Special Thanks to AllMadeofGlass for Beta-Reading this Story!
As Richard Hollins washed his glass mugs, he could hear the sound of the cool autumn wind pass by the windows. He looked up from his chore, wondering if the wind would bring a customer with it. It was a strange idea to have, but it was one to break up the monotony of washing dishes. Richard peered out through the windows of the old diner, and found nothing but the leaves blowing down the highway. Disappointed, yet not surprised, he returned to cleaning the mugs.
Richard, or Richie to those he held close, had found the diner some years ago in his youth, after wandering around the New England Wastelands. It was built pre-war, looked mostly intact, and most importantly, was vacant. So, he decided to stay there a few nights before moving on again. However, the diner quickly presented itself as the perfect location to start up a business, a dream Richard had always had. First off, since it was located right off of the highway, traders would frequently pass by the old building. The plan was for them to be both the supplier and the customer. Also, the diner was located just a few miles from New Haven. It was close enough so that Richard could spend his caps there, but far enough so he wouldn't lose out on any through competition. Being the opportunist he was, Richard dropped the wanderer lifestyle, and set up shop. He figured he might as well use it for its original purpose, and kept it as a diner, with the addition of alcohol.
Like most entrepreneurs, Richard wasn't immediately successful. He wasn't that great of a cook, supply wasn't consistent, and the diner, while in good shape, still looked like nothing had touched it since before the bombs. Over the years, he fixed these problems one by one. With practice, his cooking skills became refined. Deals he made with local traders and farmers gave way to a steady stream of supplies. And slowly but surely, he made upgrades to the ancient eatery, such as new lighting, and a working jukebox. Most importantly however, was the addition of a sign out front, with the words "Old Richard's Diner & Bar" painted on it.
It had been about twenty years since Richard had drove that sign into the dirt, and he had sold his first meal fifteen some odd years before that. At fifty-eight years old, Richard no longer looked like the rogue wanderer he used to be. His once jet-black hair had since become grey, his face had become slightly wrinkled, and his old leather jacket was now several sizes too small. It was this Richard who was was now washing dishes out of boredom. The day had been slow, with only a few customers popping in at lunch time. He figured he'd have a few more coming for dinner, or to drink. But until then, it wasn't likely anyone would be dropping by.
Just as he finished cleaning his last plate, he heard a distant noise from behind him. It sounded like metallic, clanking footsteps, and whatever it was was heading his way. Richard wondered if it was a robot. Then again, he had never heard a robot that sounded like that before. As it came closer, the ground began to slightly shake. "Jesus, who put a layer of metal around a Deathclaw?" Richard thought to himself. When it reached the front-end of the diner, both the sounds and the shaking stopped. After a few seconds, it resumed, as the metal mystery made its way to the door.
As it let itself in, the door bell chimed, and Richard gazed at the thing before him. It was a human shaped tank a foot and a half taller than he was, with a strange symbol painted on its chest. Its head was a contraption, with tubes on the sides, a circular mouth, and black, harsh eyes that stared right into Richard's small blue ones. He had no idea whether he should try to talk to it, or to run for his life while he still could. After staring at it for a few seconds, Richard was taken aback by the sudden sound of a voice emanating from the mouthpiece.
"Is there a problem, citizen?" the voice sternly said.
"P-problem? No, not at all," Richard said.
"Good," the thing said as it sat at one of the countertop stools. Richard clenched his teeth as the over two-hundred-year-old stool creaked and groaned under the mammoth's weight. "Citizen, what do you serve to eat at this establishment?" the voice said, tone unchanging.
"T-to eat?" Richard said.
"I don't think I misspoke." Before Richard could respond, the figure took off it's head to reveal a man inside of it. The man wore a black stubble on his chin, and a buzz cut of the same color on his head. His eyes were a dark brown, with a deep scar underneath his right. Richard stared bewildered into those eyes for a moment, before laughing.
"Oh, now it all makes sense!" Richard roared as he laughed.
"I don't copy," the man said as he raised his eyebrow.
"I thought you were some kind of death-robot when you walked in, so you can imagine my confusion when you asked for something to eat! I was about to hand you a cup of oil and hope for the best!" Richard said, still laughing. The man did nothing except lower his eyebrow. Realizing his expression had hardly changed the whole time, Richard stopped laughing, and proceeded to hand him a slightly crinkled piece of paper. "Anyways, here's the menu. Luckily for you, we have the supplies for everything on it today."
The stranger ran his eyes over each item on the menu, then glanced back up at Richard."Which one of these items contains the most amount of protein?"
"Protein? Let me see…" Richard said, as he looked through a copy of the menu. "If I had to make a guess, I'd go with the Brahmin Steak."
"In that case, I'll have that then."
"How bloody do you want it?"
"I don't copy."
"How rare do you want it?"
"Medium-rare."
"You want anything with drink with that? I just got a shipment of some locally brewed moonshine the other day, if you're looking for something that'll knock you out."
