. She wasn’t as off put by the Brotherhood as he and the others were.

Kim was right, some of the parts were difficult to find, but they had only one left by the end of the day. Kim was easily distracted, like she’d been while looking at the Mr. Handy painting that radio tower. Wellstone was a technological paradise, which meant every corner turned there was a chance something new and interesting lay in their path. And if it did, she had to have a look. Ezekiel didn’t mind spending the day strolling through the city with her, though there was always the sensation in the back of his mind that this paradise hid a whole lot of ugliness behind the bright lights and whirring motors.

They left the Market District behind, and made their way to the north side of the Crossroads District. The last place they had to look was a shop called The Garage. Even though it did more repair work than sold parts, Kim said they only needed one last sensor module, either heat resistant or not. They found the shop, a two-story brick building with a large garage door next to a regular door, and two windows situated on the second floor above them both. Between those doors and the windows was a simply sign that read “The Garage.”

Kim and Ezekiel entered into what initially seemed to be an empty shop, though she heard some unintelligible talking nearby. She called out, “Hello? Do y’all have any sensor modules?”

"Just a second!" a man's voice shouted from the back. A few moments later, there came the sound of someone descending a flight of stairs followed by a young bored-looking man appearing from the back rooms. "Sorry about that." He waved them over to the counter. "Now what did you-" His voice trailed off, and he whistled while motioning to Kim's wrist. "Oh shit, you're a vault dweller! Tell me that Pip-Boy ain't a 3000 Mark IV!"

"Yes it is," Kim said. She held up her left arm and turned it a bit so the man could get a better look. More often than not, people were far more interested in the Pip-Boy and her past than anything else, but she didn't particularly mind, since it was seldom people she was interested in either. "Do you have much experience with Pip-Boys?"

"A little," he said, then quickly added. "A guy I knew had one. Years ago. But it was a 3000A. I didn't even know that there was a vault from around here that issued the Mark IVs."

"I wouldn't know," Kim said. She couldn't quite remember what story they were telling folks, but Ezekiel quickly noticed her hesitation and he jumped in.

"We're not from around here, actually," Ezekiel said. "We're from down south, around the Nation."

"Interesting," said the handyman in a tone that wasn't particularly convincing. "Well I don't know what RobCo was thinking with the old models of those things. Impractical design, insecure OS, and that biometric lock... No thanks. Not yours, though, that's a good device." He was looking at the Pip-Boy eagerly. "Are you here because something's wrong with it? I'd love the chance to crack her open and take a look."

Kim instinctively pulled her arm back, though just as quickly an apologetic look spread across her face. "Sorry, but I haven't let anyone else work on it since I got it. We're actually here for some sensor modules for an eyebot. The standard ones, not the ones with the heat resistant coating."

The young man looked disappointed, but did his best to play the part of shopkeeper in spite of that. "Of course." He reached under the counter and came back up with a rusty green ammo box, which he opened and started to rummage in. "I've got magnetic, capacitance touch, optical... I've never worked on an eyebot but most RobCo tech is fitted for their multi-function modules, standard nearly across the board. That's probably what you'll be needing. How many will it be?"

Kim was peering in the box, thinking about what modifications she could make with some of the modules. Increased optical and sensor range, quicker processing and reaction time, all sorts of interesting changes. She would need more parts, and it would take longer, but-

She felt a hand on her arm and looked up from the box. Ezekiel was looking at her, the small and kind smile on his face. Usually he was too concerned with and aware of the world's shittiness to smile, but seeing Kim get lost in her work or an idea usually brought it out.

She returned it and said, "Two standard, and one optical will do. You wouldn't also happen to have any circuit boards, would you?"

"Look in that box over there." The handyman pointed to a crate on top of a workbench. "Should be plenty to choose from."

Kim went over to a metal crate and began to dig through it. She was hoping for a military grade circuit board, but would take anything that was high quality.

Ezekiel was still near the counter, and he asked, "There a lot of business in robotics here in Wellstone?"

"Oh yeah, more than most places, I reckon," he replied. "The Brotherhood of Steel are crazy about them, and there are thousands of old bots to dig up in the city outskirts. Scavengers bring them in all the time."

“Hear that, Kim?” Ezekiel asked. “We might have to go scavenging, see what we can dig up.”

“That sounds exciting,” she said. She’d never scavenged before, but the idea of searching old ruins for hidden robots certainly sounded fun. She walked back to the counter with a heavy duty looking circuit board in hand. She asked the shopkeep, “Do we get to keep what we find, or does the Brotherhood claim certain robots?”

"City law says you can keep whatever you find out there, long as it ain't Brotherhood tech to start with." The man frowned. "But between you and me, I've met plenty of folks who've had findings confiscated that they swore up and down didn't fit the bill. Shit they dug up that hadn't been active in centuries."

"I'm guessing there isn't much in the way of legal remedy, is there?" Ezekiel asked.

"Against the Brotherhood? None that'll work."

Ezekiel sighed. Wellstone was interesting and frankly amazing, but he was disappointed to hear once again that this place was as corrupt as he expected.

Kim gathered up all of their parts and pulled out a bag of gold. "How much for everything?"

Before the shopkeep could answer, the front door swung open. "Hey Aly, you ready to go?" they heard a familiar voice shout.

Kim was distracted, counting out coins to pay with, but Ezekiel felt a smile growing on his face as he saw Richard. "Looks like we just keep bumping into each other."

Richard looked at them with a mixture of surprise and confusion before returning a friendly smile. "At least you're not pointing your guns at me this time," he said jokingly. "I haven't seen you for so long I thought you skipped town."

"We did, actually," Kim said. "Or rather, we left for a couple weeks, headed east to the Lost Lands. But things...it didn't-"

"We lost Maxine, James, and Linda in an ambush," Ezekiel said. "We've only been back a couple of days."

"Oh," said Richard as he made a slightly painful expression.

"Aly's upstairs." The handyman looked a little puzzled by the reunion going on in his shop, but he didn't say anything on it. "One sec." He went to the back door and hollered, "Aly! Your boyfriend is here!"

"Fuck off!" came a girl's response. 

He returned to the counter with an amused grin as they heard the sound of footsteps drumming around up above.

A young woman that looked like she was barely twenty, with brown hair tied up in a ponytail and saggy clothing, soon appeared. Richard turned to her and said, "Still want to go to the cinema?"

"Yeah." She went over to him and nodded at Kim and Ezekiel as she passed. "My brother helping you two out?"

"He was," Kim said, stuffing the purchased robotics supplies in her bag.

"And we were just catching up with Richard," Ezekiel said. "We travelled with him for a few days not too long ago."

"After having sneaked up on me and held me at gunpoint," said Richard jokingly.

Kim and Ezekiel both chuckled. Ezekiel said, "It wasn't the most hospitable reception, I'll give you that."

"Seems you're doing well here," Kim said. "What sort of work have you found?"

"Courier," said Richard. "Lets me learn the city, but the pay is pitiful."

"I keep telling him he should save up for some metalworking tools," Aly said. "He used to be a blacksmith."

"Problem is it's the forge and anvil that's the hard part."

"I think you should listen to her," Ezekiel said. "We haven't been here long enough to learn much, but I have to imagine there's good work in blacksmithing. Even if it's just making nails."

"And who knows, with people scavenging up robots and other pre-war tech, maybe you could get into the business of fashioning metal for repairs. Especially since you have friends in the robotics business," Kim said.

"We'll see. Industrial equipment can make a good forge. Though I get the feeling there's not much of that outside the Steel guys. Functional anyways."

"Hell, I can build a forge," said the handyman. "All the scrap I get in here, it wouldn't even be hard. Keepin' it fed would be the only issue. Heat like that is expensive to maintain."

"I know," said Richard. "And I don't expect the wasteland surrounding the city helps with the competition in the charcoal business."

“Maybe you can find someone to apprentice for,” Ezekiel said. “You’d make more money that you could save up to get your own place eventually.”

"Or I could... Nah, forget it. That wouldn't even make for a good joke," said Richard with a slightly annoyed expression. "Anyway, how are you doing?"

"We've..." Ezekiel started, and then shared a glance with Kim. He couldn't help but feel partially responsible for Linda's death. He'd saved people who were worse off before, and he kept thinking about what he could've done better. As for Kim, the conversation with the group earlier this morning and the idea that she might never return to her home and her parents weighed heavy on her mind. But both of them knew how the other felt, even if the others in the room could only guess what the sadness in their smiles and voices meant.

 "We've been better," Kim said, finishing Ezekiel's thought. "We came here to buy some supplies to repair Ojo with. Its sensors were damaged pretty badly, and some sensitive internal wiring needed to be replaced too. And your friends here actually had a circuit board I can use to enhance the sensors, so that'll be helpful. I'd been hoping to do that at some point, and now I finally can."

"Well that's good," said Richard. "And hopefully it'll help you avoid further ambushes. Though maybe you should refrain from heading into the Lost Lands again."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Ezekiel said. "We plan on staying here in Wellstone for a while."

"Maybe we can all catch up, sometime," Kim said. "I'm sure the others would like that."

"Sounds good. Where are you staying?" said Richard.

"In South Union," Kim said.

"At a shitty hotel," Ezekiel added. "Once we get settled somewhere a little more permanently, maybe then we can get in touch? Everyone is sorta off doing their own thing right now."

"Sure. Just leave a note at The Post Office. That's where I work," said Richard.

"Feel free to invite your friends," Ezekiel said. He looked at Aly and the handyman behind the counter. "We're new in town so we're willing to pay for dinner to learn a little more about it. I'm Ezekiel, by the way."

"And I'm Kim," Kim added.

"Aly," Aly replied. The handyman didn't say anything, so she added, "And that's my brother, Ethan. One of us is here pretty much all the time."

"It was nice to meet y'all," Kim said.

With that the Texans said their goodbyes to Richard, and made their way back to South Union. They'd spent most of the day on the hunt for parts, so Ojo's repairs took place over the next few days. In short order they'd fixed it up and uploaded all of the information they'd compiled on the trip onto the eyebot and sent it on it's way south, back to the Lone Star Republic.

[BTC]

**

The Explorer and the Sneak
 

“You’re fucking with us, right?” Reyna said.

“What’s life without adventure, without the thrill of knowing death could be right around the corner? All those Wellstone folks sit around and gamble for their thrills. The only time anyone has died gambling is if they lost it all and blew their brains out afterwards,” W.M.D. Mooar said.

“Or they borrowed from the wrong people and got their skulls bashed in,” Lillian Buck added.

“And where’s the fun in any of that?” W.M.D. continued. “At least if I go out this way, it’ll be a story to tell.”

“We’re not looking for an interesting story,” Abbey said. “This is a job for us, not some adventure.”

“You of all people should understand what we’re doing. From what you told us, your life is nothing but adventure,” Lillian said, the stupid mile never leaving her face.

W.M.D. said, “You’ll make plenty of money, we promise. Every time we get something new in here, folks from the city stop by to gawk at it. For most of them the only real danger in their lives is that they might step in brahmin shit. Seeing these creatures up close is like huffing chems for them. We’re willing to pay to get it here.”

Abbey and Reyna were face to face with two of the craziest people they’d ever met. Lillian Buck was a tanned, thin, wiry woman with a tight bun of brown and grey hair. She was past middle aged, with the lines on her face from the sun and constant smiling. Her partner was W.M.D. Mooar, a man as strange as his name. He had a rotund belly that hung out over his belt, along with thick, bushy red muttonchops and head of red curls. He was about Lillian’s age, maybe a touch older. Both of them wore khaki shirts and pants with lots of pockets, wide-brimmed hats, and bandoliers slung across their chests.

It seemed to be the uniform of the Lodge, which Abbey and Reyna had learned was a group of hunters and animal collectors. Lillian and W.M.D. were the chief collectors, and were looking to add a snapper to their collection. From their description of the animal, it didn’t sound like something sane people would attempt.

“Are y’all sure you wouldn’t just rather kill it?” Abbey asked. Getting eaten by a monster because some idiots wanted to put them on display wasn’t how she wanted to go out.

“We’ve killed them before. It’s tricky, certainly. Takes a steady hand and a crack shot,” W.M.D. said. “The shell and the scales, you see. Tough hides.”

“Bringing them back alive, that’s the real challenge,” Lillian said. She motioned out the window of the two-story building that was the Lodge’s headquarters. “Look out there. The hunters of the past filled every last one of those cages with dangerous creatures. We’ve barely filled a quarter. A snapper would be the highlight! People would forget all about the bear and the salamanders.”

“Why aren’t your fellows downstairs joining you, then?” Reyna asked.

“The animals we’ve captured were the product of a select few of us who have interest in these creatures outside of just killing them,” W.M.D. said. “Most of the others are content with trophies, won’t both with capturing things.”

“And the others who do have an interest in it? Where are they?” Abbey asked.

“Maximizing our chances,” Lillian said. “They’ve gone to search along the river for one.”

Abbey and Reyna shared a glance. They’d already outline their credentials to the hunters, who had spent some time deliberating before agreeing to hire them, but now it was the Texans’ turn to think things over. Abbey said, “Why don’t y’all give us a minute to talk this out. We’ll meet you downstairs with our final answer.”

W.M.D. smiled as wide as his belly. “We look forward to it.”

The pair of hunters left down the stairs, leaving the Texans alone in the rather nice lounge. Cigar smoke drifted up from the hunters talking down below, while stuffed and mounted sentinels watched over the foreigners now occupying the room.

“I swear, every corner we turn, this city gets stranger and stranger,” Reyna said.

“It takes a special kind of comfort to hunt not for food but for fun,” Abbey said. “And these folks want to take it a step further and capture something.”

“We’re gonna do it, aren’t we?” Reyna said. She knew the hint of a smile was playing at the corner of her mouth. It was reckless and stupid, but it was an exciting challenge all the same.

Abbey felt the same, though her mind was busy on how exactly to undertake the effort. As extensive as her travels were, they always came about after equally extensive research and planning. Things done on a whim were likely to get someone killed. “Yeah, I think we are.”

“At least if things go sideways, we can out run ‘em,” Reyna said.

They called Lillian and W.M.D. back upstairs, and the four of them talked out a plan. Abbey didn’t know much about snappers, and so relied on the hunters for that information, but otherwise she steered things. Even when they laid out their plan to catch the snapper, Abbey made sure they’d thought things through and filled in any gaps they did leave. That was her specialty, while Reyna was content to sit back and let the three of them hash out the details.

Lillian and W.M.D had prepared everything they needed, only waiting for capable hands to come along to round out their party. Now that Abbey and Reyna were on board and the plan was in place, they set off east, to a place the hunters called Blue Springs Lake. Abbey and Reyna had everything they needed with them, so they spent the night at the Lodge and left early the next morning.

The lake was murky and green, the swampy banks overgrown with tall grass and cattails. Some trees grew out of the water’s edge, while others clustered together on small rises in the ground, away from the marshy lands below. Any buildings that once might have sat along the shore had long since rotted away. The group situated themselves on one of those rises, leaving the cage and the bait down below. They had two brahmin with them, both muzzled to keep them quiet, and the group made sure to situate themselves and the brahmin upwind of the cage. The bait was a pile of fish dumped in the middle.

It wasn’t a complicated plan, all things told. Lure the creature in, the door falls, Lillian shoots it with a tranquilizer, and they haul it away. The hunters had even gone ahead and turned the cage into a wagon itself, so there wouldn’t be any loading to do. Abbey thought it could’ve been a two person job, though it had fallen to her, the best tracker of the group, to find the place to leave the cage. Mostly, she thought the hunters just wanted someone skilled enough to check their work. This could be a dangerous job if it went wrong, and having two more pairs of eyes and ears certainly wouldn’t hurt.

Reyna’s job was to be those eyes and ears. She’d set up in one of the trees, giving her a good look at the lake over the top of the cattails and grass, and inland to the more forested areas. The hunters had explained the snappers liked to nest away from the water, though it was far past the time of year for breeding. Still, if one came that way, she’d see it.

This wasn’t too dissimilar to what she’d done back in Texas. As a caravan guard her job was usually to sneak ahead if there were any signs of trouble. The roads of the Lone Star Republic weren’t as safe as those of the Brotherhood, though they weren’t on the level of the Lost Lands. Mostly she looked out for lone highwaymen looking to ambush travellers, not caravans, but occasionally one might get desperate and try their hand at bigger game. With Ojo in the group she hadn’t done that, though.

Most of this hunt was a waiting game, though not a pleasant one. It was late enough in the year that it wasn’t overwhelmingly hot, but it hadn’t gotten cold enough yet to kill off the biting insects that called the lake home. Reyna saw a few monstrous ones in the distance, but thankfully they were only plagued by the little ones.

All the time waiting meant Abbey and Reyna had plenty of time alone with their thoughts. They both thought about the conversation with the others yesterday morning, about having to stay. Abbey hadn’t been completely honest with the others. She wasn’t comfortable trying to make it back as a group, that was true, but she knew she could do so on her own. She’d made more dangerous journeys alone before. But she didn’t want that this time. Having the others around was nice, and besides, she was used to sticking around the places she travelled to for a while after she got there. Wellstone wouldn’t be any different in that regard.

Reyna hadn’t spoken her mind at all during the conversation, mostly because she didn’t know what she wanted herself. She was fine with staying for a while. But she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to return. She liked the people she was with. After all they’d been through together she didn’t want to go back, only for everyone to go their separate ways. That was selfish, knowing Kim wanted to see her parents and the others probably had plans as well. She did know for certain that she didn’t want anyone else to die on this trip, and so any thoughts of returning would have to wait.

It was well into the evening before they spotted their quarry. The snapper stood taller than a human when standing upright, though it shifted from walking on it’s hind legs to using all four, a long, scaled tail dragging behind it. Its shell was a mass of jagged spikes, like the adornment of some raider lord’s metal armor, but the snapper’s wasn’t decorative. Neither were the sharp teeth that complimented the massive jaws that Lillian and W.M.D. said could bite right through a person’s arm. The Texans didn’t doubt it for a second.

The snapper stalked up to the cage, sniffing at it and looking warily around. But the bait was too enticing to pass up, and it eventually made it’s way to the fish inside. When the cage door slammed shut the creature wheeled around and began to thrash about, it’s long claws raking against the metal bars, producing a horrible scraping sound that cut short the sound of insects singing the sun away.

Lillian’s rifle made a sound like a sharp breath, and the bright red feather of the tranquilizer dart contrasted against the snapper’s green and grey skin even with the fading sunlight. But it wasn’t stopped yet. The snapper abandoned using its claws and began to bite at the bars. The metal creaked and groaned against the creature’s massive force. Reyna and Abbey’s stomach sank when they heard the crack of one bar breaking, and then another.

Thankfully, the tranquilizer was doing its job, and the creature slowed. After a few more moments it stopped entirely, collapsing in a heap on the bottom of the cage. The group moved quickly, bringing the brahmin around to the cage. When they got there the group could see that the snapper only managed to break through two bars, which wasn’t enough for it to squeeze out. But the fact it had even done that made the trip back more perilous than expected.

“Reyna, you and I will lead the brahmin,” W.M.D. said. “Lillian, keep that gun loaded. If this thing starts to wake up, put it back down. Abbey, if that doesn’t work, start shooting. Our lives aren’t worth it escaping.”

They moved as quickly as they could, W.M.D. driving the brahmin relentlessly over the broken road to the Lodge. The creature was heavy, though, and the cage was necessarily heavy as well. They hadn’t made it halfway back before Lillian had to shoot it again.

“Do we have enough to keep it down until we get back?” Abbey asked.

Lillian was too long in answering, and when she finally spoke her voice was shaky. “I’ve got one more shot.”

Everyone knew what that meant. They’d either be coming into the Lodge with a wide awake snapper and hoping the cage held, or killing it just a few miles outside.

“Reyna, hop on,” Abbey said, motioning to one of the brahmin. Reyna wasn’t so sure about that, and Lillian and W.M.D. had confused looks on their faces as well. Abby continued, “Hold on, and keep them straight.”

Reyna didn’t have much time to think that through before Abbey drew a knife and sunk it into the backside of one of the brahmin. The one bolted, forcing the other to do the same, as Reyna dug her heels in to keep them on the road. A glance over her shoulder told her the others were sprinting to keep up. Abbey knew this was the only way to make it back with the snapper. So long as one person with the tranquilizer could keep up, they’d be fine. She expected the hunters would trade a stabbed brahmin for the snapper without a second thought.

Reyna took the plan and ran with it. She dug her heels in hard to keep up the fast pace. She wondered if this was how her second wife Laura felt, busting armadillos in Texas. Reyna’s heart was beating so fast she thought it might explode, but the panic had given way to thrill, and a grin stretched across her face. If they could keep this pace, they’d make it back with time to spare.

Back behind the cart, W.M.D. was falling behind Abbey and Lillian. He wheezed out, clearly not in a shape for running, “Go on without me. Just make sure you dart it again.”

He slowed to a walk, and soon disappeared behind the others. Abbey had run faster and further than this before, and Lillian was no slouch herself, both keeping pace with the cart through the trip back. Only as they neared the end, with the lights of the Lodge barely visible in the distance, did the older woman start to slow. Without a second thought Abbey grabbed the rifle from her and sprinted to the cart.

When she arrived the snapper was beginning to stir, even going to far as to groggily rise to four feet. It hadn’t yet started thrashing about, but it soon enough would. Abbey ran alongside the car, stuck the barrel between the bars, and fired the final dart into its hide. A few moments later, it slumped back down.

Within the hour, the unconscious creature was resting in it’s new home, a deep swampy pit surrounded by high walls. The Texans took their payment, with a generous bonus, while the hunters basked in the admiration of their fellows. Reyna and Abbey left on tired legs, with the gold in their pocket and Lillian and W.M.D.’s offer of future jobs should they want them. At the moment, all Reyna and Abbey wanted was to sleep, and they still had a long walk ahead of them to get back to their grimy South Union hotel.

**

The Sheriff
 

The ruins of the city were a maze. Collapsed and gutted buildings blocked the road and the faint bits of moonlight poking through the clouds. The remains of the city made it hard to follow Robert Devereux and his two bodyguards. They clearly knew the route, while Lawrence was concerned with remaining unseen, quiet, and trying to follow all at once.

That morning Lawrence had followed Robert from his house to his office in the Market District, where he’d left only once during the day for some lunch. About six in the evening, he’d left again, heading west from the Market District and towards his home in the Gold District. Lawrence thought that was that, and the day would be another wasted attempt to figure out who Robert’s mistress was and where their trysts took place. Instead Robert and his two bodyguards had kept going west, out of Wellstone entirely. He didn’t know what was west of town, except that somewhere out there was Junker Town. Now Robert and his bodyguards were making their south and west through what was left of the old city streets.

