As the flimsy, rusted bobby-pin snapped in his hands, Rob snarled in anger. "GODDAMN IT!" That was the third, and last decent lockpick he had. Now what? Jack and Sparta were pinned down by that god-awful turret in the lobby, and the best they could tell, the only way past it was to get this shitty lock open. When the Spartan Rose Raiders had heard that the Bureau of Alcohol, Drugs, Tobacco, Firearms, and Lasers office was reasonably free from scavenging due to a nasty turret covering the main payday, they couldn't resist.. Rob was already regretting voting to hit this place, though.
"Broke your last pin, you pile of shit?" Rob turned his head to glare at the prisoner. Why the other jackasses wanted to haul around a prisoner while they were doing this, too, he had no idea. Either way, he had to say something; if you don't scare the hostage a little, they think you're soft.
He stood up, and walked over to the grime-covered scavver, drawing his pipe pistol. "Yeah, think I should break your fingers next instead? Would be way more fun, asshole." Proving a point, he shot the hostage in the hand. The screams filled his ears, and even as his guilty conscious screamed at him just as loudly.. he was just doing what he had to do. "FUCK YOU!" The prisoner screamed, but.. well, the light of defiance was dead in her eyes. "Yeah, thought so. Now shut the fuck up, or you'll get a round in the other hand, too." He muttered out, storming back to the door. The guilt was a constant of life at this point. Remembering all the people he killed, clawing food from their cold, dead hands.. these days, he made it vanish with a good drag of Jet.
He soon regretted taking another puff, though; it screwed with his hands, and he could barely fit a paper clip into the lock, let alone try to pick it. He could see the terminal through the bulletproof glass!It had to have SOMETHING on it to stop that damn turret! It had already been an hour; the fuckers were probably getting impatient, and hell if he wasn't going to get a half-decent share of the loot.
His thoughts were consumed by frustration, and irritation at the stubborn lock.. until he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. It was innocuous, really; if you were a rookie, you wouldn't know the sound when you heard it.
Three little clicks, followed by the clatter of casings hitting the floor. The sound of gunfire, dampened by a silencer.
It ruled out Muties and Synths, at least; Muties were too loud. They'd probably throw away a gun that didn't make a lot of noise. Synths all used the same flashy laser guns. The few remaining options, though.. those were troubling. Most crews didn't use silencers. He could only think of two groups with them that were in this area. Secretly, he hoped it was the Gunners. They would barely have any chance of survival without a steep bribe, but it was better than the alternative.. they could've asked the Minutemen to send the General. Knowing the Gunners, as long as the crew said they could have the haul from this trash heap, they could probably leave without getting shot at.
If the General was here? They were all dead chemheads walking.
He abandoned the door immediately, starting by rushing over to the prisoner and slapping some duct tape on her mouth. The LAST thing he needed was for the bitch to scream, and draw any attention to him. As he continued to think it through, his mind racing with fear, he came to a sickening realization; the scrapyard they took her from was too poor to hire Gunners with equipment like silencers.. and, as many raiders had come to learn, all the General ever asked for was a hundred caps and membership in the Minutemen.
His heart skipped a beat. Three more little clicking sounds. "What the?" He heard Sparta say from above, before she simply.. grunted, followed by a loud thump. Far too quiet, for Gunners.. so it was the General. His heart began to sink. Sparta was a decent girl, for a raider. They'd shared drinks around the fire, opened up to each other about how hellish their lives were. Hell, he even had a little crush on her. For a moment, a hot fury filled him.. but it quickly burned out. It was the fucking General. They all knew the rumors about the General of the Commonwealth Minutemen. He had no chance in hell, and the instincts that let him survive as a raider now screamed at him to get the hell out; even if the stories were false, there was no other explanation for the sudden disappearances of so many gangs.
The clicking sounds, unfortunately, were getting closer, and closer.. he heard the click of someone reloading, and immediately ran for it, breaking into a dead sprint towards the exit. His knee exploded in sharp, hot pain; bitch shot him in the leg! He collapsed, clutching it as he found himself backed against the wall.. staring right into tinted black plastic. The General was a foreboding figure. He'd seen the armor before; it looked like Gunner gear, painted a dark shade of Minuteman blue. Their face, meanwhile, was completely concealed; a dark blue bandanna with the symbol of the Minutemen stitched into the fabric, and through her wraparound goggles, he saw piercing, dark green eyes. He let out a gasp of terror, looking into those predatory eyes with a look he hoped was pitiful enough. "P-please! Please, l-let me go! I-i won't fight you, but please, let me go!"
The silenced pistol in the General's hand lowered for a moment, hesitating. "... And what, let another druggie rapist killer go off to loot and pillage some more?" .. A female voice. He felt his heartbeat slow just a little. Finally, at least now he knew she was human. "N-no!" He felt himself gasping out, desperately looking into her eyes for any scrap of mercy. "No, never again, never going to be a Raider again. Please, just.. just let me go!" He felt himself flinch as he saw her grip on the pistol tighten. "And what will you do?" Her voice was chilled, perfectly calm despite the pistol in her hand. "A raider like you can't afford a house in Diamond City. The Minutemen will shoot you on sight just because of that raider ink on your neck. I'm not going to vouch for you. You'll fall back in with the next raider crew that sweeps through this part of Boston, if you don't die from withdrawal or blood loss first."
Rob's heart sank. She was right, god fucking dammit. He looked down, and clenched his eyes shut, hoping for her to be quick.. he winced as he felt another stinging pain.. but blinked in confusion soon after. It wasn't the gunshot to the head that would've killed him. Looking down at his leg, he saw the General pushing a stimpak into it. Already, he could feel the pain fading, as the stem cells did their work and the wound sealed shut. ".. Go. Get out. If I see you on a raider crew again, I'm shooting you in the dick before I shoot you in the head." For a moment, he simply stared at her. He.. wasn't sure what to say. "What, are you deaf? Fuck off. Just.. just go. Now."
Rob took the hint, rushing to get on his feet. "Thank you.. oh, fucking god, thank you." He gasped out, trying his best to look grateful; it wasn't an emotion he was used to expressing, but.. by that point, she was gone. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding; he was definitely about to die, there.. but, then Rob remembered what he did to the hostage. .. Gulping with fear a little, he quickly scrambled out of that hellhole of an office, letting out a sigh of relief as he breathed in some fresh air. Looking back at the door for a moment.. he decided that maybe being a raider wasn't for him. Not if it involved.. that. He reached for his belt, and took out his bag of caps. .. Diamond City had a surgeon, right? Maybe he could get the tats removed.. maybe he could join the Minutemen.
He'd rather have the General on his side, after all.