"I'll just have water, if you have some."
"Alright then, one water, one steak, coming up," Richard said. He took a glass, ran it through his reserve basin of water, and handed it to the man.
"Thank you, citizen. Much obliged."
"Say, how come you keep calling me that?" Richard asked as he slapped a piece of Brahmin meat on the grill.
"You are a citizen of this vicinity, are you not?"
"I guess you could call me that. Although, I always figured the term "citizen" died off when the bombs fell," Richard said, keeping his eyes on the meat slab. "If I was a younger man," he thought to himself, I'd have tried to throw this guy out by now for being a nutcase. Glad I'm not that stupid anymore." An awkward silence fell between the two as Richard seared both sides of the steak. Occasionally, usually when the man would take a sip of water, Richard would glance over at him. And every time he did, the man was looking right back at him.
When the steak was nearly finished, Richard asked the man a question that had been burning in the back of his mind since he first saw him: "Say, what exactly is that chunk of metal you're wearing? Is it some kind of armor or something?"
"This, citizen, is a suit of T-60 model power armor, fit with a working headlamp and core assembly," he recited, as if he had memorized the exact description by heart.
"I'm not even sure what half that shit means, but it sounds tough. Whose dead body did you have to pry that off of?"
"I didn't have to pry it off of anyone. Have you ever seen this before?" the man said as he pointed to the image painted on his chest-plate. Richard examined it while placing the steak on a plate. The design of it consisted of three gears, a sword, and what looked like a circle placed on wings.
"Nope, don't think I have."
"I figured you hadn't. Citizen, that is the symbol for the Brotherhood of Steel. And the only dead bodies involved in obtaining this armor were those of its enemies. I received this power armor upon my promotion to Knight, after saving my squad from a swarm of feral ghouls," the soldier said. His eyes and face for the first time had changed expressions. They went from a look of pride, to one of anger, to one of pride again, and finally, back to his original stoic gaze.
"Brotherhood of Steel, huh? Yeah, I've heard of you guys," Richard said. Over the last few years, he had gotten wind about this Brotherhood through those who came from further down south. Typically, they were just rumors they heard from this guy who knew this guy who knew this guy. Sometimes, however, they told stories of run-ins with them, which usually ended with the storyteller almost getting shot in the face. Now knowing that the man before him was a member of the Brotherhood, every question Richard had previously had about him was answered. Now however, another one popped into his head.
"Aren't you guys out in the Capital Wasteland?" Richard asked as he handed the Knight his plate.
"Affirmative," he responded, reaching for some utensils.
"Then what're you doing all the way up here?"
"The details of our mission is classified information, citizen," the soldier said, with a slight hint of annoyance.
"Our?"
The man stopped cutting up his steak. "My squadron and I."
"How come your buddies aren-"
"I'd like to eat now. Thank you," the Knight said with aggression in his voice. Only the refined sounds of chewing and sipping were heard for the next several minutes. Richard was curious about him, but he also wasn't stupid enough to keep pushing him.
As the soldier was finishing up his meal, Richard picked up on another distant sound. Unlike the power armor, he immediately knew what it was: singing. The voice behind it was so slurred and raspy, however, that he couldn't even determine whether or not it was singing a real song. As the voice came closer, the sounds of cowbells accompanied it. Richard suddenly froze in place as soon as he realized who was coming.
"C'mon Mike, not now! You just had to drop by at the worst possible time, didn't you?!" Richard thought to himself. Along with the tales of of high tech and military doctrine he had heard, there were also mentions of the Brotherhood's attitudes towards ghouls, even if they weren't feral. Richard nervously glanced at the soldier, hoping he was too focused on his steak to care. But he too had noticed the ruckus, and was glaring towards where it was coming from, like a mongrel staring at its prey.
"Heeeyyy, Richieee!" Mike shouted from the highway. "Richie, Richie, son of a bitchy…bitch! Come on out here, you old bastard!"
Richard began to walk to the door, when he sensed the glare of the Knight behind him. He turned to face him.
"Um…'scuse me for a moment. I'll be right back," he said before hurrying out of the door. Upon seeing where Mike and his Brahmin were, he was slightly relieved. From the angle where the they were standing, the soldier couldn't see them. More importantly, however, was that Mike couldn't see him.
"Richie! My man! There you are!" Mike joyfully and drunkenly cried.
"Whatever you're here for Mike, make it quick, and make it quiet," Richard said as he rushed onto the highway.
"Now how am I supposed to make a drinking session with you quick and quiet?" Mike said, before laughing. As of it wasn't clear enough that he had already had a shot or two of his own product, Richard could smell the moonshine on his breath.
"Look Mike, you came at the wrong time. I'd love to have a drink with you right now, bu-"
"But what? You got customers in there? I've got enough booze with me to knock out a Deathclaw. I'll hand 'em some shots, and then it'll be a real party!" Mike roared as he lifted a bottle of moonshine into the air.