And now Lawrence realized he’d lost them. In the darkness and confusion of the ruins, they’d disappeared. But their destination had to be somewhere around here, if they were going to make it wherever they were headed, do whatever they were going to do, and make it back to the city before the curfew started. Which meant he might be able to find where they were going without following them.

He stopped and looked around, trying to find a vantage point to better see. There was a two-story house, but when he checked inside the staircase had rotted away. But in the yard was a healthy look tree, probably safer than the house anyway. He waited a couple minutes, in case Robert and his bodyguards were close enough to hear, before he climbed up the tree. To the southwest he saw the faintest bit of light shining out of the windows of a large, box shaped building.

Lawrence climbed down and slowly made his way in that direction. Not knowing where Robert and his bodyguards were, he didn’t want to stumble upon them in the dark, or warn them they were being followed. It took him a while, but eventually he came into sight of the building, which he realized was part of an old school. The rest of the school was dark, but the gym had lights shining through small cracks in what must’ve been curtains covering the windows. A pair of guards, not Robert’s, were stationed at the door. They wore metal and leather, both haphazardly fashioned into armor, though their submachine guns seemed more than adequate to the task. And since he’d followed Robert from the city, he was without a gun himself.

Lawrence carefully made his was around to the side of the building, away from the guards and to get a better view of the windows. They were on the second floor, too high off the ground for him to get to without a ladder, so he kept moving. On the back side of the building was a door, this one unguarded. Sneaking closer he found out why. A thick, rusted chain and padlock held the doors shut. He tried to slowly pull it open, but the chains wouldn’t let him open it up enough to slip inside.

Leaving those doors behind, he made his way around the outside of the school, where there were plenty of broken windows to climb in. He expected there’d be another door to the gym from the inside of the school. When he’d agreed to do this job, he was thinking it would be more peeking through the windows of an apartment to take pictures, not climbing in them to get inside a ruin. And that was without knowing whatever the hell was going on in the gym. Climbing into the school with his chest still bruised wasn’t fun, but it was a dull ache now, not the sharp pain of a few days before.

Walking through the classroom scarred up some rats, but he didn’t encounter anything else in the filthy halls of the old school. It was strange that the place hadn’t been scavenged, considering most of the other buildings and houses Lawrence passed on the way over had been. He could feel the pit forming in his stomach as he got closer to the gym. Whatever was going on here couldn’t be good, that much was clear.

He made it to the gym, only to find those doors chained and locked as well. From the inside, he could hear noises, grunting and cheering, though they were more muted than he expected. There were other doors nearby, but the first he checked was locked, and the second led to a supply closet. The third, though, wasn’t locked but blocked from the other side. He pushed on it just enough to squeeze inside, and found a ladder attached to the wall. It looked like this was a maintenance closet, and as he climbed the ladder he figured out it led to the roof of the gym. That still didn’t get him to where he could see inside, but from the gym roof he climbed down to the roof of the school, where a pair of north facing windows were. Like the others, they had curtains covering them from the inside, but like the others they didn’t cover them completely.

God damn. Zooming in with the camera lens, he saw a large chainlink cage in the center of the gym, with couches and chairs on every side. In the cage were two men, gaunt and scrawny, covered in scabs and track marks. Each wielded a knife, circling and swiping at each other. There were a dozen people in the seats, exchanging money and laughing while servers plied them with drinks. The crowd jeered and egged on the two fighters, and one finally made a move, lunging and swiping at his opponent. He missed, and got a knife in the back for his effort. The opponent stabbed him again and again in the back, until the other man had stopped moving. The spectators cheered and applauded, their copper coins raining down on the winner.

Lawrence went to work taking pictures of the spectators, the servers, and anyone else involved. He spotted Robert Devereux, a large, older man with a strong jaw and cold eyes. He was, in fact, cheating on his wife, as he and the woman sitting next to him on one of the couches were more interested in each other than the fights going on. There was a strange pair in the corner, and it took Lawrence a moment to figure out what he was looking at. One of the men was a Brotherhood soldier, a jacket halfheartedly covering his jumpsuit. The soldier was talking to a burly man with a long, braided beard, while both of them watched the next pair try to kill each other. The bearded man wore similar armor to the guards outside, and had a gun hanging from his hip as well.

Lawrence made sure to take several pictures of the soldier and the bearded man. These people were just as fucked up as any raiders he’d come across, every bit as sadistic and cruel. And the way most of them were dressed, he could tell they were well off. Maybe not all Robert Devereux’s level, but certainly far better than most of the people in Wellstone. He was glad that every click of the shutter was a nail in their coffins.

He wasn’t ready to leave quite yet. Once back inside the school, he piled as many things as he could together near the gym’s locked door. He’d realized while looking through the camera that there was padding and curtains hanging on the walls to dampen the sound coming from the fights. Which also meant they couldn’t hear Lawrence. Once he had a sizable pile, he lit some books and papers on fire and tossed them in. The rest would catch eventually, and maybe the building would too. As he left he stopped in another couple classrooms and lit smaller fires. He could only hope this whole place would burn to the ground and take all of them with it. He’d settle for stopping the fights for the night.

By the time he made it back to Wellstone, he could see a column of smoke silhouetted against the moon. He watched it for a moment before heading back to the train station and South Union. He wasn’t going to turn over the camera just yet. He didn’t trust Patricia with all of the photos. She wanted to expose her husband as a cheater and a liar, and it might be she didn’t want Wellstone to know he was a monster as well. Lawrence wasn’t willing to take the chance. The train bumped along the tracks, passing by the bright lights and gleaming houses of Wellstone’s rich. Tonight was as good a lesson as any that this city wasn’t nearly as pretty as it seemed.

**

El Cantante (The Singer)
 

The cabaret was full to the brim, conversations fading to a hush as he walked up to the metal microphone. The thick scarlet curtains were drawn, blocking out any moonlight or noise from the outside world. Guillermo was alone on the stage with the audience. The lights were dimmed and cigarette smoke drifted up from the tables, giving the cabaret a hazy look. It’d been a long time since he’d been on a stage, and never one quite like this. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it.

“Hola.” One word quieted the conversation but left a low buzz in the room. He knew they were trying to decide if he was speaking nonsense, or if he really was the mysterious troubadour Clara had introduced him as. “It means hello where I’m from. I imagine before all is said and done, y’all will pick up a thing or two. But that’s enough of a lesson for now. How’d y’all like to hear some music?”

Polite applause, about what Guillermo expected. That opening bit won over a few, but he’d have to do more than that to win them all over. But he knew before the night was through, the applause would be more than polite. It’d been over a year since he last stood on a stage. But he was born for it, and no amount of rust would hold him back.

Guillermo cleared his throat, took a breath, and launched into his first song. “Here I am all alone in a strange city…”

After Clara, the owner of the hotel, had hired him, they’d talked about who he’d be as a singer. It was as clear to her as it was to him that he could play up the mysterious outsider, and that it would go a long way to engaging the audience. They’d talked some about which songs he would sing, but ultimately he decided not to beat around the bush with them, and play up who he was from the get go.

The first song went well, and by the time he was halfway through the second, In Del Rio, he knew he was going to do just fine. The rest of the night was great, and Guillermo felt alive being back on the stage. His friends were sitting in the closest booth, and he had a good time messing with them between songs, which the audience enjoyed. He kept the songs mostly about Texas, letting the folks envision the places he sang about. Most of the places didn’t exist anymore, at least not in the way the songs relayed, but the fiction was far better than the reality he knew from back home.

The last song came, and he kept up the theme, singing the same song he’d sung at Roger’s funeral, only this time, entirely in Spanish. He was certain from the looks on their faces no one listening had a clue what he was singing about, but his deep yet soft and plaintive tone told them everything they needed to know. And what it didn’t tell them, their imaginations would fill in better than any words could.

“…Vaya con Dios, mi vida. Vaya con Dios, mi amor.”

As he sang his eyes caught Clara’s, who was watching from the bar alongside the north wall. She wore a red satin dress and bright red lipstick. Her dark, wavy hair was cut short, not quite to her shoulders. She was far shorter, thinner, and darker, than he was. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. They shared a smile, and for the rest of the song he sang to her.

The applause brought a massive grin to his face, and he couldn’t help but soak it in for a few moments. Wellstone might only be a temporary home, but he knew he could do just fine here.

Guillermo left the stage and joined his friends in their booth. Lawrence was standing and gave him a hug before they say down. Lawrence said, “That reminded me of us getting chased out of the Coyote’s Wail cause you couldn’t help but stare at the owner’s sister the whole time you were singing.”

Lawrence had that glint to his eye, the one that said he’d noticed Guillermo staring at Clara. Guillermo knew not much got past his friend, but that he wouldn’t gossip about it with the others. Lawrence just smiled, clearly glad to see his friend happy. And Guillermo returned it, glad to see that Lawrence was in a much better place now than earlier in the trip.

“Well, it looks like there will be no escaping your ego now,” Abbey said.

“Good job, Memo,” Reyna said. “Just make sure you start bringing in those tips so the rest of us don’t have to work.”

Ezekiel and Kim congratulated him as well, and they all spent several minutes talking about his performance before the conversation shifted to the jobs the rest of them had done. This was the first chance they’d had to get together, so everyone shared what they’d been up to. Abbey and Reyna told their story about the snapper and the two hunters, and Guillermo playfully told them to quit lying and tell them what really happened. Kim and Ezekiel said they’d fixed up Ojo, and had actually run into Richard in their search for parts. He told them where he was staying and they’d invited him to dinner, once they could move out of South Union and get settled.

Lawrence’s story was the most interesting though. He told them about Patricia wanting to know if her husband was cheating on her, though Lawrence suspected it was less about the cheating and more about her wanting out of the marriage. He then swore them to secrecy before telling them about what Robert was really up to.

“So what did you do with the pictures?” Ezekiel asked.

“I sent them to head of the Brotherhood and the head of the police. As well as gave them to Patricia,” Lawrence said.

“You think anything will happen?” Guillermo asked.

Lawrence shrugged. “Can’t say. I’m not getting my hopes up, but it seems like something that’ll be hard to ignore. I kept a few copies myself, in case nothing is done. Don’t know what I’d do with ‘em, but better to have them than not.”

A few of the others started asking Lawrence questions about his investigation, but Guillermo looked back to the bar to see Clara was heading their way. She waded through the crowd and greeted people along the way, as elegant as anyone Guillermo had ever seen. He self-consciously fixed his hair, feeling nervous and foolish like someone half his age when he did so. He cleared his throat to get the others to drop the conversation before she could hear.

They all looked up as she arrived, though she was looking only at him. “The set was perfect, Guillermo. Remind me, I had a couple song suggestions I wanted to run by you, but we can do that tomorrow.”

“It’d be my pleasure,” he said. “Clara, these are my friends, Lawrence, Abbey, Reyna, Ezekiel, and Kim. Everyone, this is Clara, the owner of the hotel.”

They all greeted her, and she greeted them in return. Clara looked at Abbey and Reyna and said, “You two were helped capture that snapper, right?”

Abbey offered a wary nod, and Reyna said, “Didn’t think this place was small enough for word to get around like that.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it isn’t. Just so happened I ran into W.M.D., and he told me all about it. And it just so happened I’ve heard of you as well, Lawrence,” Clara said.

Guillermo watched his friend’s face, but Lawrence didn’t let anything on. “That right?”

“Don’t worry, dear, it’s nothing bad. Patricia is a friend of mine. She said you did good work.” Clara had a friendly, disarming smile on her face. At least, Guillermo thought it was disarming.

“I’m glad to hear she thought so,” Lawrence said.

“Guillermo mentioned you all aren’t from around here, so you might not know, but Halloween is coming up at the end of the month, and it’s always a big celebration,” Clara said. “I’m in need of a few extra eyes and ears around here, keep the partygoers in check. And seeing as I’ve only heard good things, I thought I’d offer the job to you all first.”

“Is that all it would be, keeping watch?” Abbey asked.

Clara nodded. “Make sure there aren’t any fights and no one steals anything. And if things go well, I might have more permanent jobs for y’all.”

Guillermo watched Lawrence look between Abbey and Reyna, and they all seemed in agreement. Lawrence said, “I think we can do that. Though we should let you know that not all of us are guards.”

Clara leveled an inquiring look at Kim and Ezekiel. “What skills do you two have, then?”

“I’m a doctor,” Ezekiel said.

Kim looked thoughtful. “Well, I have a lot of skills. My primary interests are in biology, robotics, and computer systems, though that’s certainly not all of my skills.”

Clara gave an amused sort of smile. “I’m sure I can find something for people as sharp as yourselves. People tend to get sick at parties like this, after all. And I’ve been meaning to get one of the Mister Handy robots looked at, so at the very least you could do that. Sound good to everyone?”

Everyone nodded, and Guillermo couldn’t help but grin. He hoped things might finally be breaking their way after how badly this trip had gone.

“It’s settled then. Get here before lunch tomorrow and we can talk things over, give you a tour and acquainted with who you’ll be working with and what you’ll be doing. It was a pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to seeing you all again very soon,” Clara said with a grin of her own.

Once Clara left the Texans ordered another round of drinks to celebrate their completed jobs and the fact they’d found another. Guillermo could tell that, for the first time since they arrived in the Belt, everyone was hopeful about things to come.

Edited November 3, 2018 by BTC

[Witchking of Angmar]

Madame

The boat was quite magnificent. It was still business as usual during the night, but during the day it was practically empty, with only a couple of servants keeping the place tidy. So much work it would be to transform the place. She had yet to find an architect for the reconstruction but Rose still liked to take a light stroll around the boat, imagining what to put where. The wide open space on the first floor would make for a perfect ballroom. Some of the gambling tables would of course be kept but they would have to be moved to somewhere more secluded. The rest would have to be sold off. Maybe Clara would be interested. 

Clara arrived at the boat not long after Rose finished her stroll and the servants finished setting up for their get together. One of Rose's servants led Clara to the lounge on the second floor, where Rose was waiting. Clara wore a white blouse with black polka dots, black capri pants, a bright red belt, and a light coat. 

They gave each other a quick hug before sitting down on the couches. Clara said, "Rose, dear, so good to see you again. How are things around here?"

"They're great," said Rose with an almost gleeful smile. "I didn't think I'd get my hands on a boat, or such a grand one at that, till my hair was grey."

Clara looked around the beautiful lounge and upper floor. "I must admit, I'm selfishly glad you got this one sooner rather than later. Lucky pulled most of the high stakes games in, but now they'll be looking for a new home. Assuming, of course, you plan on getting rid of the casino elements."

"Well I am gonna keep a small gambling corner because some tables are simply too nice to get rid of. But first I need an architect to draw the blueprints of the new place."

"My manager George has just finished with the renovations of the thirteenth floor of my place. It took longer than expected, through no fault of George's, but he got it done. I can see if he's willing to help, or if he can recommend someone. He worked in construction before I hired him."

"And I expect you wouldn't mind finding some capable workers and good materials as well to help speed the renovation?" Rose said with a light chuckle. 

"Finding capable workers is what made my renovations take so long. Regardless, what are your plans since this won't be a casino anymore?" 

"Something of a hotel slash restaurant. I remember seeing a pre-war movie set on a huge luxury boat that cruised the ocean. I want something like that."

"I imagine the rooms and food here will be positively luxurious," Clara said. "Do you plan on cruising the river, then? Or docking it somewhere?"

"Maybe somewhere nice up north. East is out of the question. And west I’m unsure if the river is big enough for such a trip."

"Once the Brotherhood takes Gateway City, you'll be able to go all the way to Chicago. That would be a cruise worthy of a film."

"Provided they ever get around to it. I doubt the rebels are just going to surrender anytime soon."

"It does seem like we're in for a drawn out fight." Clara took a sip of her tea and waved dismissively. "But enough about that. Who else is joining us today?"

"Vanessa, Patricia and Lisa. Though I'm kinda hoping Lisa wont show up. I just extended the invitation because I know she would be mad if she heard I invited Patricia and not her."

"Patricia's coming after what happened to her husband? I know there was little love lost between them, but it's only been a few days since he killed himself."

"From what I hear she's not in mourning at all. Besides, I'm curious on what she will say."

"It must have been some scandal for Robert to kill himself. Especially after what Thomas got away with.”

”Yeah. Thomas gets so ugly when he’s drunk. I don’t understand how Lisa puts up with him.”

“Me either. And even when he’s not drunk, he’s unpleasant,” Clara said. “But have you heard what happened with Robert? I would ask Patricia, but even if she isn’t mourning, it seems rude to do so.”

"All I know it was something illegal and involved the Brotherhood somehow."

“That would do it. The merest hint of Paradise would scare the bravest person.” 

"I wonder that. I read an article about how the lands outside Brotherhood protection can be really brutal."

“I saw that. Makes you thankful Wellstone is as nice as it is.”

"Maybe we should try to convince Lisa to send her husband there. I'm sure he'd fit in just fine."

Clara chuckled. “And even if he didn’t, at least we would be rid of him.”

"Too bad she'd never agree to it." Rose paused for a second. "Almost seems like there's no decent men in this city anymore."

“I think you just have to know where to look. The Gold District has caught the scandal bug, but there might be others around. Paladin Lord Ogawa seemed decent enough, for instance. But I didn’t take you for the marrying sort.”

"Dreary military men aren't my type." Rose grimaced. 

“What is your type? Maybe if I come across someone I can send them your way.”

"Handsome, smart, funny, respectful and economically... independent. With long hair."

"I'll keep my eyes positively peeled for such a man," Clara said. "Oh, and by the way, you needn't be on the lookout for any singers. No more so than usual, anyway. I just hired a new one."

"What kind of music does this one do?"

"Country music, which is what I was hoping for. I had several others audition, but the one I hired had a stage presence the others didn't. Charming the audience is just as important as singing or playing an instrument well. And it didn't hurt he's easy on the eyes."

"I think I'll give it a pass. Always preferred rock or pop."

"As do I, but I like to keep a well rounded group of singers. Have something for most everyone that way."

"You don't need to tell me that," said Rose with a slightly humorous smile. "I know the importance of keeping a varied selection of entertainment."

"You do indeed," Clara said, mirroring Rose's grin.

At that moment the servant returned, leading Patricia Devereux up the stairs and into the lounge. Patricia's platinum white hair and pale skin stood in stark contrast to her black dress and coat. Even the rings on her fingers held black gems. It seemed that, while she wasn't truly mourning, she was at least putting on the appearance of doing so. Probably the starkest contrast of all was the bright smile she had when she saw Rose and Clara.

"Rose, Clara, so good to see you both." Patricia took a seat on the couch beside Clara. "It's nice to be able to get out of the house for a bit."

"It didn't happen in the house, did it?" asked Rose. 

The smile faded from Patricia's face. "Maybe the last and only courtesy he did me was to do it in his office. I've been mostly cooped up because of the expectations that go along with something like this."

"So you're alright?" Clara asked.

Patricia gave a small nod. "It's unpleasant, certainly, but I'm more worried about how Freddie will take things."

"He's a strong boy, I'm sure he'll manage," said Rose. 

"He writes every so often, says he's doing well. I still hope he'll come back to Wellstone. Even with these rebels about, I would still feel better knowing he was nearby. Chicago is just too far away for my liking." Where there was resentment when Patricia spoke of her late husband, there was only affection for her son. "I guess the only other courtesy Robert did was not fucking up our son. I'll stomach a few days in black for that alone."

"What are your plans for the business?" Clara asked.

"It was always Robert's, but I agreed to take it over so as not to cause any disturbances. I'll probably hire a manager. We might lose a few of the merchants to the others, but I think we'll be fine otherwise," Patricia said. 

"Just say if you need any help," said Rose. "I might be able to call upon some favors in case you need it."

"And if you ever want to get out of the house, I can have a private booth set up for us at my place," Clara said.

"Thank you both," Patricia said. "But enough about that. I came here to escape Robert, after all. So what are your plans for Halloween? Any parties you want to attend?"

"You know, mostly the usual," said Rose. 

"Do you know who's hosting it this year?" Patricia asked.

"I think it's Lisa," said Rose. 

"I'll be heading back to my place after visiting the festival," Clara said. "I'd rather supervise the dance than be anywhere near Thomas. After what happened I hope he has the decency to hide somewhere so as not to ruin the party."

"There's a reason he and Robert go along so well. I think I'll extend my mourning just a bit longer so I don't have to go," Patricia said.

"I'll probably still pay small visit," said Rose. "If nothing else but to snag a couple of oranges."

"The Hudsons have certainly never been accused of being cheap," Patricia said.

Just as Rose was about to say something the servant came around again, this time with Vanessa in tow, along with another young woman. Vanessa had her long, brown hair tied in a ponytail and wore a decorated blue dress. The young woman had medium long, blonde hair that oddly enough had the tips colored blue. She wore very baggy clothing, which Rose could easily tell hid a very nice body. 

"Sorry I'm late," said Vanessa. "I was just talking with my niece here. This is Isabelle." She motioned to the young woman by her side that in response only gave an awkward smile to the group. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Isabelle,” Patricia said.

Clara had a broad smile on her face. “I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

"Thanks," said Isabelle with a small smile. Though she looked a little conflicted about the compliment. 

Vanessa took a seat. "I hope I haven't missed too much."

"Just some talk about certain unbearable husbands," said Rose with a dreary tone before switching to a more joyful one. "And Halloween. What are you planning to dress as?"

"A vampire," said Vanessa.

"I'll be going as the Starlet Sniper," Patricia said. 

"And I'll probably go as The Inspector again. I have a new coat that'll work better than the last one," Clara said. "What about you, Rose?"

"A sexy witch," said Rose with a little mischievous smile. 

“Do you have a costume picked out yet, Isabelle?” Clara asked.

"I... Uhm," Isabelle mumbled where she stood.

"Oh sit down Isabelle," said Vanessa. "We're not going bite."

Isabelle hesitated but then sat down in the sofa next to her aunt. "I was planning to go as Black Cat."

“Are you going to dye your hair black for that?” Patricia asked. 

"Nah, I think I'll just get a wig if I can find one."

“Do you know what Elizabeth is going as?” Clara asked.

Isabelle just shook her head and shrugged while a very brief and small scowl appeared on Vanessa's face. 

"So what do you work with?" Rose then asked to shift the topic and lighten the sudden drop in atmosphere.

"I work as a journalist and editor at HFN," replied Isabelle.

”She was the one who wrote about the wasteland not long ago,” Clara said. “I very much enjoyed your article. You made it sound so harrowing in the wastes.”

"So you wrote that?" said Rose. "How was it talking to a wasteland killer?"

Isabelle looked a little confused. "Thanks," she said quickly to Clara before turning Rose. "He was nice and polite. Not at all as barbaric as you'd expect from the article."

"Anything interesting he told you that didn't make it in?" Patricia asked.

