Italics - dream or thought
Delicate looking but calloused hands, covered in gloves, struggled against their bonds, the rope cutting into lightly tanned skin through the gloves as vision came into focus.
"You got what you were after, so pay up!" A rather gruff voice demanded mere feet away from the gloved person, who confusedly looked around and causing a stray lock of bleached blonde hair to fall into a pair of sapphire eyes.
"You're crying in the rain, paly." A second voice, sounding just a small bit closer to the person said, sounding almost annoyed by the owner of the first voice's impatience.
Not too long after, a third voice piped up and said, "Guess who's waking up over here."
The blonde haired person looked up at that, making out three men, two in some type of... gang outfit, a guess… and then a third in a suit with a checkered outfit and a cigarette, which he took a final drag from it before he promptly dropped the item to the ground and stamped it out with his foot. The two men accompanying him were a large man with dark skin and then a man with much paler skin and an orange mohawk and facial hair, who was toting a shovel.
The blonde tried to make a sound, eyes growing wide as the noise was muffled and gears kicked into overdrive. Bound, gagged, and in front of three men. What luck.
Sapphires momentarily shifted to the side, only to see a shallow and empty grave, with someone's name on it.
"Time to cash out." The man in the checkered jacket said as he turned to the blonde, in which the man to his left - the large man with dark skin - threw his arms out.
"Will you get it over with?" The dark skinned man and owner of the gruff voice, said.
The one in the middle raised his hand up, his pointer lifted to the sky like he was counting the number one as he said, "Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face but I ain't a fink, dig?"
It was then that he took a silver chip out of his coat - the number 38 seemingly mocking the blonde kneeling on the ground - and said, "You made your last delivery, kid." before putting the chip away and adding, "I'm sorry you got twisted up in this scene."
And he actually looked sorry for a moment before he snapped back to normal. If he was sorry, why wasn't he letting his captor go…? This courier?
But then he withdrew a gun, holding it with the same hand that he had been toting that chip in just a mere heartbeat ago.
"From where you're kneeling, must seem like an 18 karat run of bad luck." He commented, watching the person on their knees. He then pointed the gun right at them and said, "Truth is…"
That was when an emotion the blonde had prayed day in and day out that they'd never feel again as they stared right into the barrel of the gun, tears welling up in a pair of wide eyes.
"The game was rigged from the start."
And then he pulled the trigger.
The young woman sat up in her bed with a start, in a cold sweat as her sheets remained tangled around her long legs. Her eyes were wide and she was actually shaking, looking at the bedside table and snatching her handgun, welcoming the cold metal in her hands for the night as she bolted up from the bed and looked around, almost expecting a man in a checkered jacket with dark hair to jump out from the shadows and shoot her again.
After a few moments, her heart slowed as she relaxed and muttered, "That fucking dream again…" before sighing and running a hand through her long, blonde locks, only in a tank top and very short sleep shorts.
She groaned softly in sheer irritation as she made her way out of the bedroom and down the set of stairs to the first floor of her luxurious, purple-infested penthouse and headquarters for her job.
Looking through the glass, floor-to-ceiling walls, she noted that it was still the dead of the night. Just like in that dream…
She shuddered and shook the thought off, waving to a few of her friends and co-workers that were up on guard as she sat at the bar and opened a bottle of vodka.
"Another rough night?" A redhead in a purple hoodie with an FBI jacket over it, light-wash denim jeans that were torn, a pair of glasses, and fingerless combat gloves inquired from a nearby spot at the bar area, furiously typing away at her laptop.
The blonde only hummed in response, nodding and glaring at the wall tiredly. "Fucking checkered jacket wearing asshole…"
"Clarissa-"
"Boss. I hate hearing my name, you know that."
"Boss… do you have any idea as to why you're having the same nightmare about this guy shooting you in the head? Besides, you've been shot in the head more than on record, and survived a boat explosion. So what makes this guy different? This whole nightmare different?"
"The situation. I've never been bound up and gagged. Not even by… you know."
"Oh… right. And it's always about a delivery, right? Nothing different?"