"Shhh, keep it down. It's not that. The problem is that's there's a guy in there who's with the fucking Brotherhood of Steel."
"What'd you say? Brotherhood of Steel? The same dicks who took over old D.C.?"
"Yes, Mike, that's who they are. Now listen, you've gotta-"
"Don't you worry Richie, I know exactly what I gotta do. I'm gonna go give Corporal Dick there a piece of my mind," Mike said as he drunkenly marched to the diner. If it wasn't such a serious situation, Richard probably would have laughed at the sight of him.
Richard ran up to him, and tried to stop the drunk. "Look, Mikey, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. This guy practically wears a tank on him, for God-sakes! Believe me, you don't want to piss him off!" he said in a desperate panic.
Mike only responded by pushing Richard out of the way and running towards the door. He flung it open, and began to shout at the man inside.
"Hey there, dickwad! I've heard the stories about you guys, you know. I know how you and your fucking ragtag group feel about people like me…" Mike said. Richard ran in to see the two facing each-other. The soldier towered over Mike. His eyes, his mouth, his whole face was filled with restrained rage. Upon seeing Richard frozen with fear in the doorway, he snapped his gaze right at him.
"Citizen, are you associated in any way with this…abomination?" The soldier said.
"Who're you calling an abomination?" Mike mumbled.
The Knight's head twisted back towards the drunken fool before him. "Be quiet, ghoul," he said, before returning his line of site to Richard. "I ask you again citizen, do you, or do you not know this thing?"
"I'm not going to lie. He's a good friend of mine. We've known each other for years," Richard said. He glanced over at the counter. There was no was he could make it there. The soldier was blocking his only way there.
"Has it ever come to your mind, that what you've befriended is a freak of nature? You should have put it down the moment you met it."
"Looks like nature doesn't like you that much either, Scarface," Mike said, pointing to the gash on the soldier's face. As soon as the ghoul's hand reached near him, the Knight clenched it.
"Keep your irradiated hands away from me, freak!" he said. Mike began to struggle, which only resulted in the soldier tightening his grip.
"Aaahhh, you bastard!" Mike screamed in pain as the sound of his hand shattering under the force could be heard. With all the energy he had in him, he spat in his face and threw a punch with his free hand. Richard watched in horror as the tank got a hold of Mike's other hand, and swiftly lifted him into the air with ease. With his might, the soldier chucked him across the diner, and into a wall. As he began to march to where the ghoul landed, Richard ran past him, and leaped over the counter. There, he pulled out his old hunting rifle, and aimed it directly at the soldier's head.
"Listen here, you son of a bitch! Get the hell out of my diner right now, or your brains are gonna paint its walls!" Richard shouted, fueled by adrenaline. It was only then that he noticed the energy gun resting on the soldier's back. He had been so distracted by everything else about him that he had failed to notice it previously. The Knight stopped in his path and slowly turned around to face Richard. Despite the fact that there was a gun aimed at his head, and that he had just assaulted someone, his face retained the same stern look he wore the whole time. Suddenly, he made a step towards the counter.
"I said get the hell out of here!" Richard yelled as he raised his gun.
"My helmet, citizen," the Knight said as his eyes moved towards the piece of power armor lying on the countertop. With the muzzle of his rifle, Richard knocked it as far away as he could. Since it was so heavy, however, it only landed a foot away from the edge of the counter. The soldier raised his hands up as he slowly moved towards the helmet. As he bent down to pick it up, Richard held the gun mere inches from the top of his head. Suddenly, with both hands, the soldier yanked the rifle out of his hands before slamming it against the wall like a baseball bat. It was bent and destroyed beyond repair. Richard stood there, mouth gaping. Without a word, the Knight went back to pick up his helmet.
"You're lucky I don't disobey my orders, citizen," he coldly said.
"W-what orders were those?" Richard said, confidence drained.
"I was specifically told by my superiors not to kill any civilians, under any circumstances. Without that order, I would have killed you as soon as you became a threat. Perhaps when the rest of the Brotherhood comes through this vicinity, you won't be so lucky," the Knight said. Richard would have asked if that rule applied to people like Mike, but he wasn't stupid. He simply kept quiet when, as if nothing had happened, the soldier marched his way out of the door, and away from the diner.
As soon as he was out of sight, Richard rushed to Mike with a Stimpak in hand. Seeing as how he wasn't coughing up blood, or gasping for air, he assumed he would be fine after applying a Stim or two and some bandage for his arm.
As the needle punctured the old ghoul's rough skin, his eyes reached up to his friend's. "Did you hear that cocksucker?" Mike said with a smile. "The rest of the Brotherhood, coming through here…" He paused, and looked at the cracked wall behind him that his flailing body had broken. Suddenly, he began to laugh. "Y'know Richie, if only one of those dicks can do that much damage to this place, your diner's gonna have to be a fort by the time his friends show up." Richard began to laugh with him too, until he realized just how true those words might one day become.