"He was once in a week long duel with a sniper, having only his dagger," said Isabelle. "Nice little story but it didn't fit into the overall article. I also think he exaggerated."

"I'm sure he did," Patricia said. "Probably just trying to impress you."

"Then he did a better job than most guys. Even if he didn't do a good job."

Rose chuckled a little at that remark. "I know how it feels."

"Do you have any plans for your next article?" Clara asked.

"Not really," said Isabelle and looked down for a second. "I mostly just go around hoping something will come up."

"Her bosses are a bunch of assholes that don't want her doing actual field work," said Vanessa. 

"Why's that?" Patricia asked. 

"Don't want her competing with their star reporters, that also happen to be their buddies," said Vanessa. 

Meanwhile Isabelle looked a little uncomfortable at the subject and was pursing her lips slightly. Rose watched her and wondered if there was a little more to it all. She knew what type the owner of HFN was and it wouldn't surprise her if he wanted Isabelle to stay at the office for other reasons than not competing with his friends for scoops. 

"Don't worry Isabelle," said Rose. "I'm sure with hard work and some luck you'll soon show them how valuable you are in the field."

“If any stories come my way, I’ll make sure to go to you first,” Clara said.

"Thank you," said Isabelle. "But you don't need you to dote on me. I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can," said Rose. "But remember that it can never hurt to have too many friends. Of the right type that is."

"Thanks." Isabelle stood up, looking a little unsure about herself before gathering up some confidence. "Though I think it's time for me to head out. Can't linger here for too long if I'm to find any stories. Bye." She then left the group. 

Once Isabelle was downstairs and safely out of earshot, Patricia said, "I think Freddie would like her. They've got similar personalities. Would you help me set up a meeting between the two, Vanessa? It doesn't have to be anything romantic, but if he has a friend in town he's less likely to go back to Chicago."

"I'll try," said Vanessa. "Though she can be a bit touchy about meeting people not on her own terms."

"If Freddie will arrive in time, you could have them meet during the Halloween festival," said Rose. 

"He won't be back by then, unfortunately," Patricia said. She turned to Vanessa. "I could invite you, Isabelle, and Elizabeth over for dinner one night. That might be the easiest way to introduce them."

"Great. I'll bring the whole family," said Vanessa with a small smile. 

Patricia smiled and stood. "Thank you for inviting me, Rose, but I should be off as well. Still a few more things I need to take care of. I'll see you all at the Halloween festival, and I'll be in touch about dinner, Vanessa. Take care."

Patricia grabbed her bag and coat and left. Once she was gone, Clara said, "She hasn't been in such high spirits since before Freddie left." 

"And now she's hoping to see him again." Rose chuckled a little. "And if I were to make another guess, I'd say she's maybe even hoping for grandchildren."

"Do you think Isabelle would be interested in him?" Clara asked.

"I don't know," said Vanessa. "I don't know what type of man Freddie is these days. Though if he's as nice as Patricia keeps saying I'm sure she'll at least humor him. Then again, Isabelle isn't the only niece I got."

"Well here's hoping someone winds up married. It's been too long since we had a good wedding, and I do enjoy hosting them," Clara said.

Rose wanted to say something about how she enjoys the business of failed marriages but decided against it. "I'm sure I would enjoy it as well. And I'll crash the party if I don't get an invitation," said Rose with a mischievous smile. 

"No one in their right mind would avoid inviting you," Clara said. "But I think we're getting a bit ahead of ourselves."

"Yes. First we should at least wait for the city to be safe before any wedding is held," said Vanessa. "Way to ruin such a day by a bomb going off further down the street."

"And here I was hoping the Brotherhood would make quick work of the rebels," Clara said. "But with each day it seems like they grow bolder and bolder."

"Hopefully they'll at least keep their battles to the slums where they like to shoot at each other anyway," said Rose. "I can't imagine anyone wanting the carnage a shootout in the Market District would bring."

"They did already bomb the Market District. Who knows if they'll do it again, or if the Brotherhood has at least stopped them from that," Clara said. 

"I just hope they wont target the cinemas," said Vanessa.

"They'd be shooting themselves in the foot then," said Rose. "Movies are way too popular for them to burn it down. Though I wouldn't mind if they stole the trash ones."

"It seems like they've mostly gone after the Brotherhood," Clara said. "I suppose they want to win people over. Hard to do that if you're attacking businesses too."

"Win people over to what?" said Rose. "So far they've only shown that they want rid of the Brotherhood. But nothing about what they want to replace it with."

"Yeah," said Vanessa. "For all they've shown it looks more like they wish to turn this place into another Lost Lands."

“Maybe they’ll take over the radio station next, tell us what their plans are,” Clara said with a chuckle. “Or maybe send you a movie to show, Vanessa.”

"Then I'll be sending it directly to the Brotherhood," replied Vanessa. "I'm not risking my livelihood for some upstart thugs."

"I also have a hard time imaging them selling anything worth buying," said Rose. "The biggest example we got for what would happen without the Brotherhood is the Lost Lands."

“And that account from the wastes that Isabelle wrote,” Clara said. “Death and danger around every corner would make it hard to run a business, I think.”

"Now that's just a depressing thought," said Vanessa. "Let's hope it wont come to that." She stood up. "Thank you, it's been lovely." She then left. 

Vanessa had hardly made it to the stairs before Clara leaned forward and asked, in a whisper, "Do you know what's going on with Elizabeth?"

"She's been running with the wrong crowd I think," Rose replied in a low voice. "Bad influence that might very well get her into some serious trouble."

"I think I know someone who can help. I recently hired a private detective, what with the rebels about and my current head of security looking to retire. He came recommended from Patricia, actually," Clara said. She stood and gathered her things. "I had better go, see if I can catch up to Vanessa."

"Just try to be gentle with the words. I doubt she'd take kindly to anyone insinuating that there's something wrong with Liz."

Clara gave a nod and headed quickly down the stairs. Rose could hear her call out to Vanessa. After that it became quiet. Rose took her cup of tea and sipped as she headed to the outer railing facing the city. From there she could see Vanessa and Clara walk side by side down the gangplank. Rose could tell from Vanessa's body language that she was a little tense. Deciding whether or not to spy on her own little girl. Rose was glad she wasn't in her shoes.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Urban ruins near Wellstone.

The toast to his seventieth came and went quickly. The old drifter admired the city from afar, banners of cogs held him at bay. Sully had built up a minor bounty from Kansas in Brotherhood territory, mostly murders and robberies against folks wandering the wastes alone. Wasn't just the bounty out west that stayed his hand, despite his distinguishing features, time and distance probably worked in his favor. Thing was he hadn't any ring pulls, caps or Legion coin. And he was hungry, filthy and tired of sleeping in the wastes. He found it best to do trapping work, make some caps off hide and good dinner from the meat. Sully was the kind of old man that was tall and lanky, too many years going hungry in the wastes. Better skin and bones then fat at least.

He spent hours northwest of the city searching for good animal signs, being in urban ruins was still painful but grasslands and forestry weren't native here. Took him a good while searching without spooking anything, he observed signs of a molerat nest out in some partial rubble. Molerat meat was nothing he'd upturn his nose at, good amount to get there. But a nest was just too much for him to tackle, he'd get off a few gunshots on the ones above ground but the bastards had tunnels around their nests. He'd be swarmed and mauled to death. If he had anything to spare, he'd try leaving a trail and drawing some out of the nest. But as it stood he didn't have anything to spare. After spending an ungodly amount of time stalking about far outside the nest, he unceremoniously returned to the second story of a ruined building he spent the previous night in. Stomach was acting up too much for him to fall asleep, so he leaned against the wall's gaping blown out frame overlooking the night. Had himself a good view of the city too.

Time passed and nothing happened for a while. Then he caught a glimpse of movement. It looked like a man walking slowly among the ruins. He wore wasteland beige colored clothes, with a hood and face mask along with a pair of ski goggles covering his head. In his hand he held what looked like a rebar spear that he used a walking stick. His head was mostly turned to the ground in front of him as if he was looking for something.

Keeping his eye on the man, as silently as he could Sully scooted his ass a little bit towards his dirty blanket and picked up his long-rifle. It was so quiet out that cocking the bolt would have been noisy enough to alert the man. He was mildly obscured by the shadows in the room, while the other figure was well visible standing out in the early morning light. Sully slumped further away from the open wall, he couldn't fully cover himself without loosing sight.

He kept loosening and tightening his grip on the firearm, hands were slightly shaking. The man could have food on his person, maybe? No. It had to be different this time. He looked away from the man back at the city, bustling with lights and electricity. If there was a heaven, this was it, he wouldn't flee from here too.

He was too quiet at first, muscles choking up when he tried to call out. He tried again after a second. "Boy! Here, you doing out here?"

The man slipped behind a half broken wall before giving a small peek around the corner. "Looking for some molerats! Heard there was an infestation somewhere around here." the man shouted back.

"There's. Ehm, nest not far. Too many of'em." Sully yawned before continuing. "Got scraps a' food on ya? Lead'em away from, it."

"Nah. I'd rather just look for the sentries."

"Y're taking risks. Setting an ambush'll save you trouble." He hefted the rifle in view. "Ain't hurting ya kid. But, ambush you know? That's huntin."

"I know how to hunt molerat. You just got to know what to look for. Seen any ruffled up dirt like if someone had dug a hole?"

He smacked the rifle butt against the ground. "I fucking told ya, there's a nest. Big one. Circled around it all yesterday, all day. No strays. Plenty a' holes though. If ya fancy old burrows."

"Where?"

"Damn you are confident. I'll show'ya in person, I'm fucking hungry. Deal?"

"Sure. Just keep your step light and your voice down."

"Sure, I can be quiet. Decent at it. Lemme pack m'things." Sullivan called out. He braced himself with the butt of his rifle and stood up. After a minute of rolling up his blanket and strapping it back to his knapsack he went down the stairs, rifle held between one armpit as he went outside strapping on his revolver's holster. "You ready?"

The man peeked around the corner and watched him for a few seconds before he cautiously came out. In the left hand he casually held the spear like a walking stick while the right rested on the hilt of a somewhat fancy looking dagger. "I'm ready."

"We're heading due..that way." He nudged his long rifle to the man's left. "In the exact direction you'wah heading." Sully bobbed his head up and down a bit with amusement. "Aw, come on. Unless you got a pussyfied shooting instrument hidden away on ya, having an gunman with ya is good." Sully went onward towards the nest. "Gonna be a while. 'Bout seventeen minutes no rest hike."

"Alright. Lead the way," said the man and began to follow Sully slightly from behind. "By the way, I'm Richard."

"Mhh Hmm, I'm Sun-Burnt Brahminshit. Them nice clean clothes tell me you from the city. Hows'a the good brothers treating ya huh?" He turned his head at Richard. "They shit on me back west."

"I'm not really from the city. Just arrived about a couple of weeks ago."

"You from Kansas?" asked Sullivan, with a tense jaw and his heart racing. It had to be paranoia, thousand to one he hadn't a clue who Sully was.

"Uhm, no," said Richard, sounding slightly confused as if he didn't really know what Kansas was.

"Good on ya, lot of horrible people out that way. Further west you go, worse it get." There were a fleeting few minutes of silence between the two as Sullivan led the way, he ended up breaking it with a grunt. "Erh, you a tribal Richard?"

"No," replied Richard, sounding almost a little insulted at the insinuation.

Sully stopped and took a good long look at Richard's assortment of weapons. "Why you armed like one then?"

"Guns are loud and alert everyone within a mile. Besides, this method of hunting molerats I actually learnt from a tribal."

"There are devices you know, that make them nigh silent. I was actually hoping ya'were a tribal, they tend to be better hunters then us civilized folk."

"I know what silencers are. And they still aren't as silent as a blade." Richard sounded a little offended. "Just keep your eyes out for any patches of dug up dirt. Especially those with a slight bulge upward."

"Got it, had it before but, got it. What'sa plan gonna be? You got range now ya know." asked Sully. "Now hold on, we're getting close, I really need to know."

"It's simple. Molerats often lie in wait underground. There are usually a few here and there far from a nest. These are the sentries. All we need to do is be quiet and look out for suspicious patches of dirt. When we find one I'll plunge my spear down in the hope that a rat is laying there."

"Good head on ya, I wouldn't of thought'a that. Alright, come'ere." He leaned against the corner of a broken down building in a subdivision. Knelt down and peered through his rifle's scope further on. "Yep, that shattered garage type building down yonder, see it?"

There was a couple of seconds of silence as Richard tried to spot it. "I guess so," he said with some uncertainty.

"There's nest signs around there, haven't been close enough to see how large it is. Know it ain't abandoned nest, seen enough activity to prevent me from shooting it up." He motioned to several structures at various distances around the nest. "All them're good points with clear sights on the nest's building. If you had a firearm then we could have found one with a second story, set up a bottleneck and ate like fucking kings tonight. But, I'll follow you now, search away for ya holes."

"Alright. Lets walk in a large circle around the nest. You lead as you know where the nest is better than I. Call out if you see any suspicious dirt patches. But quietly."

"We'll follow me then." He shook his head. "If I move fast enough to warrant calling out to ya, I'll just fucking shoot you for being slower than an old fuck." As a surprise to nothing under the sun, Richard was not slower then Sully. They took a wide arch and came across several holes; although, they were by no means fresh each still had a spear plunged into it. After some time trying every hole, they ended up coming across a clean picked carcass. Sully was a bit more confident about this. Despite no meat on it's bones, he was certain there'd be a sentry nearby it.

Richard looked over the bones before picking up the skull and inspecting it. "Looks like it was a stray dog," he said. "Skull too damaged to be worth anything though." He dropped it and glanced over the ground around them. "Lets keep moving."

"Don't think any a'your sentries here?" asked Sullivan. "Ain't anyone buying that head damaged or no."

"I don't see any dug dirt. If the dog was ambushed it wasn't here. Could be nearby."

"Yep might'a escaped a bit before dying, some real well bred dogs out west. Fucking tons of'em, donno about these mutts."

Richard gave Sully a brief glance. "Lets keep looking."

The two kept moving on their journey through the ruins. Soon they came upon a patch of freshly dug up dirt. Richard moved carefully towards it before plunging his spear into the ground. The earth moved and rose for a second before calming down again. Then with the spear as a lever Richard hauled up a full grown molerat from its shallow hideout beneath the ground.

Sullivan nodded approvingly, if only for a moment. "Alright then, let's find some wood to burn and I'll make a fire."

"It'll be hard to find any wood out here," said Richard. "My plan for today was to hunt down a couple of molerats and bring them back to the city to sell."

"Well I'm fuckin' hungry, ain't got anything to eat. Sell the hide all ya like but I'm starving."

"We could split up. You go look for wood and I'll continue the hunt. We'll meet back here in a couple of hours." Richard gave the dead molerat on the ground a look. "We'll need to string this up so no other animals will get to it."

"That building I was hold up in, gotta door that can close. Let's string it up there, I'll skin the bastard while you uh. Look for more."

"Alright. Think you can carry this one all the way?"

"Yep, best get a move on." After slinging his rifle Sullivan pulled up his trousers a little higher and groaned picking it up. He slung it over both shoulders. "You know the way back?"

"Yeah. I remember our tracks."

"Find something flammable while ya at it." said Sully, the two men going their own ways.

****

The molerat was oppressively heavy on Sully's body, he had to set the bastard down a few times on the way back. He managed it though. He slung the animal up using the shattered roof. Took him hours to skin and gut the entire thing with his dull old bayonet, he figured between the two of them very little would go to waste. By the time Richard showed up with the fruits of his labor, Sullivan had diced the edible meat into chunks and had a fire pit ready. Just lacked anything flammable.

Richard tossed a small, broken and very old plank at the feet of Sully. Over his left shoulder he carried his spear, with two molerats impaled by their necks on both sides. Drops of blood covered him on but it was clear none of it was his. His face covering was down, revealing a rather young man with chiseled features and a light deep red beard.

"Damn boy, know how much I struggled with one? You stroll in here with four. I'll skin'em for ya but I ain't gutting any more. Just lay'em down anywhere." Sullivan began snapping the plank up into smaller bits and set them in the pit. Afterwards he ruffled through his knapsack and brought out an worn out old handbook, before tearing out some of the pages, of which the handbook had few left. "Firestarter ya see." said Sullivan.

Soon enough he had the fire going with the pages and piece of flint. And the two watched as some previously cut chunks were tossed in.

Richard meanwhile began to string up one of his fresh kills. "So how do you want to split this? Since I did most of the work I'd like to keep all the hides and at least two thirds of the meat. You can keep all the offal. Should be enough for several lures."

"Ain't gonna argue." said Sullivan. "You're gonna have to skin the rest of'em hides." He sat himself down with a audible grunt, basking in the increasing aroma of the meat.

"No problem," he said and drew his dagger and gave it a fancy little twirl in his hand to get it facing the right direction before he cut into the hide. Whether it was the sharpness of his knife or his experience or both, he was making progress in seconds what had taken Sully several minutes.

"Experienced ain't ya. You a hunter by nature? Ain't a tribal, ain't a brother...uh." Sullivan was going through a process of elimination.

"Learnt some basics of hunting when I was smaller. Gained the experience on the road. Kinda had to."

Sullivan half shook and pointed his finger at Richard in minor revelation. "Ahh, I think I get it. Far from home ain't ya?"

”That I am. Though I’m not sure where home is anymore.”

Sullivan nodded his head and scooted over a bit to look out at Wellstone. "That there. Seen many villages, seen many towns. But this place here, from the outside lookin' in, paradise. Folks like you, and I, could make this home."

”Maybe. A city of light may look like paradise from a distance. But it can be just as dangerous and ugly as the outside world under the surface.”

"Kid, that's still paradise to me. And oh sure I'm old and worn out, but I've been around some dog ass piles of filth. I was a great man once. Well... maybe not that great." Sullivan reached out and dragged his knapsack closer, drawing a battered metal flask. "Kansas moonshine if that's a fancy." He took a swig and extended some to Richard.

”No thanks. I prefer a light cider.”

Sullivan was actually dumbstruck. He sat there scratching his scraggly chin thinking for a while, things weren't adding up with this man. "Too well fed, weapons too fine and pristine, finely spoken tongue and refuses a drink because it ain't uh, 'light cider' I don't get you kid. You'a bunch of contradictions. You know what I think?"

Richard was quiet for a second. ”That your forgot to watch the meat?”

"Besides liking your meat on the medium side." said Sullivan, using his bayonet to flip some of the chunks over. "I think you're a Brotherhood deserter. Now ain't any problem here, fuck'em. They had their laughs with me out west, didn't want a skilled waster in their precious garrison."

"If I was I wouldn't be thinking on asking their recruiter about the comforts of life inside that big fort of theirs. See if there's some cushy job that doesn't involve getting shot at."

"Yep, that'd be a good life to have. Welp I'm out of ideas, guess you're just an oddball, a very well kept oddball at that. Don't suppose you know anything of use for me in there?"

"Well the city doesn't allow guns within its borders. Though there's a community just outside, south of the city where you can stay if you want to keep your guns."

"Sounds like the good brothers alright, knifes and spears don't make their pussies quiver? Big knights in armor must be so fucking afraid of old men with pea shooters."

"Well I did get stopped a couple of times because of the spear. Also I'm not sure if it's a law Brotherhood implemented or if it's something the locals decided upon. Seeing as there are other settlements that allow guns."

Sullivan flipped over each chunk of meat again. He let things stay quiet for a while, since he didn't really have anything to ague with that. "Did you get it?" he asked later on.

"Get what?" said Richard slightly confused.

"That comfy job you mentioned."

"Nah. Haven't looked into it really yet. Been running around as a mailman while trying to learn the city."

"Yep. Your mediumrat meat'll be ready soon. Sure you don't want it to cook longer? Things can have diseases."

"I just said that thing earlier because I didn't want you to burn any side of it all.

"You think this pitiful thing if a fire was gonna burn the meat? I was hardly singed, I used to carry around a cast iron pan ya know but it got to be too much of a burden to bear. The heavy bitch... So uh, mailman, really?"

"For the moment. Prefer the term courier, but everyone calls me a mailman."

Sullivan skewed one piece and squished it slightly against the ground to see if any blood oozed out, unsatisfied when some did ooze out he tossed it back in. "Communication is key, gotta keep updated. Good profession to have there Richard."

"So what's your profession?"

"Hell kid. Used to be part of my town's militia, long time ago. This was a different generation and a much different view. It was altogether bleaker back then, we killed anyone who approached our ruins. To protect what water and good growing land we had. Of course it ain't nothing but total rubble now'a days. Been wandering a long time." He thought it a good idea to completely skip over his entire history with the Sun Dogs.

"A nuke drop on the town?"

"Worse. The bull banner dropped. But really that's exaggerated, I'm sure it's resettled now but I ain't returning."

Richard was quiet for a moment as he removed the last of the innards. "So what job are you hoping for in the city? Drunk, old storyteller?" he said jokingly. 

"Whatever would have me. What use is a 'gunslinger-'" He exaggerated and mocked the word. "Without guns to bare? I'm lucky to be alive I guess, hardly call this living though."

"If you still got some skill with that gun maybe one of the gangs could take you in. Just promise you'll never aim at me."

"Hoping for something professional like, but I guess that's something."

"Well I don't know any other place that would take in gunman apart from the Brotherhood and maybe the guard. But I get the feeling you're not keen on getting close to any of them."

"Kid, they're the ones not keen on me getting closer. I tried that road many years ago, I've just gotten older and shakier since then. I'm thirty forty years too late on that one."

"Got any other skills you could use for a job?"

"Got a knack for scouting I guess. Used to have my own homemade ghillie suit of foliage, held on by flax and dried mud. Oh ha, those were the good days. I took down more then a few tribals."

"Then maybe you should try your luck on the eastern frontier. In the Lost Lands. Filled with raiders and the life," said Richard half jokingly.

"I ain't leaving this city unless I have to. Just looking at you tells me there's..running water, I haven't had a bath in, jeez."

Richard chuckled a little. "I figured you wouldn't you wouldn't give up the city. Though I'd still say try South Union, just south of the city border. Need to cross a bridge further south of here to reach it if you don't want to head through the city and give up your guns on the way."

"Keepin' it in mind, good on ya." Sullivan tested a chunk of meat on the fire, finally satisfied with it he skewed each piece off the fire pit. "If you got any salt on ya, use it. I'll throw on some more."

"The only salt I got with me that I can give is of the figurative sort."

That flew right over his head. "Okay... Eat up then, with your mind salt. Oddball." Sullivan didn't waste time biting into the still hot meat. It was blissful and painful after days of nigh starving.

Richard joined him and quickly finished up a spit of meat. 

They spent the better part of the afternoon smoldering meat and skinning molerats, Sullivan managed to cook the entirety of the diced pieces of molerat he carried back. But the meager fire pit burnt itself out before any thought of cooking could be done for the others. Richard had the foresight to keep the skin and bodies of his kills, avoiding any troubles hauling back it's uncooked innards by having Sullivan keep them. 

