'Of the people. For the people.'

Oh brother.

Jack thought he had been long past phased by the anomalous Boston wastes he woke up to just a couple months ago. Yet, here he stood borderline baffled in Goodneighbor beneath the rain which wet the dried blood on the pavement and created an almost nauseating stench of rotten iron. And not just within the settlements walls, but behind them as well. Maybe it was the fresh blood that spewed from the man named Finn who had been shanked to death in front of Jack by the town's own Mayor Hancock. Though the ghoul seemed nice enough, he wasn't who Jack needed to see and he didn't want to dwell anymore on the events that had just transpired. So he took a step over the man's dead body to go deeper into the infamous realm of crime he had heard so much about.

Fluorescent and pink sat the Memory Den at the heart of the town like a jewel. But Nick wasn't here yet and Jack needed a stiff one to take the edge off the fresh memory of bashing Kellogg's skull in.

In 100 years, when I die, I hope I go to hell just so I can kill you all over again you piece of shit.

The British robot wasn't as kind as Codsworth, but he appreciated the assertiveness the Third Rail had to offer. Jack originally intended to wind down, but word was Hancock needed some warehouses cleaned out and he could do with extra caps while he was here. And he was well adapted enough to understand that cleaning was done with blood. A lot of blood, as he realized he couldn't fit the number of warehouses on one hand. He noted this to himself amusingly. It was the little things that kept him sane. But it was the back up in combat that kept him alive at times. So when Charlie mistook him for a merc (maybe he was at this point) and hinted to the one named MacCready hold up in the back of the bar, Jack let the music around him and the idea of ordering a whiskey slip from his mind. "Should we take this outside?" He found himself lurking silently behind two gunners and a rather small (and grumpy) looking blonde man.

"In case you forgot, I left the gunners for good."

"But you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth."

It was evident that the ex-gunner was MacCready and he hopelessly wanted nothing to do with the two gruff raiders that confronted him. "I don't take orders from you… not anymore."

The words sent Jack's thoughts barreling into a flashback where he saw himself young and fresh faced adorned in an even fresher military uniform. It was before he was married to Callie. Before they had Shaun. Before everything. He was in his early twenties at least and had seen his first tour in Alaska just shy of the Chinese invasion in Anchorage. They told him they wanted his combat skills to assist in a strike on China in their own invasion to help relieve pressure off the U.S. coast.

Jack didn't want to kill anymore, 'I don't take orders from you! I can't…'

But under an extent of military pressure, he went to China anyway. He ponders too often if riding out his career until retirement was truly worth it. Even with the fancy power armor and the decorated medals that no longer meant anything more than dust in the wind. Even now, especially now, as he watched this kid who was easily no older than twenty-two fend off a couple of men he used to take orders from.

"… Why don't you take your girlfriend and walk outta' here while you still can."

That seemed to ruffle the darker raider's feathers and Jack couldn't hold back a brief smirk. The voice of the two laid it out straight that the only reason MacCready was still alive was because they didn't need a war with Goodneighbor and it made him wonder just how far this kid's reputation ran exactly or if these guys were more intimidated than they were letting on. Winlock spewed some bullshit about respecting people's boundaries, but Jack could recall many instances that Gunner's had raided an unsuspecting settlement just for the hell of it. No respect there, buddy. The only thing keeping them from drawing their weapons was that every single person in this town was also armed to the teeth, even that singer probably, and they'd be dead before anyone could count to three. They were flattering themselves if they thought Hancock would even bother with a war.

"If we hear you're operating in gunner territory, all bets are off. Got that?"

"Ya finished?"

Good.

Jack stepped coldly past the two men as they passed without meeting their daggering gaze that he could feel for a split second at the back of his head. His eyes instantly met MacCready's which were light blue and dilated like a curious child. The mercenary seemed taken aback by him only for a second before he let his expression relax back into its scowl from before.

"Look pal- if you're preachin' about the Atom or lookin' for a friend you got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun... then maybe we can talk." Jack second guessed for a second if this guy had just read his mind.

"'Might just be your lucky break. But first- tell me about those guys back there."

"A couple of morons lookin' to climb the ladder to success by stepping on everyone else on the way up. That's how the gunners are."

"A cult of raiders, right?"

MacCready's tough guy routine melted into a smirk that almost mirrored the one Jack had released earlier. They had a similar appreciation for being snarky, but he was already frowning again and back to business. Said he ran with the gang because the money was good, though he never fit in. Jack knew right away it was because this kid had a conscious that a lot of people in this life had lost, even if MacCready didn't know it yet. The cynical melancholy that surrounded him told Jack that maybe he already did know it.

The two sized one another cautiously. Considering the fact that Jack was adorned in an armored vault jumpsuit with a solid fire arm slung on his back, the young mercenary probably had more unanswered questions than the ladder.

"What about you?" MacCready's tone became underlined with more suspicion to match his guard. "How do I know I won't end up with a bullet in my back?"

"You don't. All part of the risk."

He seemed to oddly be set at ease. "Can't argue with that."

"Jack."

"RJ. Two hundred and fifty caps up front and you've got yerself an extra gun."

"Gee, what a bargain. Deal."

The two men clasped each other's arms in a firm, sealing handshake and never let their eye contact fall. Because of that, Jack felt something pass between them. He could tell RJ felt it too as his face had almost relaxed into a soft curiosity. It was like a warm spark he could feel spread from the middle of his chest to the tips of his fingers. Then, for just a second longer, Jack started to admire how physically appealing MacCready was. All of that faded away as soon as their arms dropped to their sides again and the music snaked its way back into the room. "So… what now?"

Jack looked at him questionably as he tried to reclaim his thoughts and the impatient mercenary scowled again. "You're my boss right now."

"Before I found you I was going to down a whiskey."

"Yeah? Then what?"

"Then I found out that the good ol' mayor needs his warehouses cleaned of a few bad eggs. Catch my drift?"

MacCready's mouth curled into a mischievous smile that almost got Jack's blood pumping. His eyes became shadowed under his military cap. "Mopped with blood. I get ya. You're already talkin' my language."

Jack couldn't think of any way to currently drop the ball that he was also in desperate search for his missing son. Soon enough they'd have to step foot into the memory den and then RJ would know everything. He briefly entertained the small possibility that he had just found more than a hired gun.