Heart of the Wasteland
"Quarter Master Black…wants you come with me or I'll make you come…"
Who's that…? Such a soothing voice, out here in the Pitts, that doesn't make sense. But then again what around here does as of late, all the confusion being the source of my pain. "Wa…nt you...now, GET UP!"
The sweet soothing voice gave way to a rough angry tone, MP Lenk, rude, crude, and above all else violent. "Sir!" I half shout, snapping to attention, the charred metal fold out chair clanking loudly as it hit the floor. Lenk is a short man, reminds me of a shorter version of the Russian from the old Punisher comics my dad used to find when he was looting. Hugely buff, wild eyes, overly blonde, flat top haircut too many bloody stories ending with his knife covered with someone else's insides for me to wanna mess with him.
I on the other hand am not a big brooding bad ass, 5'7, slim, haven't seen action in almost a year, my arms and wrists are noodles. I'm good looking don't misunderstand shaggy golden brown hair, some muscle tone, and the oddest colored eyes for a human, a platinum silver mixture. I also spent my childhood in and out of the boxing ring, national champ in the feather weight and banter weight. Before I was running the equipment for the boys who actually fight I spent three years touring around the military posts in each part of the country, over sixty missions I lead personally into new territory. Me and my boys of the 289 held off four battalions worth of Brotherhood troops from the power plant we now operate out of in the Devil's Den. I was technically a mercenary at the time, but I could have held a Captains rank, I chose Quarter Master. I have more than earned the year of leisure I've enjoyed so much, I had been thinking about getting back out into the shit though because of Washington. Biggest man you've ever seen, he sports the small fro with his "lucky" pick sticking out of it, the old school stash and goatee, always wearing his great ancestors' Navy jacket. He favors the .45 revolvers, carries four with over two dozen quick load clips of twelve on him; he's a master of quick draw.
He always had such stories, just like the ones I once told. He'd come off as if bragging about some fire fight where he was a "total bad ass" but behind that he was really telling the story of how one of his fallen friends died to save his worthless ass. All of us who had been in the same spot could see the sadness he felt when he spoke of the men who died. But out here in the Wasteland death is always waiting around every corner, you grow dull to the pain of loss, and you learn the meaning of bravado above all else.
"Quarter Master Black," Lenk seems about to begin his typical ranting and raving when his tone turns from its violent threatening way to a solemn, almost pitying hush, "hands behind your back, you are under arrest for the murder of Corporal Washington, don't put up a fight or you'll be put down." He isn't joking, firing squad is at the ready, and I don't put up a fight as the cold hard cuffs clamp down onto my flesh, the shackles seeming to tighten evermore as if trying to choke out any bits of freedom I have left.
"The murder of Washington?! He's dead Lenk?! When did it happen?! Who found his body?! Where was he found!? Lenk?! LENK!" Lenk was silent, he couldn't meet my eyes, all I knew in that moment was Washington had been murdered, and I had been framed. I fell quiet as they guided me through the dark halls of the armory, outside into the extreme brightness of day, back into the darkness of the shuttles that led to Home Base in Devil's Den. My options closing around me, I can stay and face the charges try to win, though the evidence seems to have been stacked against me. Or I can take the chance, escape between transports, even hunt down who killed Washington and framed me. I have no leads, but who knows when I'll get the chance to escape after incarceration, time is clicking down, the transport exchange is coming up rapidly. My mind racing, logic and faulty hopes passing through, I decide in that instant what to do, face judgment, find the face amongst my prosecutors that leaks the truth I seek. Hunt them down and make them suffer.
As I step off the shuttle fully expecting the hood that two NCR personnel place on my head, darkness took over once more, but instead of being put onto the next shuttle, I stood awaiting the hands on my arms to guide me. Suddenly an intense heat covered my senses; I felt like I was thrown into an open fire, as soon as the heat hit me the hands on my arms were yanked away, and I was hurled violently sideways. I crashed hard into something that refused to give way to my velocity, my ribs crack as pain fills through me like sharp hot knives. I shook the hood free to see a terrible sight; the shuttles enveloped in fire roasting like a carcass, blood covered me and the ground around me. The two guards that held my arms, they had been shot, two clean hits through the back of their heads. Those still alive were scrambling around; some trying to get their bearings, others dragging themselves or their fallen brethren out of the line of fire.
Bullets came pouring down from all sides, I lie there for what seems like forever until a body comes crashing down from overhead, Lenk, he had been hacked up pretty good before being tossed. He was hard to recognize, whoever attacked him had it out for him real personal. Right then all of my senses came flooding back, who was attacking still remained a mystery, but that didn't matter to me at the moment. What mattered was surviving, with death raining down my instincts took over; I ran full speed into the open fire of the shuttle I arrived on, keeping up my speed I burst through a thin wall of flames. To mine and the man's surprise I landed full weight onto the top of a robed man, he let out a grunt losing his air. I took advantage of the situation and brought my right elbow down onto the bridge of his nose repeatedly, with a more sickening cracking nose each time I hit.
Bullets came whizzing by, I looked up to see a firing squad shrouded in black marching forward giving whoever was still alive a bullet to the eye. I was still unarmed, the robed man had no only a knife on him, my side hurt and my head was pounding, putting it all together I decided to flee the scene. I grabbed the knife and took off the people that had done this were not the typical Brotherhood enforcers or Khansmen, this group was informed; they knew the layout of the Shuttle Bay too well. I jumped to my feet and ran as fast as they would take my wounded body, with luck I was able to make it to the train yard entrance leading outside.
I drug my limp body to the side of the entrance and fell into some debris burying myself beneath it along with some rubble to be completely concealed. There I waited; too pained to move any further, as far as I could see it one of two things could happen. I will be found and brutally murdered, or I will catch whoever set this up returning to the scene of the crime. As an hour ticked passed I assumed no one would come, the hit squad must have taken the northern exit, luckily I had rested enough for my head to stop pounding I pushed myself to my feet and limped my way to the big rusted arch the shuttles enter through. Unluckily I had forgotten this particular Transit Shuttle Bay was in the middle of Deathclaw territory, which is what typically made it so safe. But in my position I find that being surrounded by hundreds of Deathclaws is, well, bad. I crept out into the light with no beasts in sight, the wind was on my side it seemed no curious creatures poked their heads up or picked up my scent. I must have been giving off one powerful smell too, covered in so much blood and sweat.
I walked about twenty more yards before pain shot through my body, everything throbbing at once; I fell out in the open spitting up fresh blood as my body went limp on the ground. I heard scuffling far off to my left, it got louder. I looked up, clenching the knife trying to get to my feet not expecting what I saw.
(Author's note; Enough likes and I'll continue, this is my first fanfic. Constructive criticism= +)