"Why you heading off so soon?" said Sullivan, with the first full stomach in a good long time.

"Want to sell all this before the shops close," replied Richard as he lifted up the spear on his shoulder, with his skinned molerats hanging from and the hides tied to it.

"Best of luck to ya. Make sure to buy some of your cider drink kid." With that, Sullivan focused on the task at hand of wrapping up the cooked meat. A thought occurred to him. "I'll need to buy some salt to preserve this shit, why don't you point me in the right direction?"

"The Market District in the city would have it for sure. Stuff there tend to be on the expensive side though. I'd recommend cutting the meat into thin slices and smoking it."

"Can't haul all the meat anyhow, just need to preserve enough to carry. Which I can't really do by m'self." He kicked the fire pit apart with one good heave.

"It's up to you. Personally I'd recommend carrying it to the city and simply selling it. You managed to carry it this far." Richard turned and walked out the exit. 

He looked around at all the uncooked bloody innards when Richard went his own way. There was only one way to carry it all in one go and he despised the thought of it. In the end he relented and scooped it all up in his raggedy blanket and took off towards Wellstone with it slung on his back, like a disturbed Santa. Only to place his rifle in a well hidden area, that had an obvious landmark. "Fuck me what a nightmare."

[Centurion]

Boone Patton

Wellstone

The Soupy Mutant

Patton’s head was ringing. He looked around his room at the mutant and saw that all his belongings were still there, which was reassuring. He sat up and grabbed his coin pouch of the bedside table. It was lighter than before which didn’t surprise him. He glanced at the corner of the room and saw two empty bottles on the ground with a pair of black lace panties on top of them. He paused briefly trying to remember just what exactly had happened the previous night when his door opened.

In the doorway stood an short girl with blonde rustled hair and blue eyes. She was small with attractive features. The only thing she had on was Patton’s flannel which was buttoned unevenly and barely hid her perky tits and firm, toned ass. “I got us some Nuka Colas. I’d love to stay for round three, but I have to get back to the Gold District before my parents have the whole Brotherhood scouring the streets for me!” And with that she returned his shirt, got dressed, and left.

Patton sat there visibly confused for a minute before standing up and looking in the mirror hanging on his wall. There were bite marks on his chest and arms and deep scratches all over his back. Well I guess I did a good job. He put his pants and shirt on and took a swig from the Nuka Cola bottle. He sat down in his chair and dug in his satchel for the bounty posters he had taken a couple weeks prior. There were still two jobs to do and his finances from the last one were starting to wain. He opened both posters and scanned them briefly before refolding one and placing it back in his satchel.

Wanted Dead or Alive: The Ravager

Description: Human male. Race unknown. Age unknown.Leader of “The Ravagers” raider gang. Last seen South of South Union.

Reward: 500 pennies Alive, 300 with proof of Death.

***

South Union loomed behind him as he walked down the abandoned streets leading into the unoccupied city ruins. It wouldn’t be hard to find raiders too much further. It was just a manner of finding the raiders, which would take time and careful planning and interactions.

He continued deeper into the ruins until the light of the city skyline was deep in the distance. He looked around for signs of regular movement and any thing more than typical animal trails. He was looking for things like fire pits, cut vegetation instead of trampled plants and dusty paths, spent casings, decaying food, etc.

Eventually he happened upon a fire pit with embers still smouldering under the ash and a path running up to and away from it. He made a large cloverleaf scouting pattern around it and identified a two story building he could use to watch the pit and path and got comfortable. Nothing happened for the rest of the day and the sun set without incident. Patton stayed up for an hour or so watching before he bedded down for the night.

He woke up twice during the night to footsteps, but it was just irradiated deer passing through both times. He woke again for the final time an hour before the sun rose for the day. The morning was just as uneventful as the last, but the afternoon yielded some fruit. He was chewing on some jerky he had bought from a street vendor in South Union, when a lone man walked up to the pit and stirred the ashes to see if it was still active. Patton knew he wasn’t the man he was looking for, but perhaps he knew a better location for the Hunter to stay or he could be used as bait.

The man stood to continue walking when Patton cocked his lever action and called out, “Stop right there! I’ve got some questions for you!”

The man raised his his and looked to where the voice was coming from, “In just a hunter, please don’t shoot.”

Patton looked closer at the man’s outfit. He was wearing pieced together leather armor with spiked bits of metal sticking out at the knees, elbows, and shoulders. There was also a red cloth “R” sewn to the man’s chest piece. “If you want people to believe you are just a hunter you might want to reconsider that outfit of yours.”

“So you aren’t dumb, alright, I’ll bite. What do you want?”

“I want some information. Information on the Ravager. I think you can provide that information.”

The man dropped his hands. “I can, but you’ll have to come down here first, I won’t hurt you, you have my word.”

“No can do. I’m not naive enough to trust a raiders honor. How about you tell me what I want to know, or I put a bullet in you brain and move on to the next scout!”

“Okay, okay, slow down, I was planning on leaving this life behind anyways. What do you want to know?”

“The Ravager. Who is he? Where is he? How many men does he have?”

“Well first, he’s a she. Second, she’s probably listening to us right now, and third, she has enough.” As he finished his sentence a shot rang out and the man's head split in two with bits of brain matter splattering the street. Three raiders on ran out of building on both sides of the street followed by one red headed woman walking with confidence to the man’s body. She cackled and looked around the buildings.

“I must say, this is truly an honor! A bounty hunter coming after me! Just wow, but I’m afraid you made a mistake, whoever you are!” She said in a very chipper voice. One of her followers brought her a large knife and undressed the raider traitor. She knelt down and grabbed his genitals and cut them away before the same follower grabbed the severed parts and fastened them to a street pole. “This is what I do to my enemies! This is what awaits you!”

In the instant, all thoughts of taking her alive went off the table. Patton put his sights center mass and squeezed the trigger. “The Ravagers” body went limp as the bullet ripped through her heart and out the back of her body. Patton reloaded quickly and put down two more before the rest dove behind cover. Patton grabbed a grenade out of his packs a lobbed it behind a concrete barrier that two of the three remaining raiders where behind. Limbs a blood flew in all directions with the explosion.

The last raider decided to try and bargain with Patton after the rest of the crew was wasted. As soon as she stood to plead with him he put a bullet in her head. Patton the aimed at the Ravagers lifeless body and unloaded the rest of his repeater into it. He gather his things and slung his rifle before heading down the stairwell and out to the street. He drew his Colt SAA and aimed it at the body as he walked up and kicked the bitches feet. Then her cunt. Then stepped on her chest. I’m not taking any chances with this bitch. He picked up her knife with his free hand keeping his revolver trained on her body the whole time. He brought the knife down on her neck swiftly, hacking away at it instead of creating a clean cut. He stuck the head in his burlap sack and hooked the knife to his belt.

***

The trip back to Wellstone was uneventful and turning in the bounty went without issue. He went back to the Soupy Mutant and ordered a whole bottle of whiskey and walked to his room. He shut the door behind him and popped the cap off the bottle. He took a big gulp out of it and sighed. Well that’s one job I wish I could’ve taken back. I definitely didn’t want to see that.

He counted his coins and returned them to the pouch before taking another swig and pulling out the last bounty poster. This one was different. This one was high dollar. This one would be a challenge.

 

WANTED

DEAD OR ALIVE

GREGORY THATCH

REWARD 10,000 PENNIES

Edited November 20, 2018 by Centurion

[Witchking of Angmar]

Thief

John sat alone at one of the tables at the ground floor of The Inglenook. For the first time in his life he felt as if he was actually getting somewhere and not just looking for scraps. With a bottle of cheap beer in hand he watched as one of the girls on stage swayed her perfectly shaped ass around for all to see. A few more jobs and John might even have enough to touch some of that ass. 

"Whatcha thinking about, kid?" He looked up to find Walter standing behind him with a sly look on his face. "Not one of my girls, I hope. Trust me, Johnny-boy, they're more trouble than a pretty face is worth."

"Really? I'm quite used to dealing with trouble," said John with a smug sense of confidence. Even though the kind of trouble he was used to was navigating the cutthroat gangs of the Homes, he couldn't imagine any woman being able to give him that much trouble. Especially since his brother Chris had always told him how easy they were. 

"There's trouble and then there's trouble," Walter said without further explanation. He pulled up a chair and took a seat next to John. "News has been blowing up lately about that ambush in the Forgotten Homes. They're saying it's the most Brotherhood to die inside Wellstone since the MLA days. Happened just a few blocks from your place. Catch any of it?"

"No. Was moving a few... things from South Union."

"Oh, right." Walter grinned approvingly. "Probably for the best. That much shooting, there's no telling where a stray bullet might've gone." He shrugged. "But on to other things. I called you here for a more important job than usual. A dear friend of mine is going out for dinner this evening and she needs a date."

John looked a little confused. "Is she pretty?" he then asked half jokingly. 

"If you're into gingers." The grin lingered for a moment, then Walter returned to business-mode. "I wouldn't get any ideas, kid. This broad ain't just in with some big people, okay? She is big people. You'll be calling her 'Sally' but only when she speaks to you first, dig? And she's a real people person, so you're gonna let her do all the talking at this dinner. Sound good?"

"Uhm, sure. So why do you want me to go with her then?"

"Like I said, she needs a date." Walter stood and motioned for John to follow him. Together, they made their way to the bar, where one of the girls gave Walter a questioning look. The smuggler nodded, and she disappeared below the counter only to re-emerge with a tiny snubnosed revolver in her hand. "I sincerely believe that the people you'll be meeting with are our friends," Walter said. He took the weapon and laid it in front of John. "It should go over smoothly. But just in case, I want you to make sure my friend gets home safe."

John looked over the weapon with unsure eyes. "Alright," he said. He slowly moved his hand to grab the handle of the gun. "Though I... I've never fired one before."

"No shit?" The smuggler looked surprised and slightly nervous for a second, but then he blinked and it was gone. He patted John on the shoulder. "Well you and I will keep that to ourselves, okay? Like I said, this whole thing should go off without a hitch." He eyed John's hand. "Just, uh, just keep your finger off the trigger unless things get bad... you've got a basic idea of how it works, at least, right?"

"Yeah. Chris showed me his gun a few times. Never let me fire it though. Ammo is expensive he said."

"Funny. I seem to remember him saying the same our friend Taylor back in the day. Often, in fact. The man sucked at saving anything, bullets most of all."
Walter looked like he might say more on that, but then quickly changed subjects. "Just keep that thing in your pocket unless you for sure need it." He grinned. "Otherwise, just sit there and look tough. These people ain't ever seen you before, so for all they know you're a stone-cold killer straight out of the Lost Lands."

"Hopefully." John put the gun down the back of his pants, hiding it under his sweater, like he had seen Chris do a few times. Though he couldn't quite shake the feeling that one wrong move and he'd accidentally shoot himself in the ass. "So where is this 'Sally'?"

"Don't know. She should be here in-" Walter checked his watch. "-about an hour. That's when y'all are heading out. In the meantime, just relax a bit. Enjoy the view, have another beer. Not too much, though. Don't want to embarrass yourself out there." He slapped John's arm. "I got high hopes for you, kid. I really do."
With that, Walter turned and headed back to the rooms upstairs.

John drew a small sigh and turned around to look back at the girl he had enjoyed watching a moment ago. But she was gone and no other girl had yet to replace her. Instead he turned back to the bar and ordered a light beer. He tried to strike up a conversation with a couple of the girls behind the bar, with mediocre results. 

John didn't own a watch, but it sure enough felt like around an hour had passed when a figure practically hopped onto the barstool next to him. He turned to find a freckled woman, maybe four or five years older than himself, staring unabashedly. She wore a baggy green coat and a blue baseball cap over her tied back orange-red hair. The woman tapped her fingers on the bar impatiently as if he'd been the one keeping her waiting. "You ready?"

"Yeah," said John, trying his best to hide his nervousness and look tough as he got up from the bar stool. 

"Let's get going then." She started for the door, not waiting to see if John followed, though he did. "I take it Walter's already told you who I am."

"Only that your name is Sally and that you're important," said John. He wondered what made her so important. She didn't exactly look that important. 

"Me? Important?" she snickered. "Yeah, that sounds about right."
They left the Inglenook and started north along the riverfront. Several Brotherhood patrols walked the area, making John acutely aware of the handgun tucked into his pants. For her part, Sally didn't seem to even notice them. "So that's two things you know about me," she said as they crossed a street. "But all I know about you is that Walter trusts you, so how about we change that?"

John gave her a slightly surprised look. "Uhm, sure. Not much to tell though. Grew up at the Hope in the Homes with my brother. Now that he's been put away I'm just trying to make ends meet."

She whistled. "Well that's heavy. I was expecting you to start with a name."

"John... John Nuker. Walter didn't tell you?"

"Walter told me he'd send one of his guys, and that it was someone young but good." Her eyes traced him up and down, as if to confirm that he fit the description. "So tell me, John, this brother of yours, what's he doing time for?"

"Attempted murder and armed robbery. Or at least that's what they tell me."

"Serious stuff." She seemed to mull over that for a minute before continuing. "He the reason you know Walter?"

"Yeah. He and Walter know each other." John remained quiet for a few seconds before he turned a curious eye towards her. "And what about you? What's your story?"

Sally's smile suddenly dropped and her eyes narrowed. "My story is none of your fucking business."

John couldn't help but back of a step. "Whoa, didn't expect that grumpy face."

"Look," she went on, "I'm supposed to know people. That's my job. You.-" Sally's lip twitched. "You, on the other hand... ah fuck it." The look shattered and Sally burst out laughing. " ‘Grumpy face!’ Damn straight!" She slapped him on the shoulder. "I'm from the Steel District. Run jobs a lot like you do, I imagine. But bigger. Biggest in the city most likely. I reckon you'll find out more soon enough."

John was quiet for another moment as he tried to remember the word he's heard in the Homes. "So I'm guessing you're part of Big Man's crew?"

"Big Man?"

"Something I hear in the Homes. Some Big Man that runs some secret gang. Don't know anything more other than most other gangs are a bit touchy about it."

"Oh that Big Man." Sally shrugged. "I got nothing to do with him. I know my way around the gangs, though."

"Hmm," John mumbled. He doubted how true that was. Even John sometimes had trouble keeping up with the politics of the gangs. 

True or not, Sally was plenty forthcoming about other aspects of her work. As they traveled north and east, she continued to fill John in about what she did. About moving chems, medical supplies, and even weapons up the rivers and through ancient tunnels under the city. She was a smuggler, like him, and possibly a thief too, like him, but that was where the similarities in their work ended. The way she described it, Sally had entire crews of people at her beck and call, and ties with every gang in the city.

By the time they made it to the River Market, John was well past just wondering why he was with this woman instead of any of her apparent dozens of friends and allies, but asking her would have to wait. As they drew into the market throngs, Sally's voice softened, and she said, "More on that, later. Lotta nosey folk in this part of the city."

They continued on past various stores and stalls where the merchants peddled everything from batteries to spoiling mander meat, on to a quaint looking riverside restaurant with a wooden sign that read: Salty Pincher.
Sally looked at John and smiled encouragingly. "Here we are."

"Huh," said John. "I had expected... Don't really know what. But not this."

"Same. Passed this place a thousand times. Never would've guessed it was a front. That's a good sign. Means they're careful."
They headed on inside to find it was as unremarkable on the inside as it was on the out. There were a few customers here and there, and a young waitress moving between them. Sally approached the woman and whispered something that John didn't make out. She nodded and motioned to two men who sat by the far wall facing the door. The younger of them, a blonde-headed man who looked to be in his late twenties, saw them and gave a nod.

John felt increasingly nervous, so much so he had to catch himself from moving his hand to just check that the gun was still safely tucked down his trousers. Instead he glanced at Sally hoping for a hint on their next step.

She nodded back to the men, then started for their table. John followed, and together they took their seats across from the two strangers.

"Glad you could make it." said the younger one. He wore a friendly expression that looked so sincere one might have thought they were old friends. "You must be Sally."

"That's right. And I take it your Sam."

"Just a stage name. Now that you're here, you can call me 'Josiah'." The man nodded to his companion, a taller, dark-haired, dark bearded man whose frown contrasted starkly with Josiah's smile. "This is Ben. Your friend Walter knows him."

John didn't like the way "Ben" was looking at him. As if he was studying him. At last, Ben asked, "And you?"

"John," John briefly muttered. 

The man's eyes lit up. "John Nuker?"

"Yeah," replied John, giving Ben a suspicious look. His hand was slowly moving closer to the gun. Just in case it turned out this man was someone John had stolen from before. 

"You two know each other?" Sally asked. Both she and Josiah looked surprised.

"No," Ben said, still staring at John. "But I know his brother."

"Ah, I see what's happening here." said Sally.

"Well I don't," replied Josiah. "Someone will have to fill me in later. Right now, we've got business to discuss. You guys changed your mind about us. Why?"

"You said to keep our ears on the radio," Sally answered. "We did, and we weren't disappointed. There ain't much that happens in the Forgotten Homes without my knowing first, but that shit with the Brotherhood flew right past me. What's more is that as far as we can tell, it worked like a charm. Impressive."

Josiah didn't bother to deny it. "That's just the start."

John kept quiet, doing his best to keep a straight face, unsure what to make of it all. Last thing he wanted to was to look like a fish out of water given his task. But the talk of them being behind the shootout in the Forgotten Homes made John feel like he was getting in over his head. Something his brother had quite often warned him about. 

"I expected as much. And those bombs, that Taylor Simon guy," Sally glanced at Ben. "He was once a friend of Walter's too. Did your people order that?"

"No," Josiah answered. "I met Simon before he died, but had nothing to do with the shit he pulled. We're not that reckless."

"Good. We ain't interested in working with terrorists. If you're not a crazy, then I'm all ears. What exactly was your shootout 'just the start' of?"

"The end of the Brotherhood, for one."
Josiah said it so casually, without so much as a twitch in his smile, that it almost came across as a dry sort of joke. But when he continued, it became clear that he was deadly serious. "I know you're probably thinking right now that I'm crazy after all, but I promise, I'm not. And if you'll hear me out, you'll find we can all get something out of this."

Sally drew in a deep breath, then let it out. "Well you sure don't think small, do you?"

"The bad guys don't. Why should we? My father grew up in Vault 0. He knows the Brotherhood like you know your own mother. And he knows how badly they need Wellstone. This city has grown stronger than anything they've ever built. And he's got plans to kick them out, something I understand that you might want as well."

Sally glanced at John, then nodded. "Keep talking."

John felt like saying something. More specifically ask what plans they had for Paradise. But then he remembered Walter's words about keeping quiet and instead just ended up shifting his sitting position a bit to not get too stiff. 

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," said Josiah. "Which means we'll probably make good friends one day. How many people do you have?"

"A lot." She did not seem keen on being very specific. "The boss could round up an army if needed."

"So you're not in charge." He didn't look very surprised. "I've already told you who I work for. What about you?"

"Sure," Sally shot John a sideways glance. "Fella goes by the name Big Max. You've probably heard of him."

Big Max? thought John as his memory returned to him of the 'Big Man'. He turned towards Sally and almost opened his mouth to loudly accuse her of having lied to him. Instead he let out a small snort. Whoever this woman was she was really beginning to go on his nerves. Chris was right; women with power were untrustworthy bitches. 

"I've heard of him." Josiah's brow was low, and he seemed to be mulling something over. "I thought he was a gangster."

"Max is much more than that," Sally replied. "I promise you."

"You'll have to introduce us, then." He didn't wait for Sally to respond, "How about Halloween? It'll be a good cover. I'm tired of these meetings where we beat around the bush and try to figure out if the other is legit. Why don't we sit down with our people and talk about getting some real shit done?"

"I just told you something that could get us all crucified and you think this has been beating around the bush?" Sally almost sounded defensive.

"Can you guarantee me twenty men armed and ready tonight?" Josiah asked. Sally's expression was all the answer he seemed to need. "If not, then you're not the person I need to be speaking with. This ain't a game. My people are ready to start taking action."

"You need twenty men tonight?" She looked unsure. "What for?"

"I don't need twenty men. I need someone who can guarantee them. Actually, what I need is to sit that person down across from my father so they can start making plans to do more than hide and attack patrols."

Sally nodded, understanding. "Yeah, I getcha. Fuck it, I agree. We can do Halloween. We've even got the perfect place for it."

"You don't need to ask Big Max first?"

"No," she said, seemingly a little annoyed. "I can schedule a damn meeting."

John barely caught a glimpse of Josiah's lip twitching up before the man hid it by taking a sip of his drink. "Great," the rebel then continued, "Make sure there's plenty of room. Gregory usually brings friends." He smiled and placed a few coins on the table. "Come back here tomorrow and give the directions to the owner, Saul. He'll see that my father gets them." With that, Josiah got up and Ben quickly followed. "It was nice meeting you, really. I'm excited to see how you guys are in action."

"Yep." To John's surprise, that was all Sally said. When the two men were gone, she turned to him. "I can't tell if I hate that guy or kinda like him. Fucker didn't mince words."

"Hmm," John mumbled as he wondered if it was too late to follow Josiah instead. He seemed like a more honest and straight-up guy than his current company. "You lied to me," John said with a frown. 

"Lied to you?" She looked like her mind was in a completely different place. "About what?"

”You told me you didn’t know Big Max.”

"That?" She rolled her eyes. "I believe I told you I didn't know 'Big Man'. Your fault. And I was only teasing. If I really cared so much to keep it from you, why the hell would I bring you along and then talk about Max in front of you?"

John didn't know what to say to that. But it didn't make him like her any more. If it wasn't for Walter's words about who she was John might have just slapped that bitch and left her there. Instead he only grumbled quietly with a scowl. 

"Alright then, grouchy." She got up "Let's get back to the 'Nook."

The trip back included none of the friendly chatter or talk about work from before. Sally kept quiet, and simply led the way back to where they'd come from, taking a different route than before. Once back at the Inglenook, they headed into the lounge, where Sally suddenly turned to him. "Wait here."

"Sure," John said almost dismissively as his eyes trailed towards the stage and the girl dancing around the pole. 

A few minutes passed. One of the girls brought him a beer and the dancers changed out twice. As the time the third woman climbed up onto the stage, Walter arrived and took a seat next to him. He dropped a pouch onto John's lap. "Good work, my friend. I hear tell you made a fine date. Sally even threw in a bonus. Said she looks forward to workin' with you again."

John gave Walter a slightly confused look, figuring this some kind joke after the cold shoulder they had given each other on the way back. "Did she?"

"More or less. Just enjoy the money. That's what you're here for, yeah?"