"Well… it's always easier to remember what he looks like. Pretty handsome, I'll admit… I hope he'd be a good lay, frankly."
"Boss, seriously?!"
"What, he seems like he'd be worth getting it on for! Besides, you know that Shaundi and I sleep with men, women, whoever, as long as they look like a good fuck! Damn, I should get my own dating show…"
"Ugh, just… ugh."
Clarissa just shrugged at that, then taking a swig from her vodka. Thank god that I can't really get hangovers anymore, She mused.
"You're lucky that you won't get hangovers, because the one you'd have would be an utter killer." Kinzie pointed out, not even looking up from her screen, the brightness glinting off of her glasses.
"Exactly. Which means that I'm driving around in my Neuron."
"Just don't get yourself killed out there, Boss." Kinzie said. "You might be the leader of the Third Street Saints, but you're not invincible."
"Got it." She said, grabbing her keys and swiping the vodka from the bartop before taking the elevator down to the garage and getting in her green, window tinted Neuron.
She might not be ruling all of Steelport and having exacted her revenge on the enemy gang in the city - the Syndicate - but she knew that they were partway there.
Part of the way to killing Loren for killing her Johnny.
Soon enough, the sun started to peek out over the waters of the city and casting a red light on the skyscrapers in the center of town as Clarissa drove around and stopped near the airport, sighing as she parked her car nearby and got out, seeing a crowd of black, red, and pink flash before her eyes as she calmly withdrew her gun.
She then shot the nearest Morningstar in the head, her lips drew in a flat line as the Afro-Belgian woman fell to the ground in a pool of blood. Seeing the sight made a knot form in her throat as she managed to swallow it down and continue with the gang operation, making sure that no emotion showed on her face.
Soon enough, she was kicking the last one down and shooting him in the stomach before leaving him to bleed out and stepping over him, ignoring his pleas for medical assistance.
She made her way to her car when she noted a flash of a checkered coat, making her wheel around to where she saw it and aiming, careful to not pull the trigger this time as her sapphire blue eyes locked right on a man a few feet away in that checkered jacket with dark hair, who was just looking at her. A mixture of surprise and … respect (?) in his eyes as she stared him down.
"What's your business here, asshole?" She snapped after a moment, narrowing her eyes at him. "I don't have time for bullshit, so be honest, here."
"I needed a break from Vegas, baby, when did that turn into a crime?" He asked, staring at her.
"You're from Las Vegas, huh…?" Clarissa asked, making her way over to him and pressing the barrel to his throat, wedging a small space between them as she leaned in close and snarled, "This isn't Vegas, so you best play by my rules. I'll put a fucking bullet in your neck and mull over my actions later."
The blonde watched him smirk as he moved his head slightly to actually have her have a better aim at his throat, making her arch a brown brow.
"I'll keep that in mind, baby. I mean, I ain't a fink or anything." He told her, making her roll her eyes.
"You've got balls and using them, I see," She said, in reference to his gall. "Anyway… mind coming with me?"
"If you got a place to stay, sure. Or if you're gonna show me if you're platinum or not." The man replied as Clarissa rolled her eyes again and wrapped her nimble fingers around his wrist and yanked him to her car.
"Save the smooth talking for another day, smartass." She snapped, unlocking her car. "Anyway, what's your name?"
"My name's Benny, baby." He answered as he opened the passenger side door. "Mind if I know your name?"
Clarissa paused at that, pondering for a moment. "I don't let anybody but family and those closest to me say my name. Just call me Boss, yeah?"
"Alright, then, Boss…" Benny said, a bit surprised by her response.
The blonde got into the driver's seat, looking over at her passenger with a sigh as she started the car and said, "Hold on, Benny." before speeding off, heading to her penthouse again.
Different time and such, same ridiculous fucking fashion sense, She thought.
Ah, my first Fallout fanfiction! And it's a Saints Row crossover! I've never written anything with Benny before, so tell me if he seems off, okay?
I just got Fallout NV a couple of days ago, so if Benny seems a bit odd, that might be why.
But anyway, I just thought this whole fanfiction up last night! I didn't really mean to, it just happened and I wanted to share it with everyone! So I hope you enjoy!