"Yeah." John couldn't really stop thinking on what that Josiah had talked about. About Paradise. About his brother. Instead John turned his eyes towards the woman on stage again that provided a nice distraction. "You know... How much for... a private 'dance'?"

"Sorry, Johnny Boy, but you ain't my type." Walter laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "Go talk to Daphne. Today's a good day, so you tell her it's on me."

"Thanks." John looked around as if he half expected the girls to wear large nametags. "Which one is Daphne?"

"The dark haired broad, over yonder." Walter nodded to a woman sitting at the bar with her back to them. "Don't make her dance too hard, eh?"

"I'll try," John said with a chuckle and got up. Maybe he could meet one nice girl for the day.

[Witchking of Angmar]

Thief

John sat on a park bench facing The Studios. Despite the high concrete walls separating the place from the rest of the world he could still hear the muffled and faint sounds of movies being made. It was enough for him to dream about how it would be like to make it in the glamorous showbusiness. Being a the famous actor that kissed beautiful girls on camera and had them flock around him off camera. 

Those daydreams were however interrupted when a man sat down besides John on the bench. Annoyed at being brought back down to reality John looked over the man with a frown. The man looked to be in his early to mid twenties and had medium long, dark brown hair and a short unkempt beard. He was slightly taller than John and had a determined yet weary look to him. 

"Enjoying the view of the big grey block?" asked the man. 

It took a few seconds for John to remember. "Mark?"

"Hello to you too."

"I thought you were serving time."

"I was. Up until a couple of days ago."

"So what brings you here?"

"You know, the prison gave me a lot of time to think." Mark then paused but continued before John could get the chance to ask, "Are we really free? Despite being out I don't feel free-er."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the Homes is like a prison. We live here in a dump while on the other side of these walls people are living the good life. Walls meant to keep us out. To keep us in our place. You understand?"

"Not really," said John with some hesitation. 

"Well you know who our best customers in the drug trade are?"

"The rich folks in the Gold District and the like."

"Exactly! And it's they that run this city. It's they that the Brotherhood has running things for them. Yet they mark us as criminals and force us to live in this dump. We give them what they want and they spit on us."

"Hmm," John mumbled thoughtfully. Those thoughts didn't sound too unfamiliar to him and they reminded him in some way of words Chris had spoken to him about. 

"I also heard what happened her in the Homes. With the Brotherhood," Mark continued after a moment of silence. "Good that someone finally popped some gear heads."

"You gonna try to join them?"

"Not sure yet. Don't know what they really fight for. And I don't want to fight for anyone who's just another boss lusting for power. I want to fight for freedom."

"And how are you gonna do that?"

"That's what I was kinda hoping you'd help me with?"

"You want me to become a soldier?" said John with disbelief. 

"No no no. Nothing so drastic. You see... I got plan for the Halloween festival; since the festival is held by the riverfront there will be a lot of security around that place, but very little everywhere else. Not to mention I bet the Brotherhood are too scared to have their regular patrols about, with all the masked people running around. I already got a few like minded friends in on this. The plan is that we simply run through the Crossroads, Steel and as much of the Market District as we can and tear down the lies the Brotherhood has plastered all of the place."

"And how will this help your fight for freedom?"

"It will show people that want it that they are not alone. That we are there on the streets with them."

"And if someone catches us?"

"Don't worry about that. I got a bunch of those cheap pumpkin masks they sell every year. Just keep your hood up and no one will know it was us."

"I'm not sure." John felt as if he was getting involved with stuff that would get in over his head again. But that was what Chris had always warned him about and he wasn't there anymore. And with how things were shaping up it seemed that he would need to shape up and be able to deal with it. 

"Come on. Think on your brother," said Mark as if had read John's mind. "He's gone because of those gear heads. And I don't think he'd want you living under their thumb all your life."

John wasn't so sure about if that was what Chris would have wanted. But he couldn't just continue living like Chris was there to protect him and do the dangerous work for him. John drew a small sigh. "Alright."

Mark gave him a pat on the back. "Good on you. Now don't worry too much. This'll be a walk in the park."

"So when and where will we..."

"I was thinking we'd spend the day scouting the districts for all Brotherhood posters and for any potential patrols. Then around 6 pm we'll all meet on the Broadway and Southwest intersection in the Crossroads District and work our way from there back to the Homes."

"Alright."

"Thanks," said Mark and stood up. "I'd love to stay and chat some more but I got a few more visits to pay. See if I can get a few more of us in on this. See ya."

"Bye," replied John as Mark left. 

Soon thereafter John was alone again, feeling somewhat confused at what had just happened. While it was good to see Mark again he had certainly changed. Gone was the otherwise carefree man that had been rather content with his life in the Homes. And he had only been in prison for about a year. It made John wonder how Chris would be when he got out from the gulag. He wanted to believe Chris would still be the brother he knew and loved, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Chris might not be the same. 

[BTC]

The Hotelier

Clara took a little longer than was necessary deciding which of the two satin head wraps, red or black, she wanted to wear. It was going to be a long day setting up for the dance she held every Halloween at the cabaret, and she didn’t have time to fix her hair this morning. That would have to wait until she put on her Inspector costume later on for the festival. But it wasn’t the party preparations that she was avoiding by dragging out this decision over which wrap she wanted to wear.

No, it was the meeting she had this morning. She knew she shouldn’t be nervous. She’d done all the preparations, checked and triple checked that everything was in place for tonight. Still, she couldn’t help it. The weight sitting in the bottom of her stomach had been there since she woke up this morning, and she knew it would be there when she went to bed too.

She made a decision, grabbing and putting on the red one. It would complement her pink blouse more, after all. It took her only a few more moments to finish getting ready before she left her penthouse suite and took the elevator to the ground floor. There were a couple stops to pick up a few merchants and other businesspeople hoping to get some work done before the evening festivities, and Clara greeted them all and ensured they were having a pleasant stay.

The elevator made the soft dinging sound and she stepped off on the second floor, where her soon-to-be-retired head of security, William Rodgers, was waiting. He was tall and thick around the belly, with a neat silver goatee and sharp but weary looking eyes.

“Morning Clara,” he said in his soothing voice. She’d once asked him if he sang at all, but he’d just laughed it off. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he had a good singing voice, though.

“Good morning Rodge. Are you ready for your last Halloween soiree?” Clara asked as they walked the short way to her office.

“Here’s hoping I’ve finally learned how dance. It’ll only have taken me a few decades working here,” he said with a self-effacing smile.

Clara smiled and gave him a hug. “I’ll miss having you around. Are you absolutely sure you’re ready to go?”

“Barbara would kill me if we didn’t join the kids in Chicago. Don’t worry, though, I’m sure we’ll stay in touch. I’ll always be available when duty calls.” He gave her a knowing wink, and the weight in her stomach lifted just a little. It was good having people around you could trust, and there were few people she trusted as much as Rodge. They’d built so much of this place together, and he’d truly sacrificed to stay in Wellstone as long as he had.

“I know you will be,” Clara said. She unlocked her office and they went in and sat down. There was a pot of tea being kept warm on a hotplate, as well as four cups, courtesy of her hotel manager George. She poured one each for her and Rodge. “But you don’t get to retire yet. We’ve still got a lot to do today. How are the preparations for tonight coming?”

Rodge took a seat and grabbed his teacup, which looked very small in his hands. “Since we got your new hires acquainted with the place yesterday, when they arrive I’ll put them straight to work. Probably assign a couple to the cabaret and one to the casino with Sawyer. But besides that, I think we’re all set.”

“Everything’s prepared upstairs?” Clara asked.

He took a sip and nodded. “Just waiting for our guests to arrive.”

“Good, good.” Clara knew the caffeine probably wouldn’t help her nerves, but drinking the tea helped anyway.  “Oh, make sure George sends Lawrence up when he and the others arrive. I need to speak to him about a job.”

Rodge arched his eyebrows. “If I wasn’t retiring I’d be worried you were replacing me.”

Clara smiled and shook her head. “A different sort of job. Detective work for a friend. Though, if tonight goes well, who knows, I might keep them around. Keep a close eye on them, if you would, and let me know what you think.”

“Will do. Do you want me in here for…?”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. You keep an eye on everything else, and I can handle this,” Clara said.

He set his teacup back on her desk and stood. “I’ll let you know if anything needs your attention.”

Clara thanked him, and Rodge left. Once the door shut, she pried loose the false panel beneath her desk and pressed one of the hidden buttons, which locked the door. Then she pressed in the keypad code, and a section of the wall next to the door pushed out slightly and swung open. A light inside clicked on, illuminating the hidden staircase and elevator landing.

She didn't have to wait very long. Within a few minutes, the elevator started to hum, then dinged again as the doors opened to allow in Julie Gillard, a woman whose influence Clara still did not know the full extent of. Her father had been one of the big shots who owned a sizable chunk of the Industrial District, but when he died most of it was divided up and bequeathed to the dozens of friends and contacts who presumably helped get him so rich in the first place. Julie was well-known and active in that part of the city, but there was some confusion as to what actually belonged to her.

Whatever the case, the woman presented herself more humbly than most of her class. She wore plain jeans tucked down into her boots, and a brown coat that had no holes or tears. Her orange-red hair was tied back into a ponytail, and her blue eyes seemed very alert and focused. Julie smiled as she stepped out of the elevator "Clara! It's good to see you."

“It’s good to see you too. It’s been too long,” Clara said with a smile of her own. She motioned for Julie to take a seat and went about pouring her a cup of tea. “How have you been?”

"Busy." Julie graciously accepted the tea as she sat. "With all the craziness lately, I've hardly caught a break. Been to every corner of the city this week alone. What about you? Anything new?"

“Rodge is retiring, so I’ve taken on some new hires. Not into the fold, though I’m optimistic. One of them kicked off whatever it was that led to Robert Devereux killing himself. I’m keeping my ear to the ground to find out what exactly that whole business was. So far, I’ve only found that it was connected to the Brotherhood.”

"I like the sound of that, but please be careful. There have been a lot of pretenders, lately." Her expression became somber. "The last one cost us bad."

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was it something we should be concerned about for tonight?”

"I sure hope not." Julie sighed, betraying how tired she was. "This group's got nothing to do with the last one, and if they are who they say they are, then they could be the best friends we've ever made. If not, well I don't plan on meeting them alone. Is everything ready?"

“The thirteenth floor will be cleared by then and the room is sound proof. No one should know the meeting is taking place. Is there anything else you will need?”

"You've done plenty already. Thank you for this, Clara, I mean it."

“It’s the least I can do. Whatever you and your new friends need, please let me know. Money, a place to stay, information, I want to help. Truly.”

"I know. And you have helped, and you will help more soon, I'm sure. We'll need all those things in the coming months." She chuckled and shook her head. "If only everyone in this city had your commitment. We'd be unstoppable."

A small, modest smile spread across Clara’s face. It made her feel much younger than she was. “Thank you, Julie. If we were all as brave as you, we might’ve won already.”

"We will, though. It could take months or years, but we will." Julie's mood seemed to lighten. "May I see the room?"

“Of course! If you’ll follow me.” Clara rose and together with Julie they entered the hidden elevator. It only had four floors as options on the inside: the basement, Clara’s second floor office, the hidden thirteenth floor rooms, and Clara’s fourteenth floor penthouse, though none of the buttons were labeled, instead arranged in ascending order. Clara pressed the button for the hidden rooms and the elevator lurched into motion. “I haven’t got to show it off to very many people, for obvious reason, but I’m quite proud of it. George even more so. He designed it, and to hide the existence of these rooms, hired and fired several construction crews so only he ever knew what the final design would be.”

It pleased her to see that Julie was visibly impressed. "Can't be too careful," the rebel replied. "This man George, is he available to do similar work for me? I'd pay him well, of course."

“I’m sure he’d gladly help.” The elevator dinged and came to a stop. Clara pulled aside the scissor gate elevator door, revealing a long, narrow hallway stretching to the right and left. Motioning to the right, she said, “There are three small rooms down there, for anyone needing to lay low.”

She led Julie to the left, to a heavy metal door. With the press of a button on the wall, it silently swung open, revealing a windowless room. It wasn’t decorated, and its only furniture was a metal table in the middle surrounded by eight chairs. There wasn’t room for anything else. The only other notable feature was a clock on one wall and red light bulb sticking out of the one opposite that. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I thought safety was more important than comfort. Both George and I have access to a button that will turn the light on if there’s any hint of danger, though I suspect staying put would be the best bet in that situation. The only way in is through the elevator, and all of those entrances are well hidden.”

"It's perfect," Julie said at once. "And the others, they'll be led in through the basement like I was?"

“Yes. Preferably without knowing what building they’re entering. For my safety, I’d like them to be unaware of my affiliations until you’re certain they’re friends.”

"I can arrange that."

“Thank you.” Clara glanced up at the clock and saw it was nearly time for her other meeting of the morning. She expected Lawrence was a punctual individual. “Unfortunately, I have to head back down. I have a meeting with one of those new hires. You can stay here as long as you’d like and check everything out. I know the peace of mind that can come from inspecting things yourself.”

"I'd like that. Thanks again, Clara."

“It’s my pleasure, Julie.” With that Clara went back to the elevator, closed the door, and made it back to her office.

She had left Julie and the hidden rooms behind for only five minutes when Lawrence arrived. Her hotel manager George, a short, thick man with a neat black mustache and noticeable limp, showed Lawrence to her office. She thanked George and told Lawrence to take a seat, which he did, placing his black cowboy hat upside down in the chair next to him.

Clara looked the man over. He was in his early forties, and had seen a lot of sun in those years. His dark brown eyes were sad and his mustache followed the downward curve of the frown he wore. He sat up straight in the chair, though, and his eyes were sharp and with an unwavering focus, taking everything in. He had the melancholy air of someone who’d suffered in his time, but that it wouldn’t impede upon him accomplishing whatever needed doing. As she usually did, she’d noticed that upon meeting him for the first time two nights ago. There would not be much missed between the two of them, that she knew for certain.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked.

Lawrence said yes in a voice gruff in sound though not tone. She could tell he took the drink more out of courtesy than anything else.

“Has George helped you and your friends find a place in the city? I know Guillermo mentioned wanting to get out of South Union as soon as possible.”

“Mr. Parker was very gracious. I doubt we would’ve gotten a rate as cheap as we did without his help.”

“I would expect nothing less from him.” Clara cleared her throat and set her tea down. “If things go well today, I’d like to hire you all full time. My head of security is retiring, and with the direction Wellstone is going, I could use with more guards. That would come with lodging here as well.”

Lawrence looked surprised, though she could tell it was at more than simply her offer. “I thought your mention of long term jobs the other night was just you being nice.”

“It was a real offer. I’ve heard only good things about you and your friends. But first I need you to help me with something. Or really, help a friend with something.”

Lawrence watched her, and she watched him watching her. It was a moment before he spoke, when the lingering surprise on his face faded to a blank look that spoke vaguely of skepticism. “I appreciate all your kindness, Miss Teasley, and you offering us these jobs. But, if I’m being honest-“

“I expect you usually are.”

He tilted his chin down in a small, almost noncommittal nod. “I usually am. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know why it is that you’re looking to hire us long term, and now asking me to help your friend. You hardly know us.”

“You came highly recommended.”

“You must trust Mrs. Devereux and her recommendations a great deal, then.”

“In truth, not a bit.” She could see some of the skepticism fade as he could tell she wasn’t lying. He clearly hadn’t trusted Patricia, and it allayed his concern that she didn’t either.

“You must trust me a great deal to tell me that.”

“We’re both good at reading people, Mr. Harding. I trust what I learned about you from Patricia, not her recommendation. And I trust what I’ve seen myself.”

“And what have you seen?”

“A man with a conscience, who is honest and who doesn’t miss much. Guillermo loves you, the others respect you, and they all trust you. Five people, only one of whom, according to Guillermo, you knew a year ago.”

She saw something flinch in his expression, not much, just a twitch of a cheek muscle. A reaction to his friend spilling a little more than he should have. He said, “You read all that in one night?”

“It was a long setlist, and our friend does enjoying hamming it up between songs. Plenty of time for it. I’ve no doubt that by the time this meeting is through, you’ll have read just as much off of me.”

“I’m not so sure about that. A woman who doesn’t trust her friend’s recommendation and does trust strangers this easily is a hard one to read.”

She gave a small shrug of her shoulders and a coy smile. She knew he’d be able to get a read on her. Clara was a good liar. She had to be in her line of work. But she wasn’t lying to Lawrence about not trusting Patricia, about who she thought he was, and about wanting to hire him. She was as open a book as she was likely to get. “I trust the recommendations of certain friends. George, William, Gloria, Vince-“

“It a coincidence all four of them work for you?”

“I like having people around me that I can trust. It was part of the reason why I hired Guillermo, and part of the reason why I want to hire you.”

She watched him think everything over. He was deliberate, and clearly didn’t worry if he was wasting her time. She suspected that when he was on the job, back in the day as a sheriff, recently as a caravan guard, or now as a detective, he acted much the same way.

“What did you learn from Mrs. Devereux that would lead you to trust me?” he finally asked.

“I knew beforehand she suspected Robert was cheating on her. She said you were thorough and discrete in proving it. She said you also worked quickly, but I suspect that was more a function of luck than skill. Though it was the fact you went against Robert in the first place that most impressed her. And me.”

Lawrence shrugged. “I’m new here. A lot easier to go against someone powerful if you don’t know who they are.”

“Don’t play the fool, Mr. Harding. You’re smart enough to figure out who the big fish are,” Clara said. She paused to finish her tea, though she kept her eyes on Lawrence. “But Patricia did not mention precisely what it was you did. You’ve of course heard he killed himself. I’ve also heard he was connected to something illegal, something to do with the Brotherhood. Would you know anything about that?” She didn’t mention that Patricia had let slip she had evidence of the cheating because of pictures Lawrence took. Clara suspected there was more to those images than infidelity. Enough to cause Robert to take his own life, even if Patricia didn’t know what it was either.

“I’d heard he died. I found proof he was cheating, but I don’t know anything about those rumors.” Lawrence didn’t flinch as he lied to her. She knew he was lying, he knew she knew, and he didn’t care. He was honest, but not willing to betray secrets to just anyone. That was a level of trust that had to be earned, not something he would just give away. She liked that about him.

As much as Clara liked it, though, she would need to learn more. If there were pictures of Robert Devereux, one of the three powerful munitions merchants in the city, that incriminated him in illegal activity and involved the Brotherhood, those pictures would be very useful even with Robert dead. Once Lawrence and his friends were moved in, she might have to look through his things and see what she could turn up.

But that would have to wait. There was still the job she needed him to do today, and the meeting tonight. “I suspected not. Now, about the job I mentioned?”

“I’d like to know what it is before I decide, if that’s alright,” Lawrence said.

“Due diligence is an admirable quality in a detective. My friend Vanessa Van Silver wishes for you to go to her house and meet with her. I gather her daughter is acting like a rebellious teenager, and saying things she shouldn’t. I don’t know the full extent of it, but what I do know is that no one should get into much trouble over teenage indiscretions,” Clara said.

“You’re right about that,” Lawrence said. “I’ll head over there as soon as we’re done.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harding. Good luck.”

Lawrence rose from his seat, grabbed his hat, and gave her a nod before he left. As the door shut and locked, Clara sank down into the softness of her chair, letting the stress of the morning fade away. Her part in these endeavors was done, for now. All that was left was to throw a Halloween party, and that she could do blindfolded and with both hand tied behind her back.

[Witchking of Angmar]

Blacksmith

The costume turned out much better than Richard had expected. The leather coat he had reached down to his knees, painted with a yellow color to create a pattern of flowery vines that from a distance created tentacles and twisted eyes. Though the pattern was made up as Richard didn't really remember what the pattern on the coat had looked like on that character. The mask he had made from a sheet of metal he had bought in Junker Town, having only the basic shapes of a face but was otherwise plain, giving it the feeling of being a face without a face. Along with a hood and a tricorn hat to cover up his head he definitely looked mysterious. With the leather gloves on to help cover every spot of skin and his sword and dagger strapped to his belt on the outside of the coat he felt like an avenging wraith from the 18th century. 

On top of it all the hunt on molerats had been profitable enough that he now had a couple golds worth of coin to spare to spend on the festival. All safely tucked into a pouch inside the coat by his chest. For once he wouldn't be some poor mailman. 

Even if it was just slightly before noon the people of the city were already buzzing about. Almost all dressed up in some costume or another, some more or less impressive in quality than others. Richard wondered what Aly had chosen to wear for the festival. He half expected something boring and cheap, but was somewhat hoping for something a little daring, something with cleavage. Those thoughts slowly became more daring as well after he passed a couple of young women in skimpy costumes and he felt he had to reign them in by the time he was knocking on the door to The Garage. 

"It's open!" someone shouted. Richard entered to find the place pretty much unchanged. The middle brother, Ethan, or whatever his name was, sat by the right hand wall. He was stained from grease and oil, and in the middle of matching wires on some big robotic contraption that was in pieces all over the floor.
The young man looked up when he entered. "What the fuck?" He paused, looking Richard up and down, and then the dots connected. "Oh, it's you. Shit, man, good costume. Aly oughta be down soon." He turned to the back room and shouted, "ALY!" and then he returned to his work.

"What's that?" asked Richard in a curious tone as he pointed at the robotic thing. 

"This?" The handyman tapped the machine without looking up. "Well most of this shit used to be from an old C-series loadlifter. Got a guy from South Union who wants it runnin' again, but he didn't bring me half the shit it needs. Gonna be a frankenbot when I'm done with it, but it'll serve."

Richard thought about asking another question, but couldn't think of any. It wasn't exactly one of those dangerous robots he had encountered on the road that he was often more curious in knowing their weaknesses. Instead he began to slowly mill about near the door and looking over various pieces on the shelves. 

Eventually, Aly came down, and if Richard hadn't known better, he'd have taken her for a typical wasteland savage. Her clothes were all cut up and stained with what he assumed was fake blood. She had on baggy pants with armored pads on the knees, and a shirt tank top. Her face, arms, and stomach were adorned with green and yellow symbols that must have taken some time to paint, and her hair had been dyed dark red. Over her left shoulder was what looked like a deer pelt, and over the right was a decorative scrapmetal axe. 

She couldn't have grinned wider when she saw him. "Oh man, this is great," she beamed as she looked him up and down. "You got a camera, E?"

"You know I don't, Aly."

"Doesn't matter, we'll find one later." She came up and fixed Richard's hat a bit. "You said this was from a book?"

"Yeah," said Richard while trying to suppress memories and an instinct of battle that her outfit awoke in him. "And I see you've put quite a bit of work on your costume as well. It looks quite realistic."

"It's based on a tribe from the Lost Lands. More like a gang, really, called the Harvesters. Brotherhood took 'em out years back."

"I'm guessing the name didn't come from them being peaceful farmers?"

"They were farmers, actually. Just not the peaceful kind." She motioned to the door. "You ready to go?"

"Sure." Richard then opened the door for her. "Ladies first."

Aly smiled and headed on out. "I can't wait to get to the riverfront," she said as he closed the door behind them. "Have you been up that way, yet?"

"Passed by yesterday on a delivery. Lots of colorful stalls and the like. But rather empty at the time."

"Well they ain't empty now. Come on!"

They continued their walk north at a steady pace. It took a little while for Richard to push those memories Aly's costume awoke in him out of mind. But once he managed everything suddenly started to feel surreal. People in costumes and festive mood walked the streets. Colorful and weird decorations just about everywhere. A nice girl by his arm. And no bloodshed awaiting him as far as he could see, at least in the near future. It was like watching a life that wasn't supposed to be possible. Not anymore. Like it all must either somehow be fake or a dream. 

The number of people in the streets increased steadily as they got closer to the riverfront. The sound of music and revelry increased as well. Once there it was like they had walking upon a labyrinth of colorful stalls with games, toys, food, candy and other stuff Richard couldn't figure out what they were. Spooky decorations and small lights hanged above it all on a network of lines and wires held up by lampposts. 

"Well..." said Richard with some hesitation as he tried to take in it all. "Where to first?"

"How about a game?" Aly pointed down the street to a large bald man whose hairy torso was covered only by suspenders despite the autumn chill. He stood before a narrow wooden tower that looked about fifteen feet tall and had a bell on top.

As Richard looked, a thinner man lifted a long wooden hammer high over his head and brought it crashing down onto a pad at the tower's base. A little red ball was propelled upward, but only made it about halfway to the bell before falling down again. The big man laughed and the thin man reluctantly returned the hammer.
"Who's next?" bellowed the big man. "Who wants to test their strength against the Vit-o-Matic High Striker?"

"What do you think?" Aly asked. "You're a blacksmith, right? Swinging hammers seems right up your alley."

The game didn't directly remind him of smithing though. The way the hammer was lifted above the head and brought down reminded him instead of a beheading. "Sure, why not," he said while trying to just see as the silly game it was. "I reckon I could strike it pretty high."

They approached, and the large man looked Richard up and down with a gleam in his eyes. "You look like a fit one! How about trying your might against the High Striker? Ten cents to enter. Swing hard enough to ring the bell and you get it back, plus a prize!"

"Alright," said Richard and gave the man two nickels and was given the hammer in return.

Richard took position and placed the hammerhead on the pad to get a feel of where to hit before taking a slow practice swing. As he did though his mind formed a picture of a sword being placed on a man's neck. The blood began to rush and his breath grew heavy. With all his might he brought the hammer down and the red ball shot up. But all Richard could see for a second was a head falling to the ground. By the time he snapped out of it and looked up the ball was already on its way down and he had missed its peak. 

Richard turned to Aly. "How did I do?" 

"Hot damn!" Aly exclaimed, clapping. "I wouldn't want to be a spider in your house!"

"You got a mean stroke, boy," said the big man. "We coulda used you on the railroad. Here's your money back." He handed Richard the coins. "And, ehh..." he scratched the back of his head and dug around in an old burlap sack. He came up holding a dusty little brass compass with the words 'Sunset Saparilla' on the back. "Here's your prize."

"Thanks." Richard thought about examining the quality in closer detail, but decided it might be a little rude as he had practically gotten it for free. Instead he pocketed it and turned to Aly again. "That was fun. Now what about getting something to eat? I'm starting to get a little hungry."

"Sure, I could go for some food." As she said that, Aly eyed a passing group of five young teenagers dressed as various old world abominations. "Look out for this bunch. They look like trickers."

The kids carried paper bags filled with assorted candies and what looked like pieces of stale bread. Even as Richard and Aly watched, the kids took some of the bread in their hands and hurled it at a vender, causing a pair of scraggly dogs that accompanied them to run beneath the man’s feet and trip him. The kids yelled "Trick or treat!" and bolted down the street, spilling candy as they went.

Richard stared dumbfounded at the outlandish display. "Uhm..." he then mumbled. "What was that?"

"That happens. If you've got sweets and a kid asks for one, make sure you share, or you'll get tricked." She looked back at the vender as he hurled curses at the fleeing teenagers. "... which usually just amounts to being harassed."

"They don't really look like kids though."

"They'd probably agree any other day. But if you tell 'em that now, you'll probably be their next target."

"As long as they only throw bread I think I can live with that," said Richard with a small chuckle. Something about the youngsters harmless antics was strangely endearing. Yet Richard couldn't also help but think that they were undisciplined and were in the need of a good punishment. 

"Speaking of which, I believe we were about to go find something to eat." Aly said, probably not sharing in those particular sentiments. "How about it?"

There was no shortage of stalls selling all manner of meats, cheeses, breads, fruits, and candies. Some of them were even themed, like honeyed rolls in the shape of skulls, "salamander blood sausages" with extra blood, and "mystery" kebabs that Richard wasn't entirely sure didn't come from humans.

"I ain't eating anything with the word mystery in it," said Richard with a slight disdain in his voice. 

"Be sure to stay out of Junker Town," Aly said, nodding in agreement. "How about you lead the way. I'm sure there's something out here we can both stomach."

In the end, they settled for some roasted chicken and a couple of the rolls. The seasoned meat was served on a stick, so they walked through the river throngs as they ate. When Aly finished hers, she played a shooting range game, and managed to hit eight out of ten moving "witch" targets with an old lever action BB gun. "Dad taught me to shoot," she explained as the guy gave her a prize -a pair of plastic dice worth less than the pennies the game cost to play- "Our old place was just outside the city. When it rained, we got rats. Big rats."

They continued along, talking, taking in the sights, and playing the occasional game or buying the occasional sweet. Thankfully, they never got accosted by the trick-or-treaters, though they did see their share of young people making trouble for others and each other. Most of it was harmless fun, like an 'alien' dropping frogs down the shirt of a 'wolf man'. Though in one instance, they did get to see a young 'genie' and a child in a tattered oversized business suit get into a very real fistfight that quickly got broken up by some bystanders. 

As they were trying their luck on what looked like a colorful roulette wheel mounted on a wall Richard saw a woman join the game, dressed in a tight black suit and a mask that only covered the area around her eyes. Her body was rather stunning and Richard had force himself not to look too much. Though as he noticed her hair blonde hair had its tips colored stark blue he remembered her as the reporter from the court. Though it wouldn't matter since she would never recognize him in his costume. 

"Hey! Richard was it?" she then said as she approached him.

"Uhm... yes," replied Richard. "How did you..."

"Just a guess. Though your dagger is rather unique."

"Hmm," mumbled Richard. He'd have to remember that detail. "And you are... Isabella."

"Isabelle. Close enough," she said with a shrug. "So I see you've already begun settling in."

Another young woman then appeared at Isabelle's side. A rather short woman with long brown hair in pigtails and a pale grey dress with thin veils sewn onto it. "Hey Belle, who is this?"

"This is the wastelander I told you about last week."

"Please don't call me a wastelander," said Richard with a slightly pained expression that they of course couldn't see. 

"Alright," said Isabelle.

"Quite the costume for a wastelander. Sorry, I mean..." said the short woman before her eyes went to Richard's sword. "That sword real?"

"Hmm... yes." said Richard before giving Aly a quick glance, hoping she would step in.

"Matter of fact, I've seen him use it," she said, drawing up to his side. She looked completely serious. "Ran it right through the last person to call him a wastelander."

"Can I see it?" the short woman said.

"Sure, but then I gotta stab you with it," replied Richard sarcastically. 

The girl just gave him a coy smile. "Aren't you at least gonna buy me dinner first before you stab me with your 'sword'?"

Richard was so taken aback by that statement that he couldn't come up with any riposte. The prospect of insulting her height went through his mind but that was too much of a low blow for him to feel comfortable using it. Instead he was left speechless, which only made the girl smile with glee.

"Cute," Aly said, her brow furrowed. It was the first time he'd seen her look unhappy since they arrived. She locked her arm with his and glared at the woman. "If you're lookin' to get stabbed, try asking around the Homes, lady."

The short woman gave Aly a bit a of a scowl while her smile remained, now only slightly twisted. She looked to about to say something when Isabelle stepped in and said, "Alright, that's enough."

The short woman continued to give Aly a scowl for a couple of seconds before her expression grew softer. "Yeah, sorry. By the way I'm Felicia."

"Alison."

"Hey!" the man operating the stand shouted at them. "You gonna play or not?"

After that they played a couple of rounds on the wheel. While Richard could not quite put the finger on it there seemed to be a bit of a rivalry between the four as they played on the wheel. Richard and Aly didn't win a thing though, which Richard felt was typical for his luck, while Felicia and Isabelle managed to score the grand price of a small wooden box filled with sweets. 

"Want one?" asked Isabelle as she and her friend were trying a couple out. Felicia however didn't look so keen on sharing. 

"Well, if you insist," said Richard with playful tone as he and Aly picked a couple of small, orange sweets from the box. It had a strange berry like taste that was alright. 

After that Isabelle and Felicia decided to make company with Richard and Aly in the festival. Something Richard found a little strange, but he found the whole event strange so he rolled with it. Isabelle was rather nice to them, though Felicia still seemed a little miffed over Aly's remark about getting stabbed in the Homes. 

"So... what kind of place did you grow up in?" asked Isabelle almost out of nowhere as she looked to Richard. 

"Haven't I already told you?" replied Richard. "Far to the northwest."

"No. I mean what kind of place. Not where this place is. I mean you seem a little strange for someone coming from the wasteland. I've never heard the word 'adequate' come from anyone that wasn't a snob."

"My family had a lot of old world books - mainly about history - that were written with a lot of fancy words."

"So a blacksmith just happens to have a lot of old world books?"

"Are you writing another article?"

"Sorry. I just get really curious sometimes. And you seem a little... odd for someone coming from out there."

"The Brotherhood lands aren't the only civilized place in the world."

"They ain't even the only civilized place in the Belt," remarked Aly.

"You talking about Gateway?" asked Isabelle with a skeptical look. "I'd hardly call that place civilized."

"Of course not," she said. "But there's other places. You ever met anyone from Jefferson? They're rough, but they ain't savages."

"Isn't that in the Lost Lands? You been to the Lost Lands?" This caused all three to turn their heads to Aly, who promptly rolled her eyes.

"Of course not. But traders come here from out that way every now and then."

"Then how do you know they're telling the truth?" 

"What's that?" Richard pointed to a gathering crowd of people up ahead as a way to distract everyone. As he did he picked up the sound of something robotic approaching. 

"Oh that," said Felicia with a dour look. "It's just some jippo with the big movie stars introducing the new horror movie."

"Come on. At least you got a part in the movie," said Isabelle.

"As an extra with one line." Felicia sounded quite upset and bitter. 

"Isabelle!" another woman said as she approached them. She was dressed like some kind of witch with a big pointy hat and black and red dress. The hat had a belt around the base while the dress had a so low neckline Richard wondered how it managed to hold up her breasts and not fall off, along with a skirt with a cut on the side revealing the whole leg. The woman herself was beautiful enough that Richard thought his heart just skipped a beat upon seeing her. Besides the witch was a humanoid robot painted to look like some kind of green monster. 
"How are you doing? Are these your friends?"

"Hi," said Isabelle, sounding a little uncomfortable. "This is Rose. She's a friend of my aunt. Rose, this is my friend Felicia." She gestured to the short woman besides her that stared at Rose with confusion and a little awe. "And this the wa-ehm... This is Richard. And this is Alison."

"Hi," said Richard and gave the woman bow, feeling it was somehow proper as how Rose looked to be a rather wealthy and probably influential woman. A gesture Rose seemed to find rather amusing. 

"Hi," Aly echoed, sounding somewhat less impressed by her stature. "You run that brothel, right?"

Rose gave Aly a small, friendly smile. "You ever visited?"

"No."

Rose almost looked like she was about to say something before she glanced at Richard. Instead she turned to Isabelle. "How are you enjoying the festival?"

"It's good. As usual."

"Well what do you and your friends think about joining me at a party in the Gold District?"

Isabelle looked little unsure for a second. "Hmm. Sure."

Felicia looked practically ecstatic. "Yes please."

Richard remained quiet and instead glanced at Aly to see what she would say. She looked a little surprised. "Us too?"

"Why not?" said Rose before Richard could respond. "It'll be lavish party with lots of delicious treats and drinks."

"Maybe at least check it out," whispered Richard to Aly. "We can always sneak away if it's no fun."

"Yeah, but, the Gold District?" She looked visibly uncomfortable at the prospect, but she played it off with a shrug and returned her attention to the brothel owner. "Sure. Why not?"

Felicia looked briefly a little disappointed when Aly agreed for them to come, while Rose smiled in satisfaction. "Great. Follow me." She gestured for them to follow as she turned and started to walk towards the Gold District. 

The sky had grown dark. Not that it impacted the festival much as the lights above made sure everything was perfectly lit regardless. But it became more noticeable as they left festival area and walked the streets where the light was less pronounced. 

Rose walked slightly ahead and besides Isabelle as they had a small chat. Mostly gossip about Isabelle's family from what Richard could hear. Felicia walked besides Isabelle and occasionally interjected in the conversation but kept for the most part quiet. Richard and Aly followed slightly behind as the odd pair tagging along. 

"Here we are!" said Rose with a gleeful showman expression as they stepped onto the front yard of a big, blue house. A house Richard took a second to recognize: it was the Hudson family's residence. 

Just my bloody luck, he thought to himself while wondering what the odds were for it being that specific house the party was at. He wondered for a second if they would recognize him before he remembered the mask he wore. Hopefully they weren't be as perceptive as Isabelle. And if the party was as grand as the house he wouldn't have much problem avoiding anyone that could recognize him. 

Rose knocked on the door and a woman opened the door. She wore a black dress with red trimmings and had what looked like painted on blood coming from the corner of her mouth. Richard couldn't quite figure out what she was dressed up as but he quickly recognized her as Mrs Hudson.  "Rose!" she exclaimed with joy. "Come in. Come in. And who are these?"

"Just some friends I stumbled upon in the festival. I hope it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all. I hope you all enjoy yourself now." Mrs Hudson then disappeared through doorway. 

Rose turned to the group and smiled. "You heard her. Lets have some fun." She then turned to Isabelle. "And cheer up girl. You look like you've seen a ghost." Rose chuckled and then disappeared into the party as well. 

"You alright?" asked Felicia as she looked at Isabelle with a worried expression. 

"Yeah, I'm... just a little overwhelmed by the place."

That's one way to put it, thought Richard as he remembered that Isabelle had also been at the court. And out of the two she was the one that was the most noticeable and memorable. But she didn't know the truth, though it looked like she strongly suspected it given her reaction. 

"Alright. Come lets go see what there is to drink." Felicia then dragged Isabelle off into the party as well, leaving Aly and Richard behind in the hallway. 

"What do you think?" asked Richard. 

"I don't know, yet," she answered. "Let's see what this place is all about, then I'll get back to you on that."

"Alright." Richard then decided to follow Felicia's decision to make a beeline for the drinks. Lots of people were spread around the house in groups of two or more. Most were talking but one could occasionally see a few playing a small game of chance. Richard made a point to observe what and how everyone else was drinking before he himself picked up a fancy glass containing a clear red liquid. It had a rather fruity taste he couldn't quite place, along with the strong burn of alcohol, so he would have to be careful with it. 
He also handed Aly a glass. "Want to try mingling?"

"That seems like all anyone is doing," she said as she looked around the room. "It's weird. Like how I pictured one of your maskonades."

"Maskonades?" It took a moment for Richard before the dots connected. "You mean masquerades? Well at those people also hide their faces and go around pretending that they don't know who they're talking to."

"Well I doubt we'll have to do much pretending."

"Hmm. Also you may want to straighten out your back."

Aly looked at him like he'd just asked her to go jump off a cliff. Nevertheless, she did seem to stand a little taller after taking a sip of the drink he'd given her.

Richard then led the two towards a small gathering where people watched some people play a game. It looked like a card game of some sort that Richard used to inject himself into a group conversation that was going on. It was an odd thing blending into high society again. He would have been incredibly rusty if not for some of the experience he had gathered in the more recent of years. And because of that experience it felt more like he was gathering information about a mark than just engaging in some lighthearted gossip about the going ons in the upper class. Which provided some interesting insights into how they viewed themselves and the various parts of the city. 

Meanwhile Aly kept herself rather quiet, and despite Richard's prompt for to straighten her back she still looked a little out of place. Richard decided against prompting her to speak up and instead let her try to get comfortable on her own. 

After a while of listening to people bragging of who owned what, speculations on who was cheating with who and some minor complaints about the rebels disrupting their investments, Richard decided it was time for a short break and headed out to the backyard and found that it was there they housed most of the party activities. Most of them were just slightly fancier versions of the games they had already played at the festival, along with some additional entertainment in the form of a magician and some exotic dancers. There was also a long table filled with cake and other expensive looking sweets. 

"I guess staying inside was a bit of a mistake," said Richard. 

"Yeah." Aly simply stood there, seemingly taking it all in. It was clear that, whatever her opinion was of the high life, even she couldn't help but be a little impressed by it. "What do you want to do first?"

”Stuff my face with cake,” he replied in a slightly lowered voice before he walked over to the large table filled with cake and sweets. After a little browsing he picked a yellow bun with some red cream in the middle that he was so eager to try that he for a second forgot the metal mask, and ended up pressing the bun against it.

That prompted a hearty laugh from Aly. "The mysterious masked traveler," she giggled as she picked a treat for herself. "Y'all got anything like this in Faraway Land?"

"Not quite." Richard raised the mask and took a proper bite. It tasted sweet, fruity and fluffy. Like nothing he had ever had before. "I once came across a rather well off city. Though they were more into chems than cake."

"Well, don't let tonight fool you. We've got plenty of those too."

"I believe you. Though I've yet to see someone snort chems off a hooker's butt openly here."

"Been spending a lot of time with hookers, have you?"

Richard was a little taken aback by the remark and took a second to come up with an answer. "Not really. Not in this city. I mean... Ehm..."

Aly laughed again. "Relax, I'm kidding. The BoS has been cracking down on that stuff anyway." She motioned back in the direction of the mansion. "That woman who brought us here, Rose. Rumor is she made a deal with 'em. One of the first things the knights did when they got here is shut down all the prostitution joints, except hers."

"Probably offered them a big discount at her place." That woman was also quite wealthy if he remembered her establishment right. Remembering whose house they were in it was clear wealth could buy a lot of things in this city. But Richard was in no mood to soil the moment with those dour thoughts. "Anyway, lets go see the magician."

The magician proved rather talented and made things disappear and reappear in the most unbelievable of ways. He made a dice float in the air between his hands after having conjured it up from thin air. Richard tried his hardest to see where the tricks were but could not spot how he did it. Only for one little disappearing trick did Richard briefly spot that he might have hidden the object (a earring from one in the crowd) in what he assumed was a hidden pocket. But how it then appeared in his hand a moment later remained a mystery. 

After that Richard and Aly tried their hands on some of the games strewn around the yard. This time there were no entry cost but also no prizes. Which suited Richard just fine. They tried just about every game. One game was a simple circle where two people faced off against each other with heavily padded clubs. Richard abstained from participating, arguing it wouldn't be fair. Aly however went on to beat down two upper class girls in a row. 

As the night went on Richard noticed that the people at the party became more and more intoxicated. Mostly by alcohol but he guessed some had also complemented the drink with other substances. Meanwhile Richard had opted to remain clearheaded and only sipped so much of his red drink that the glass was still mostly full. Instead he stuck to drinking what little water he could find when he got thirsty. Aly had chosen to do the same. 

At one point during the later part of the night Richard spotted the redheaded witch Rose sneak into the yard where she as sneakily as possible picked up a small basked of oranges before going back to the house. The way she scurried off with the basked made him think she was leaving the party, like a thief with her prize.

Judging by the more rowdy state of the party had become he wondered if it was time for the two to take their leave as well. But as he was about to turn to Aly and ask he felt a hand on his shoulder that forcefully tried to turn him around. 

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" said a young man dressed in a black hat and some silvery coat and scarf. It was clear from his slightly unhinged eyes his veins were filled with more than alcohol. 

"Sorry. What?" said Richard, greatly confused. Not moving an inch to get the man off him but instead instinctively placing his right hand on the hilt of his dagger. 

"You think you can come in here and make a mockery of me, ey?"

"I don't know who you are. I haven't even spoken with you." Richard carefully gripped the man's wrist and moved his hand off from his shoulder. 

"Fuck you, you fucking liar. I know what you did, what you said. Who do you think you are?"

Richard got an idea. He let go of his dagger and held out his right hand to shake. "My name is Brian," said Richard in a very suddenly friendly tone. 

"Brian..." the man mumbled to himself yet didn't shake Richard's hand. Though he seemed so taken aback by the sudden friendliness that he forgot to act so tough and aggressive. 

"Now if you excuse me. We were just leaving."

"The fuck you're not." The tough guy act came back and he somehow looked even angrier than before. 

"Sorry but I don't have time for this. Can't we argue this tomorrow? I live in a blue house on Woodland Avenue. East of here."

The man grumbled for a few seconds before spitting out, "Fine. See you there."

As the man turned and walked away a young blonde woman that had been standing a few feet behind him started giggling uncontrollably. "What a wuss you are." She then turned to Aly. "You should get yourself a real man, girl."

"Come Aly, lets go," said Richard in a low and weary voice as he placed his arm around her back. 

"Uh huh." Aly followed his lead, but not before throwing up her middle finger at the blonde. "Woodland Avenue," she said as they made their way into the house. "That's in the Homes."

"I didn't know you were that familiar with the Homes." Richard sounded a little surprised. 

"I don't hang out there, if that's what you're thinking. But if you live here long enough, you start to remember the names of streets that people get killed on."

"I guess I don't follow the news that much."

As they made their way through the house Richard saw Mr Hudson standing with a few of what looked like his friends, judging by their similar age and self assured and jovial demeanor, near the edge of the living room. But what Richard also noticed was that Mr Hudson had his arm around a somewhat confused and unfocused looking Isabelle. It barely took a second for Richard to figure out that she had probably been drugged and was in for a rape. Not that is should be his business. He had looked past similar behavior a lot of times before. But those times it were more because he hadn't had any choice. He wondered if he really had a choice here. Butting heads with such a powerful and wealthy man was not done lightly. Preferably not at all. And intervening here might make him a hypocrite for letting it slide all those times before. Though there was also the question of if and how Mr Hudson might decide to dispose of the evidence. 

The easiest and safest would be to just walk away. But Richard had already fooled one intoxicated cur that night and he felt somewhat confident that Mr Hudson wouldn't be much more difficult. Turning away would only be cowardly. And cowards live at the expense of others. 

"Wait for me by the door," said Richard to Aly as he let her go and steered his footsteps towards Mr Hudson and his company. "I'm been looking for you. Felicia is getting worried." Richard wrapped his arm around Isabelle, effectively prying Mr Hudson's arm off her. Then he gave the room a quick glance to see if her friend was anywhere so he could dump Isabelle on her. But she was unfortunately nowhere to be seen. 

"Fei? Hmm," she mumbled slightly approvingly. 

"And who are you?" said Mr Hudson, suddenly looking very irritated and a little angry. 

"Name's Brian. Now if you excuse me, my friend doesn't look so well. I better make sure she gets home." Richard began to steer Isabelle away from the group before Mr Hudson could voice any protest or excuse. She was hard to steer and he hoped she wouldn't fall unconscious any time soon. He also hoped Felicia would show up soon as he expected Aly wouldn't be so keen on the idea of carrying this woman around. Not that he even knew where to carry her as he had no idea where she lived. 

He arrived at the entrance hall with an unstable Isabelle under his arm. Aly looked suspicious at seeing him leading the woman by his side. 

"Have you seen the short girl?" he asked, his voice slightly tense and worried, before Aly could voice her thoughts. 

"No." She gave him a look before focusing her attention on Isabelle. "What's with her?"

Richard lowered his voice and leaned closer to Aly. "Ehm... She's drugged. I didn't feel comfortable leaving her here like this."

Aly nodded, and to his surprise, took Isabelle's arm without protest. "She works at the paper place, right? That's just a few blocks. We can take her there."

"I don't think that place is open at this hour. Though she knew the woman that runs the brothel. Not sure how I feel about taking her there though."

As Richard tried to think up something he heard Isabelle's friend's voice coming from the side, "Hey! What the fuck are you two doing with Belle?" She sounded quite drunk although she managed to keep her balance rather well. 

"We were just looking for you!" said Richard, trying to sound friendly again. Though it became increasingly difficult. "Belle here isn't feeling well. It would probably be best if you take her home."

Felicia came up and gave Richard a stern disapproving stare that was would have been comical if not for the situation. Then she looked at Isabelle for a moment before giving Aly the same disapproving look she had given Richard and then going back to Isabelle. 

"What the fuck have you done to her?"

"I haven't done anything to her," said Richard in a weary voice. 

"Your friend got drugged." Aly made no effort to hide her annoyance towards the drunk little woman. "If you're gonna make a fuss about it, go back in and find the guy who did it, and try the punch while you're at it. If not, then maybe help us get her out of here."

Felicia groaned for a second. "Alright, give her here." She then took over leading Isabelle, almost shoving away Aly and Richard in the process. The two then walked rather unstably towards and out the front door. 

"At least that solved itself," said Richard with a feeling of relief. 

"Help!" he heard Felicia shout lowly in a rather pathetic tone. It turned out he had spoken too soon. Isabelle had collapsed only a few feet from the door and it was clear that Felicia was too weak to carry her friend, instead struggling to not fall over with her. 

I should keep my mouth shut more often, thought Richard as he gave Aly a weary look. 

She merely rolled her eyes. "Hey, these are your friends."

"The aren't really. I only met Isabelle once before and..." Richard gave Felicia a glance to see that she was still struggling before sighing. "Not quite how I had imagined the day to end." He then pulled down the glove and up the sleeve so he could see the time on his watch. Part of the scar on his arm also came into view, which hoped Aly would miss. It was really late and it was closing on the curfew hours. A bit odd as they hadn't stayed at the party for that long. Though they had arrived when it was already dark. Richard then turned back to Aly. "You heading home?"

"That depends. Where are you going?"

"Carry Isabelle to her home. Provided the shorty knows the way. And wont fall over too."

"You don't think you could use some help with that?" she asked, casting a look towards Felicia, who was now uselessly tugging on her friend's arm to try and get her to stand back up. "This clown isn't gonna do much."

"Help is always nice. Though you might not get back home before curfew."

"I don't care about the curfew. Besides, you might not either."

"Alright then."

Richard went and picked up Isabelle and with a little help from Aly he managed to get the unconscious woman onto his back. She was a little heavier than he had anticipated, though it may just be because he was so tired. Felicia led the way, stumbling forward with Aly occasionally having to catch her. The first time Felicia rudely pushed Aly away, to which Aly issued an about equally rude threat. After that Felicia cowed and got a lot calmer and quieter. 

Isabelle lived in a small house near the river in Northstone on the east side. A simple suburban one floor house. It took a few minutes before Felicia found the spare key hidden in the front yard and was able to let them in. She then led Richard to the bedroom where he put down Isaballe. As Richard returned to the living room he checked his watch, eight minutes till curfew. 

"Fuck," he heard Felicia say as she watched another clock on the wall. "Dibs for the couch." She then wobbled over to the couch and sat down heavily, looking like she was barely able to keep awake as she stared at the two guests. 

"You want the armchair?" asked Richard as he turned to Aly. 

"Well I was thinking you'n me would head back together," she answered. "But I didn't count on her living on this side of the river. Can't sneak across a bridge." She sighed. "Yeah, I'll take the chair. Unless you wanna move that one to the floor." She pointed to Felicia, who was past being able to register anything they said.

"I'll take the floor. At least there's a fluffy carpet on it. So it should be better than the ditches I'm used to." Richard tried to sound a little cheerful despite being so tired.

He moved the table standing atop the fluffy carpet and then began to undress all the uncomfortable parts of his costume. On the table he placed his hat, mask, sword and dagger. Then he gave Aly and Felicia a quick glance to see if their eyes were closed before removing his shirt, revealing his scarred body along with the hidden daggers strapped to his forearms and back, just below the neck. He removed them, along with the ones strapped to his lower legs, and put them on the table before putting the shirt back on to hide the scars, especially those on his back. Without the knives tied to his body he was able to feel a lot more relaxed as he lied down on the carpet with his coat rolled up in a makeshift pillow. Though he still kept his regular dagger at his side and in his grasp, more out of strong sense of habit than anything else. It wasn't long till he was asleep. 

[BigBossBalrog]

The Fallen Scribe 

“Trick or treat!” 

A loud resounding noise came from outside just as a few knocks entered onto the door, as John began to snicker to himself. Should have just said treat. Stupid fucking kids. John pushed the door open, letting the autumn breeze hit him in the head. He didn’t usually like seasonal Holidays, but Halloween was the one exception. Mainly because it gave him an excuse to torment everyone with bad pranks. And tonight's prank was the cruellest of them all. Grabbing the plastic bowl that lay at the side, the former brotherhood scribe, grinned, just as his vision went to the pair of grinning JackOLantern’s that sat on the floor of the bar’s door.

On the steps of the entrance to his bar, a group of four children had plastic bags outstretched. They had costumes of course, but it was more like they were wearing collected junk, there parents were able to gather and put together to loosely resemble something. Hell, one kid just wore a blanket with eye holes cut open. A ghost. A Super mutant. A Werewolf...with an eyepatch (What kind of Werewolf wears a fucking Eye Patch?!). And...a Samurai?

all“Pretty good costumes.” He lied through his teeth, “By the light of the JackOLantern, you kids deserve this.” he grinned sadistically, bringing up the metal tray he carried, which held a pile of strange looking, white tubes, with a strange looking decal that read “Nuclear Chompers". “Don’t rush kids there’s plenty for all you squirts.” 

The Junk Samurai, so to speak, grabbed one of them, and lifted it into the autumn sky for an inspection. He spoke with a thick accent, “Howdy... what is this?”

“Toothpaste.” John smirked.

“What the fuck is toothpaste?!” The Werewolf snarled.

The kids stared blankly at the doctor, looks of disgust invisible due to their masks, but he knew they were growing underneath. John scratched the back of his head saying in a “matter of fact” kind of face, “Toothpaste is a commodity. An old world secret that strengthens your teeth and make sure that they don’t fill up with cavities! It also freshens up your breath. Important things needed to stay healthy!” 

One of the kids spat, a giant piece of gunk at John’s foot. 

Before John could respond in kind, a gentle voice arose from behind. “Who wants some candy apples?” 

Avy came from behind, her face betraying a grin as she shot the annoyed looking John a sharp glance. She held up a tray of giant apples dunked in sugar, and glossed over with a thick layer of syrup. The kid’s rushed passed the angry looking doctor, grabbing each a colossal fruit, and greedily began devouring it, there mouths full as the said togther, "Thanks Miss Joeline" John betrayed a look of annoyance as he crossed his arms, “Their killing their teeth by eating that shit, not to mention eating mutated fruit covered in sugar can’t be all that healthy!” 

Avy crossed her arms herself, giving John a sharp look of disgust, “That’s real funny coming from the guy who guzzles four bottles of Nuka-Cola a day!”

John lifted his hands into the air with a shrug, “The difference is that I'm already dying. Might as well embrace hedonism. I can afford it.” 

“Whatever. You don’t even care about their health, you just want to ruin their Halloween because you like pranking people!” She pointed a finger right at John’s chest, pushing it forcefully, “If you ruin a single kid’s Halloween, John Edmonton, I swear on pappies grave, i’ll shove a shotgun up your ass, and send you to the fourth circle myself! Got it buster?” 

I should have never have gotten her into the Divine Comedy…He raised his hands, “Fine, fine…” He began to mutter, “It’s a pagan ritual day dedicated to mischief and terror-” 

“What was that?!” 

“Nothing!” He turned around and grumpily began to head back to his room, before the woman smirked, crossing her arms, “To make up for his bullshit, John’s going to tell you one of his stories kids!”

The kids expressions underneath their costumes brightened, and their gazes fell to the shocked engineer. Before he could protest, they all gathered around him, candy apples in hand. The man sighed, before grabbing a chair, and whining, “Alright crowd around you little shits. Uncle John is going to tell you fucks a story…”

****
The boat tossed and turned, in the turbulent, black waters of the depths. A pitter patter emerged from across the deck, as the heavens poured out endless falling rain. Black clouds hung on the horizon, devouring any light that tried to escape. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, but it seemed like the hour of dusk had fallen, such was the darkness that spread forth from the sky. 

Horrible conditions, absolutely dreadful in every way, for a boat to make its voyage, but it was bad luck, for the sky had seemed naught but a little cloudy before they had taken off into the lake’s embrace. 

A trio of rusty spotlights sat at boat’s Bow, lights that shone through the darkness and guide the voyage. No one manned them, they had been locked into place, and served nothing more than an oversized flashlight for the skeleton crew of the ship to guide them through the blackness, and heavy rainfall. 

***
“It was a crew of Skeletons?!” A look of terror fell over the kid wearing the ghost costume. 

John rolled his eyes, “No, not fucking literal skeletons, it’s a figure of speech. Skeleton as in, a small, bare minimum group of people. Now don’t fucking interrupt me again!”
***
The boat itself was an old tanker, reconverted, and used as a transport ship, by a muddy crew. Food. Supplies. Guns. People. Whoever could pay was welcome on board. Not too large, but still spacious. Big enough that the desperate people who inhabited it just made it feel even emptier, besides the few crates in the hold. Currently there was over fifty passengers inside the ship (even though it certainly wasn’t made for that). People desperate enough to brave it’s conditions, in the hold, with water, stale biscuits, jerky soup and some bread as a daily meal. Regardless, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. The decaying hull of the ship blistered with rust, the old ship creaked and cracked from misuse, and the waves turbulence made any “landlubber” sick, just after a few minutes on the boat. Old paint had mostly peeled away, but still visible on the rust covered bucket of a ship, and the metal walls were mostly unvarnished rust.  

Viewing the waves on the tankers railings was a strange looking man, wearing a green hooded poncho, and enjoying a cigarette.

The hooded man face became dimly lit, as he took another puff from his cigarette, it’s flame threatened to be consumed by the growing rain. He grimly looked up to the crying sky, and inhaled. Maybe my brothers will luck out and i’ll die catching hypothermia. He thought, as he brought the butt of his cigarette to his mouth.

Though he didn’t show it, he was checking what was behind him every other second suspiciously.

He was never much of a fan of the water, but it was a safe as any way of travelling, at least in his situation, perhaps more. He doubted his compatriots would have sent anyone this far to silence him, but had hadn’t lasted this long by being sloppy. Better safe than sorry.

And besides…. The man doubted there was any mythical lake monsters lurking beneath the waves.   

What you needed to worry about was in the ground….

Besides the hooded man, a trio of wastelanders were also present on the deck of the ship, the wide open tanker seeming so forlorn with on the trio on top to watch the black waves. All four of them carried weapons, including the crew’s watchman, who was unlucky enough to be on shift during this torrential downpour, so in a way they were all sentries. Never could be too careful. Just because a sea monster hadn’t presented itself so far, who knows what else besides Mirelurks lurked beneath the water…

Two of the four sat as a duo, bitterly arguing under the rain. One was a wildman, so covered in hair he might as well have been wearing a hood, his garb a tattered robe of brown. The man carried a pipe weapon, a sub machine gun commonly known in the wastes as a “bastard”.  He spat, his nearly rotting teeth sticking of rot, “And I tell you know, mister!” He poked a finger at the other, much more appealing individual, an average looking middle aged man, who wore a brahmin leather duster, and a revolver tucked in a leather holster. He had a well groomed beard, and a grey cowboy hat“All of this!” He pointed a fist at the sky, “This is God’s wrath on the world! The roaring waves! The cries of sin! You must repent! I must repent!”  The man raised his hands apologetically, “Listen fellow-”

“In the ground!” He interrupted him, “Demons lurk! The soldiers of hell! The soldiers of Satan! They will crawl from the earth and drag you down for eternity!”

“Fool.” The duo turned their heads to the hooded man, who still carried his cigarette in his mouth. The rain fell down, as he approached them, a sharp look of disdain and disgust visible underneath his hood.

“You dare?!” The preacher yelled, his face contorted, with zeal.

“So unscientific. There’s no daemons in the earth…” He paused, before he screamed, “Something else, something much worse! Communist mole people that ride bats the size of planes and scream super sonic blasts of poweeeeeeerrrrr! They want to destroy what’s left of America and what it stands for!” 

The trio began to angrily argue, while the fourth person, the crew member just shook his head, as he took one more forlorn look at the waves, before heading back to his rounds. He wore a poncho, a dirty brown one, and carried a hunting rifle with a shoulder strap. He began to whistle under the rain, and walk across the water soaked ship deck. He glanced around with his flashlight,  halfheartedly looking for something out of place.  

“A box. Some rain. A flower. More rain. Some crates. A steel beam. Huh…” The man continued to whistle as he went further down the deck, further away from the trio...until he froze. He blinked. His mind froze for a single second, trying to compute what was standing before him.

Pale, sickly flesh. Flappers. Squat legs and arms. Haunting, black beady fish eyes. Razor sharp claws. 

The rain pattered around him, he wanted to raise his weapon, but his body froze, in both terror and surprise. 

The creatures stance was hunched and primal, as it has been spawned from some place mankind had never touched. The sickening sleekness of it’s slimy fish flesh reflected the sentries face, just before it opened its mouth, exposing a layer of fangs, and let out a horrible screech, latching onto the man, and tearing open his throat with it’s fangs, as his screamed was consumed by the heavy rainfall.   

Further down the deck, the argument continued, 

“And the aliens! The Zetians caused everything! EVERYTHING! Their allied with the mole people-”

The man stopped his rant, as the wildman continued to screech, before he was silenced by the hooded man, raising his hand into the sky. “Did you hear that?” 

“Yeah I hear the fekkkkking rain!” His rotten teeth quenched as he glanced around.

“No. Not the rain.” 

Lighting suddenly roared across the sky, just as a trio of grotesque beings suddenly threw themselves onto the ships deck from the depths of the lake, screeching.
 
Not wasting a second to even check, the wild preacher emptied an entire round of his “bastard” into one of the creatures with a warcry, causing it to scream a howl of agony, and drop to the deck of the fish, as it twitched and turned, a dozen bullet howls causing blood to ooze from it’s wounds. He spat, “Fekking ourt, daemonspawn!” 

The wastelander, drew his revolver in a one handed grip, and began to fire from his hip, shooting several rounds in the general direction of the advancing spawns of the lake, only to get jumped from behind, by one of the pale “things”. It bite into his shoulder, causing the man to scream, as he desperately struggled to keep the large creature from tearing out his neck next. 

The hooded man brought up his rifle, an old Lee-Enfield Bolt-Action, just as he crouched, the rain splattering across his face, dampening his impressive vision. He quickly lined a shot in, aiming for the creature who was trying to rip the Wastelanders neck out, heads, before squishing the trigger. With a pop, it was a hit. The creature was thrown off the Wastelander, who gripped his oozing, wounded shoulder. The Hooded Man quickly ran up to him, as the wildman went into position covering the duo, offering him his hand, which the Wastelander accepted, gripping it tightly, as he got up, and began to fire his revolver once more. Such was the trios desperation they made no attempt not to damage the ship, as they blindly fired into the darkness, their bullets tracers lighting up the dark rainy sky in chaos.

Though it was dark out, the man could still make out several features, especially as the occasional flash of lighting lighten the watery battlefield for a split second. They were tall, almost six feet, walking bipedal, with a set of sharp clothes, fangs, and beady, black fish eyes. Pale, disgusting skin, and a ridge of dorsal fins on their back, presumably to help them cut through the dark water. They had whiskers, disgusting flapping things, like catfish, and a spiky, barbed, tail. Some kind of Mirelurk? 

The Wild Man’s scream, which pierced above the rain, was what brought him back to reality. Were they had been three, now there was upwards to nine,  their pulpy eyes glaring at their prey in the shadows.  Their compatriot, who was at the forefront of the group fighting “the daemon spawn” had bite off more than he could chew. The hooded man had taken his eyes off him for only a few seconds, and now he was on the watery floor of the deck, getting his guts ripped open as he screeched into the heavens begging for respite as three fish people stood over him, filling themselves on an early snack. The man, tapped the Wastelanders shoulder, and pointed towards the deck’s exist, which lead into the ship. Nodding, still gripping his bleeding shoulder, the Wastelander rushed back running to the safety of the ship’s inside, as the hooded man covered him. Still alive, one of the creatures began dragging the half conscious man onto the deck, his guts still spilling out, and blood soaking the watery deck, to be dragged into the depths. 

The creature screeched, as it’s claws moved away in anger, as a bullet suddenly came roaring towards it, hitting the man square in the forehead, killing him in an instant. The hooded man, quickly reloaded, and began to retreat taking shots at the advancing wave of fish men, who were enraged their fun had been ruined. 

In the safety of the ships insides, the Wastelander had already rushed into the door, firing shots from his revolver at the horde. It took only a few seconds, for the hooded man to reach it's safety, and when he did, both men wordlessly shut the metal door, and twisted it's massive, steel circular latch, shutting the door.  A battering of claws, and horrible, screeches from beyond continued, as thunder boomed, and rain fell onto pale fish flesh. Collapsing onto the metal stairs down into the ships holds, the Wastelander gripped his wound tightly, as he let out a terrified, but relieved sigh. His hands were trembling, and his breath erratic and heavy, he used his free hand to grip his revolver tightly, pointing at the door. 

In contrast the hooded man remained stoic, keeping his ear onto the metal door. He put his weight into it, to put force onto the door and strengthen the lock. 

Claws scratched against steel, the sound of sharp claws ripping across metal, causing a horrible, awful noise to erupt, and heavy weight slammed into the steel entrance. But it held strong.  It became so loud, the Wastelander threw down his weapon and began to cover his ears, humming a song in delirium.  

After half a minute, the scratching stopped. Only to be replaced...by guttural noises. As soon as the man had heard them, they had vanished. No more sounds outside, but the occasional thunder, and ever falling rain. With a sigh of relief, the hooded man fell to the floor, putting his back against the fortified door, his soaked poncho dripping, letting the exhaustion finally fall over him. 

Glancing up, the man pointed towards the Wastelanders shoulder. On closer inspection the sight wasn’t pretty. A ring of teeth marks bite into the flesh, a semi circle of horrible pain, chucks of flesh having been ripped off the man. “That wound looks fucking bad. If you don’t want an amputation, we should take care of it right away. Purge the infection.” 

Feverishly nodding, the terrified wastelander prepared himself, as the hooded man stood up and went towards him. Kneeling, he brought up something that shocked the onlooking man.

A robotic hand. The hooded stranger’s hand was a robotic prosthetic. Coloured sanguine red. 

Bewildered he wordlessly watched him bring up the hand, and...open one of his fingers, causing a burst of flame to erupt from it. A built in lighter! Putting it back into place, the hooded stranger said, “Don’t worry, I'm a doctor, I know what I'm doing.” He took off his boots, and...took off his socks. Even in his delirium, the Wastelander was confused. He took off his socks, and put the boots back on hurriedly. “Were soaked by some irradiated rain, can’t risk getting any more into that wound of yours. The socks are the driest.” He grinned, “Open wide.”

Maybe that man would have protested, but at this point, he didn’t give a shit.  He opened his mouth, which was suddenly stuffed with smelly socks. He had the urge to throw up from the gag reflex, but he brought it down. 

As he waited, the hooded man opened his...lighter finger, and began to dance another one of his metallic fingers around the flame, causing the metal to glow a very low shade of red after a minute. The stranger gave the haggard wastelander a pat on his shoulder, “Bite into those. I don’t have anything currently on me in terms of anaesthetics, so this is going to hurt like hell.” And without another word, the stranger pressed his searing finger onto the man’s wound. 

Screaming under his gag at the surprise pain, the man began to violently spas at the searing pain,  the only thing preventing him from breaking his back was the stranger pressing himself against him, holding him into place with surprising strength. He pressed his finger into the man’s wound, tracing it around the nasty, bite on his shoulder, for an agonising thirty seconds, before bringing it up. Falling limp, the Wastelander lost consciousness from the pain, the socks gently falling out of his mouth. Wasting not a second, the hooded man grabbed the socks, and tightly tied them around the seared wound as a makeshift bandage.  “Sorry bud. I’ll give you a stim as soon as things calm down.” Now that his companion was taken care of, the man reached into a pocket intent on a cigarette...before a shrill, human shriek suddenly sounded across the hallway. 

Getting up from his position, he instantly grabbed the man’s Revolver, grabbed a few rounds from the unconscious man’s jacket, quickly reloaded, and brought it up, aiming the gun downwards from the small stairwell they were on, onto the boat’s floor below. He listened...only for his ears to be met by the echoes of gunfire, and the screams of both women and children. 

They had found another way inside. Or perhaps they had gotten in earlier. 

Not wasting a second, the hooded man, threw down his ponchos hood, just as he grabbed his rifle, using it’s shoulder strap to carry it on his back, and then his unconscious companion, hefting him onto a single shoulder, as he began to walk down the stairwell, holding the revolver outstretched, scanning for any sign of movement.

The inside of the ship was much like the outside, rusting metal, but not nearly as open, consigned to dark and narrow hallways. As the ship bobbed from the waves, the halls moved in rhythm, the low ship lights swaying as the waves pushed the ship, creating spots of darkness, then light at random intervals. The hallways remained dark, even with the low hanging lights on the top of the ceiling. No longer being able to hear the outside rainfall, for both he and his companions heavy breathing made it hard to listen to anything, he could still hear occasional gunfire echoes from a distant part of the tanker, and the screams of terrified people. 

The strangers eyes glanced around the hallways, looking for somewhere the duo could hold up until this storm passed, praying to Fortune that the crew guiding the ship was still secure. The literal man on his back was growing very heavy, but as both a scholar and a soldier, he could carry the burden. If anything, the pure adrenaline rushing through his veins kept him from falling underneath the weight. 

Bang bang 

More gunfire, and screams echoed across the boat’s dreary underground, as it rocked in the water.  The darkness of the hallway extended, He increased his speed, preparing to fire off a barrage of revolver rounds at a moments notice. 

After a good three minutes of searching, which as well have been ten years, the man found a steel door labelled,  "Captain's Quarters". Alongside an electronic panel, that lay on it's side.  Door controls. The man smirked.  He put down his unconscious friend gently, to the side of the door, looking back only as another human's screech echoed from a closer part of the ship.

He hacked into the console in under ten seconds, his fingers almost a blur of speed and agility the program used to keep it secure pathetically easy to crack. Fucking amateurs. He thought. With a click, the doors into the captains quarters swung open with a thud, as he grabbed his downed friend, and dragged him into the safety of the secured room. 

It was spacious, but not that cluttered, fitting for someone who owned a ship as rustic as this. The stranger had a bad habit of analysis things, as soon as he saw something new, but at least he could do it fast. The Captain’s quarters held a small, one person bed, a nightstand, a metal set of three lockers, a computer terminal (who the man made a mental note to check as soon as possible), and a table. The stranger made a move to drag his newfound friend onto the bed, but his plan was halted by a sound. 

Something big. And heavy moving not far from where he was. Very heavy footsteps, clawed feet hitting the metal ground of the ships underground.

Against all common sense (or perhaps his insatiable curiosity and desire to know everything), the man lifted his revolver, wielding the weapon in a two handed grip as edged closer, first to the metal door, and then beyond it. His hands trailed across the outside computer terminal, closing the door behind him, as he aimed his revolver. 

The lights on top of the ceiling boobed, resulting in shadows and lights dancing across the metal hallways of the ship. A consuming darkness played, however, as the stranger saw the darkness outline of a large figure creep across the floor. And then suddenly disappear. Then reappear as the lights swung around. It inched ever closer. It was big, bigger than the things he had seen on the deck of the ship. Muscular, sinewy flesh, black in contrast to the sickly white of the other mirelurks. Beady, green eyes that shone like emeralds. Muscular arms long and meaty, each carrying a limp human body it dragged behind it, a set of razor sharp, Deathclaw sized claws to match. A set of jagged, fish-like, dorsal fins, big enough to impale a person, dark as the watery abyss, sat on it’s back.  The lights swayed, covering it in darkness, and it swayed again, making it appear. Closer. And Closer. It’s mouth held hundreds of large, dagger like teeth drenched in blood, and it’s head was shaped like a ferocious shark, a ferocious aquatic predator from the old world. It was hunched, but bipedal like the lesser ones, it’s stature primal, and drawing a feeling inside the stranger, something so sick but nostalgic at the same time. The creature was so large it barely fit inside the hallway, it’s bulging muscles looking like they were being contained by the hallway. 

As it drew closer, it was evident it was drenched in the blood and gore of a dozen humans. 

The lights swayed back and forth. 

The stranger brought up his gun, which caused the aquatic terror to stop in its tracks. 

It...it grinned. 

Before it let out an ear splitting roar, as if it was the primal ocean made manifest, and lunged forward, it’s size betraying the fact it ran fucking fuck.

The stranger barely had time to fire off two rounds, which did nothing to stop the encroaching juggernaut, it’s roars seemingly causing the boat to shake. The man turned tail and began to sprint as fast as possible. He got back to the computer terminal, but was barely able to input the open command, his hands uncontrollable trembling in fear. The doors slammed open, and if in sync, the man slammed his fist into the lock command, as he slipped through the door, the creature, not a few centimetres away from his back as the door closed. 

He didn’t have a second to breath, as the creatures muscular arms had gotten to the door before it had fully closed, it’s pure strength overwhelming the door’s mechanical power. It’s horrifying maw peered into the doorway, screaming a cry of bestial terror into the room, as it tried to force its way inside the Captain’s quarters. The stranger’s, though scared shitless, instincts as a soldier kicked in, and he fought his own terror. Before it could fully push it’s way inside, the stranger methodically advanced towards the door, brought up his rifle, jammed a silver bullet he kept in his inside pocket inside the gun’s chamber, reloaded, and prepared the shot, as if it was all a singular motion. Pulling the trigger, he fired a rifle round practically point blank at the abomination’s face. With a screech of pain, the bullet erupted in a tiny explosion, the force from the explosive tipped round throwing the creature back enough for the door to fully close, with a loud crunch. 

The stranger spat, bringing up his rifle once again. Throwing off his poncho, the stranger aimed his rifle towards the door, which was being battered, large dents forming on it, as the lake monster began rending and tearing in it's anger. It seemed like the man's "special bullet" had only made it madder....

After ten seconds, the steel door looked like it was about to be split in half by the monsters constant blows. It was coming in, sooner or later...

Trapped inside, the stranger readied himself for the end.

****

The group of four children were watching extremely intently at this point, all of them barely able to breath, their bodies frozen in terror. A few other patrons who had been here before, had joined the crowd, intently listening to John's story, including Avy. The man smirked, before he brought up his hands with a look of faked apology, "Oh will you look at that?" He looked at his watch, "Seems like I dont have time to finish this. It's time for you squirts to head out, unless you want that bag of yours to be so empty by the end of the night." 

The assembled crowd sighed in disappointment, as the adults swore, and left the table. Avy giving John a look of extreme annoyance. The Super Mutant kid, screamed "What happened !? How did you beat Shaurk?!"  

"It's called a Shark. " He corrected him,  grinning, "Howbout this? If you louts don't go overboard on eating your candy, and use that toothpaste of yours I gave you, i'll tell you the rest of the story, next time you guys are around? Okay?" 

The assembled children all nodded their heads in unison.  John laughed, "We got a deal. Now get out of here, and scram! Enjoy the rest of your evening! And don't rot your teeth!"  He pointed. The kids got out of their chairs, and ran out of the room, yelling, "Thanks Doctor Edmonton!"  Now that they were gone. John's grin turned into a soft smile, as he got out of his chair, and headed to his place at the bar, the night was still young, and there was still kids to prank. He was surprised, when the Junk Samurai went back to the door, and called to him, "Doctor...did that really happen?" 

He grinned, “Of course. Why would I lie to you?”  His grin remained, but his hand trembled, and his eyes filled with terrifying dark waves. 

[BTC]

The Sheriff
 

Following the girl was easy. She was short and could’ve disappeared into a crowd but evidently she wasn’t worried about being followed, because she made no effort to do anything but walk straight to her destination. Her mother, Vanessa Van Silver, hadn’t given Lawrence much to go on, only that her daughter kept disappearing during the day into the Pennway District and had used some rather subversive language to describe the Brotherhood. Lawrence thought it all a bit ridiculous, probably an overblown case of teenage rebellion, as Clara had suggested. And even though he had some doubts about why exactly Clara wanted to hire them, he’d still rather he take this job than someone else.

Of course, Clara being his new employer was something he still wasn’t sure about. He believed her when she said she didn’t trust Patricia Devereux. But he still wasn’t sure what to make of her. He’d learned from asking around last night that she’d grown up wealthy, her parents owning the hotel before her. She looked the part, but she certainly didn’t act like someone who would call themselves a friend of Patricia Devereux or Vanessa Van Silver. At least, she hadn’t acted the part during their meeting, and he suspected she was probably pretty good at acting the part. She was also good at reading people, that much was clear. But knowing all that he still didn’t know what exactly it was Clara wanted from him. It made him suspicious and intrigued all at once. 

Liz’s southern path turned toward the west, and Lawrence had to leave his thoughts behind. She walked toward the Pennway docks along the east river Lawrence couldn’t remember the name of. She came upon a row of riverside buildings, restaurants and bars and market stalls. She headed toward an unlit neon sign that read ‘Inglenook.’ The bouncer guarding the door gave her a nod as she entered, without searching or stopping her, which meant she probably worked there.

Pennway was a nice district, clean and well patrolled, and the Inglenook was a nice, clean red brick building standing two-stories tall. It looked like it could fit right at home here, during the day with its curtained windows and not-dilapidated exterior. In a less favorable light, maybe at night with its neon sign lit up bright and a rotating cast of drunks pouring in and out, he could imagine it looking every bit the part of shady club. Still, he’d seen places that looked much seedier.

Lawrence approached the redheaded, mean-mugging bouncer, holding his jacket open so the man could pat him down. He knew the drill. The thought crossed his mind to ask the man about Liz, but it wasn’t a bouncer’s job to give information away. And this man seemed only interested in looking tough and guarding the door.

Upon entering it took Lawrence a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. It had a few more customers than he expected at this early hour, probably folks getting an early start on the evening’s festivities. The girls working the place were dressed up in costumes, or as much as they could be while wearing as little clothing as possible. Some had pointed cat ears or floppy bunny ears on, a couple wore fanciful hats with giant feathers, and one was wearing a skimpier version of a pirate outfit Lawrence recognized from an old comic book he’d seen.

Before anyone could mistake his purpose and offer any services he’d then decline, he made a beeline for the bar along the wall on the right. He found a stool a good distance from any of the other patrons and ordered a beer. He took off his hat and set it on the stool next to him.

When he’d first entered he hadn’t seen Liz, and now getting a better look around he still didn’t see her. There were a few folks up on the balcony across the way, above the stage, and another bouncer guarding a deeper part of the club. Probably private lounges and the dressing rooms, if he had to guess.

Lawrence finished his mediocre beer and motioned for another from the bartender. When the bartender brought it over, Lawrence gave him a generous tip and said, “I’m looking for Liz. Her mom sent me. Tell her it isn’t bad, I just would like to talk to her if she’s willing.”

The bartender took the money and leveled a skeptical look at Lawrence, but motioned one of the girls over and whispered something to her before she disappeared into the back room. Lawrence drank a little more of his second beer but didn’t finish it, and left another tip on counter. He didn’t know if he’d ever need it, but buying the goodwill of a bartender was never a bad idea.

It wasn’t long before the shorter, brown haired teenager wearing a midriff baring plaid shirt came out of the back, looking as angry as he’d expected.

She glared at him for a second, giving the impression she was about to walk away on him. But then she leaned in closer to him and whispered in a spiteful tone, "You can go back home and tell my mom she can fuck right off."

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Lawrence said. He had expected the reception to be less than warm. “You want something to drink? Your mom is paying.”

“No.”

Lawrence took another drink of his beer and then swiveled on his stool to look Liz in the eyes. “Look, I’m not some hardass. Your mom may have hired me but I’m not here to rat you out. I’ll tell her whatever you want, one on condition.”

"What?" she said as she eyed him skeptically.

He glanced around and made sure no one was listening. The bartender was leveling a hard look in this direction, but was drying glasses at the other end of the bar, out of earshot. When Lawrence spoke, he did so in a low voice. “Your mom didn’t get into the specifics about what you’ve been saying. Only that it wasn’t exactly friendly toward the Brotherhood. As far as I’m concerned, they probably deserve whatever names you called them.

”But here’s the deal. You gotta be careful. You can’t just go round saying things like that. It isn’t going to help anyone, least of all yourself. The fact I’m here shows it’ll only bring scrutiny. And next time whoever your mom hires won’t stop at just talking with you.”

She kept eyeing him for a few seconds, though now with more confusion than skepticism. "Okay," she said with some hesitation.

“Also, you might want to start varying your routes coming here. It wasn’t exactly hard following you.” Lawrence undercut the criticism with a friendly smile. At least, he hoped it looked friendly.

"Hmm." She kept looking at him like she didn't really believe that what she was hearing was real.

“So what do you want me to tell her?”

"Uhm... I... I don't know." She lowered her gaze and stared down at the bar bench.

“I’m assuming telling her you work at a strip club is off the table. But you’re coming over here so often she’s not gonna believe me if I tell her you’re just visiting your boyfriend or girlfriend.” Liz didn’t seem like a bad kid, and he didn’t want her to get in any sort of trouble. “Really, if I lie to her and she sends someone else to see what you’re up to, it’ll be on you to make sure they can’t follow you here. Think you can handle that?”

"Maybe," she said with no hint of conviction in her voice.

Lawrence finished his beer. He was hoping this would be a little easier to pull off. “How long do you usually work here?”

"About 6 hours a day."

“What do you usually do after you get done with work?”

"Hang out a bit here, then head home."

“If you want to keep working here and don’t want your mom to find out about it, you’ll need to make sure someone else can’t find out about it. I’ll tell your mom you’ve got some friends you’re hanging out with and that’s why you’re always gone.

“But after you get done working here how about you come by Clara’s? She was the one who asked me to do this for your mom, to make sure you didn’t get in any trouble over whatever you’ve been up to. But I’ve got some friends that could help you learn how to avoid being followed, if you really want to keep working here.”

"Thanks, but I... I'm not sure."

“I’m going to shoot straight with you Liz, if this little lie we’ve crafted falls apart, it’s not going to cause me any harm. You and your friends here, on the other hand, are going to have someone else breathing down their necks.” He leaned in close and lowered his voice again. “If there’s the slightest chance someone thinks you picked up that rebel talk from around here, it’s not going to end well. You’ve heard what’s going on out there. The Brotherhood is going to be tearing through this place with your loose lips to blame.” Lawrence didn’t know if that was true, but it sounded sufficiently terrifying to scare her straight. ”So you either hide that you’re working here or quit working all together. In both cases the less said about the Brotherhood, the better.” Lawrence stood and put a few more coins on the bar. “Either way, you know where to find me.”

Liz didn't say a word and only stared at him with big eyes. It was hard to tell what she was thinking but it was clear that she was feeling some sort of regret. 

“If it’s just a job, you can always find another. A job ain’t worth all this trouble.” Lawrence took his hat off of the stool next to him. He dusted it off before putting it on and tipping it to her. “Take care, Liz.”

With that he left the Inglenook behind and headed back to the Gold District. Heeding his own advice, Lawrence made sure it wasn’t a direct path, and he doubled back to catch anyone who might be following him. Dealing with all these rich folks put him ill at ease. He didn’t trust any of them, no matter how much they were paying or promising to pay. He eventually arrived at the Van Silver residence, where a servant let him in the gate and led him to the back parlor, where Vanessa was waiting.

Looking like an older and more well-mannered version of her daughter Vanessa looked him over before glancing behind, almost as he she was expecting him to have brought her daughter with him. "So?" she said in a calm and slightly friendly tone that betrayed a hint of impatience.

Lawrence knew he wasn’t much of a liar, but he hoped that Vanessa wasn’t the perceptive type. “I followed her and watched her for a bit. Seems she’s found a group of friends down by the eastern docks. They didn’t seem to be troublemakers more than any other group of teenagers are.”

"And?"

“And what, Mrs. Van Silver? Far as I can tell she ain’t doing anything illegal.”

"And who are these little rascals? Which families do they belong to?"

“I think you misunderstood who I am, Mrs. Van Silver, if you expected me to round up your daughter’s friends.”

"I don't expect you to round them up. I expect you to find out who they are."

“And what would you do with that information?”

Vanessa was silent for a second as she gave him a disapproving look. "That depends on the family they hail from."

“That’s what I thought,” Lawrence said. “I found out what your daughter was doing like you asked. But I’m not going to get some dockworker or bartender’s kid in trouble cause they’re hanging out with your kid. That’s liable to only make her resent you more, I reckon. So if that’s all, I think it’s time for me to leave.”

"That's probably for the best."

Lawrence tipped his hat and left the way he came.

Outside the gates of the Van Silver home, he wondered if, or for how long, his story would hold up. He wasn’t lying when he told Liz this wasn’t going to hurt him. He knew that Clara was more interested in Liz understanding the potential danger she was in than Mrs. Van Silver getting what she wanted. And Lawrence had done all he could to convey that Liz needed to quit badmouthing the Brotherhood at the very least. He hoped that would be enough for her mom too.

As Lawrence walked back to Clara’s, a few early partygoers were taking to the streets in their costumes. It was a peculiar thing, this Halloween celebration. Back home most of the holidays usually involved large celebratory meals, not costumes and partying. Though he had to admit, it seemed like fun. And important to Wellstone, seeing as the curfew had been extended.

Clara’s hotel was a towering fourteen story light brown brick building, windows and doors framed by white stone, and the roof capped with more white stone trim. On the roof was a large sign that read ‘RESIDE HERE’. Above the western entrance was a less imposing sign, a red neon sign written in cursive that simply read Clara’s. Two Protectrons shined red in the soft neon of the sign above the entrance. They scanned those coming in for visible weapons, and greeted the patrons on behalf of Clara in their heavily modulated voices.

In the entrance hall was another one walking it’s programmed path around the room, and Lawrence knew there were two more each guarding the street entrance to the casino and cabaret. The foyer was all decked out in the Halloween spirit, with fake spider webs covering the chandeliers, paper bats stuck to the second story gallery railing, and pumpkins and other gourds positioned by the tables and couches.

The hotel was roughly a square. On the first floor the casino stretched along almost the entirety of the north wall while the cabaret stretched along the south wall. The middle third was the entrance foyer, with the kitchen and laundry behind it to the east. On the second floor were galleries overlooking the cabaret and casino, as well as offices above the kitchen and laundry. Lawrence had gotten the tour of most of the fourteen floors the day before.

At the check in counter directly across from the entrance, the hotel’s manager George was busy assisting a few customers. He was short and stocky, though going a bit soft. He had a strong face with a thick rectangular mustache that sat like a shadow below his mountain of a nose. He walked with a pronounced limp, and leaned on the counter to take the pressure off his leg. There wasn’t a thread out of place on his suit or a hair out of place on his head. George looked the type of the perfectionist manager, though Lawrence had learned he’d worked in construction before the accident that caused the limp sent him to the hotel business.

The guests were done with him so Lawrence approached, hat in hand. He always took it off indoors. George saw him coming. When he spoke his voice was clipped but friendly, while his Middle-Waters accent was somewhat diluted by couple decades in Wellstone. “Mr. Harding. Clara wanted you to check in once you got back. And Rodge will have your job for the night for you once you’re done speaking with her.”

Lawrence thanked him and was let behind the front desk and into the hallway that stretched behind it for employees. He passed the kitchen and found the stairs to the second story where Clara’s offices were. In broad strokes he told her what went down with Liz and more specifically how Vanessa reacted. Lawrence was more interested in gaining insight into what Clara thought than anything else, and he could tell she was relieved to hear what he’d told Liz. Their conversation was brief and after he went right across the hall to the security office.

The office wasn’t very large, with a couple of desks on one side of the room and a jail cell taking up the other half. It was mostly for drunks, people you didn’t want causing problems but didn’t want to involve Wellstone Security with either. The way Clara talked yesterday, it was better to handle some things in house than get the police involved.  

The office had only one occupant. William Rodgers, the hotel’s head of security, was tall and thick, with a bushy silver goatee. But he was getting up there in years, and grunted as he rose from his chair when Lawrence entered. In his deep voice Rodgers said, “Mr. Harding. I’ve already sent your friends out. The doctor and the scientist are down in the basement messing with one of the server bots. Reyna is in the cabaret with my number two Sawyer. He was out yesterday when y’all came by. I figure she’s pretty sharp eyed and he can more than handle any troublemakers. Get more than a few drunks here this time of year. Abbey’s in the casino already, and I’d like to have you join her there. You know how the games work, right?”

“I do. I’ve never done security for something like that, but I figure I’ll be able to spot someone switching out the dice or hiding cards,” Lawrence said.

“That’s probably all we’ll need. I’ll be making the rounds every so often. If you have any trouble makers, haul them up here and they can sleep it off in the cell,” Rodgers said.

“Yessir.”

Lawrence headed downstairs and into the casino. It didn’t take him long to spot Abbey prowling the floor, her right hand dangling by her side and reflexively formed into a fist. She had her long black hair pulled back into a braid, and she was wearing her straw cowboy hat and serape. Tonight, looking like that in the casino let her blend in better than if she’d been wearing regular clothes. Lawrence donned his hat, took his old badge from his pocket, and pinned it to his chest. At least for one more day, he could be a sheriff again.

As he and Abbey walked the casino floor, keeping an eye out for anyone up to no good, the uneventful afternoon faded into a slightly more eventful night. The crowd grew considerably larger and rowdier, and which led to one patron trying to fight Abbey and losing after one punch, as well as Lawrence hauling a couple off to the drunk tank.

It was late in the night, while the party was still going but beginning to die down, that Lawrence had to drag off his third drunk. He was an older man, his balding head sweaty and liver spotted, and he reeked of beer so bad Lawrence thought he might get second hand drunk. The old man had tried to palm chips from a table, only to knock them to the floor, where he quickly joined them in his drunken state. Since Abbey had already had to fight someone, Lawrence was stuck with the drunks, so he picked the old man up and pushed him toward the security office.

Getting him up the stairs was its own adventure, and halfway up Lawrence had to resort to carrying the man the rest of the way into the cell. There were four drunks were passed out on the floor, two of them courtesy of Sawyer and Reyna. Lawrence dumped the now snoring old man in with the others.

Lawrence locked the cell back and went over to one of the desks to catch his breath. Damn drunk fool’s heavier than he looks. Abbey probably wouldn’t miss him for a few minutes, so Lawrence sat down and kicked his feet up on the desk, leaning his chair back until his head could rest against the wall.

He could just faintly hear the muffled instruments and singing coming from the cabaret, though he couldn’t make out any words. Guillermo and the other two singers, Vince and Gloria, were all singing tonight, taking turns, singing duets, and putting on as much of a show as they could. Lawrence was disappointed he hadn’t had a chance to step in and watch them, but he was sure he could eventually, if this job panned out.

The singing faded, the cheers took its place, and then those too faded. In the space between the applause and when the next song started up again, no more than a few seconds, Lawrence heard a new sound. It was faint, even more so than the singing, and just a few days ago he wouldn’t have recognized it at all. He pressed his ear up against the wall and heard the soft mechanical whir of an elevator where there shouldn’t be one. What the hell?

Edited June 23, 2019 by BTC