The wind blew harshly across the jagged stone rocks, and the dead soil which covered a landscape of hills, pathways, and unstable ground. Its loud hum poured through the wasteland and echoed into a deep, endlessly stretching crater.
Far off into the distance, on the crater's edge, a large collection of derelict buildings stood together. The buildings sat on a slope leaning slightly inwards toward the crater. At the edge, various broken buildings and concrete ground hung over the crater, waiting to join the others that had no doubt fallen in previously. Despite their damage, the buildings that had once been the largest city in what had once been the state of Montana stood sturdy against the various forces which should've torn it down.
In the pre-war city of Billings, the sounds of explosions and gunfire managed to be heard over the howls of the wind. The sounds were heard all the way from the city, to the hills that dotted along the pathway to it.
"How the hell can they still fight in this goddamn weather!?" A mechanical, but hoarse voice shouted over the radio. "Is killing each other really so important that the calm before the goddamn storm should be ignored!?"
"I think that's exactly why they're still giving each other hell over there." Another equally mechanical voice responded dryly. "I mean, I doubt a storm's actually coming, but generally speaking the death of one or both your enemies is higher up on the agenda than whether it's gonna rain or not." It added with amusement.
"I wasn't referring to an actual storm." The raspy voice responded, his annoyance obvious.
"I know." The other voice replied, it's increased cheerfulness unhidden by its robotic vocals.
A raspy sigh sounded over the radio, louder than the last.
"But what were you referring to when you used it?" The cheerful voice asked.
After a moment, the raspy voice explained: "If they keep trying to kill each other, then they'll eventually weaken the city enough to the point where wind like this is all it will take to send it down below, if they haven't already done it themselves at that point."
"You're very concerned about their safety aren't you?" The other voice said, his tone dry once again.
Before the raspy voice could retort, another interrupted: "As fascinating as it is to hear you discuss how the city will fall, I'm afraid I have to remind both of you that this channel shouldn't be in use during an ambush!" The new, effeminate voice shouted in exasperation.
A long silence fell over the radio, before the cheerful voice asked: "Then why didn't you speak up when he started talking?"
Silence again, followed by the low growling of the effeminate voice. However, rather than an ear-piercing scream, another, calmer voice spoke.
"Please calm down, all of you." The moment the words were spoken, the channel became quiet to seem as if nothing had ever been said. "Thank you, I understand that this sort of thing can become… exhausting after awhile, believe me." The voice chuckled slightly, but retained his calm tone, the similar mechanical echo only strengthening it. "But we're still on a mission, and as such we all need to focus on the task at hand, that means only use the radio when we need to. That means no remarks, no questions, and no shouting, unless it's for the mission, or after the mission, understood?"
As if on cue, a group emerged from behind a mound, following a path between the hills where the owners of the voices lay prone.
"Well then, guess we can use it." The calm voice said with a bit of subdued amusement. "How many are there?"
A moment passed. "I count thirteen, ten armbands, three slaves, one brahmin." The formerly cheerful voice stated. "Looks like they needed help carrying the extra equipment." He remarked with resentment.
"Don't worry, we'll get them in a minute." The effeminate voice reassured softly.
"That's right." Agreed the calm voice. " What are they carrying?".
A raspy "hm" sounded over the radio, followed by: "Their all wearing leather armor, a few have backpacks." Another "hm". "Five of them are carrying lever-action rifles, three have hunting rifles, the last two have shotguns, both double-barrel."
"So basically jack shit." The resentful voice said, chuckling darkly.
"And the slaves?" The calm voice asked.
"As well dressed as a slave of theirs would be." The raspy voice replied, his pity unhidden.
Silence followed once again, as they watched the group advance along the path. Finally, the calm voice spoke up.
"We do this quickly, and accurately. Leave one of the double-barrels alive, he's got the red band."
The other voices uttered their approval, and waited.
The group walked between the hills, the soldiers lifting their blue armband fitted arms in an attempt to block the wind while the slaves shivered. They had tied them to the brahmin and let it drag them across the wasteland, causing even more damage to their already infected feet. The group would've dragged the slaves themselves, but they were heading to the Cliffside City, they needed to be absolutely focused, and that meant allowing the mutated beast to do their job for them.
Better than using those damned pre-war collars.
The man closest to the brahmin, possessing a shotgun and a red armband signifying his rank shouted over the wind: "Can you see it!?"
"Yeah, it's still far, but it's there!" Shouted a woman at the front, hand pressing a straw cowboy hat to her head.
"Do they really need reinforcements, I think we're the third group this month!?" Inquired one of the others.
"If they need help, then they need help. I'll be damned if I leave our fellow men to die to those scum!" The leader replied, louder and angrier.
"I know sir, it's just that I'm starting to worry that with how things are, we're using up to many men at once-"
The soldier was cut off when his head exploded into red mist along with three others. Blood and pieces of brain matter covered the ground and some remaining soldiers as the four bodies fell.
"What the fuck-!" Another soldier tried to scream, before his skull caved in as another bullet made its way into four more soldiers.
"Form up, find them and-!" The leader's scream turned into one of blood-curdling pain as his leg snapped backwards from the impact of yet another bullet, forcing him to the ground as the remaining soldiers' heads exploded, coating the dead soil with blood.
The leader curled against the ground, grasping his leg and grimacing in pain. His eyes only opened as he heard several footsteps from all directions.
The four owners of the voices got up, and walked down their respective hills to the path occupied by headless or nearly headless corpses and their squirming leader.
Each wore a full suit of green and black tactical combat armor covered by dusters, complete with helmets with built-in respirators and Pip-Boys around their wrists. They all held pristine anti-material rifles.
A sight completely out of place in the wasteland.
"Well that was easy." The one with the raspy voice stated, disappointed.
"Did you want them to shoot back?" The effeminate one asked.
He shook his head. "No, I just hoped they would've at least made a run for it."
"Well that's vats for you." The cheerful one stated. "I for one am glad we managed to rid the world of these bastards."
"As am I… but I have to agree, it's too easy sometimes." The calm one said.
"Everything's easy for you kid." The raspy one stated, shaking his head.
"I can assure you that isn't true." The calm one managed to say before a loud boom filled the air and the calm one shot forward, nearly falling to the ground.
Quickly straightening, he looked back to see the leader with the red armband pointing his shotgun at him. Surprise crossed the man's face as he pulled the trigger, letting loose another round of 12-gauge into the calm one's torso. He stumbled backwards, but straightened himself again, unharmed except for a dent in his armor.
Rather than shocked, the calm one saw a look of pure hatred on the leader's face. Looking away, the calm one spotted the three slaves cowering behind the dead brahmin (The cheerful one had shot it).
The calm one turned to the cheerful one, and motioned towards the slaves. Nodding, the cheerful one holstered his anti-material and made his way towards them, kicking the shotgun from the leader's grasp as he passed.
As the cheerful one took care of the slaves, the calm one motioned towards the leader. Within seconds, the other two holstered their own anti-materials, grabbed the man by the arms, and lifted him off the ground and to his knees, ignoring his cries of pain. However, after his cries ceased, the leader did something that surprised everyone but the calm one.
He began to laugh.
The raspy one, and the effeminate one shared a glance, while the cheerful one looked over. The calm one only holstered his rifle, and began to operate on his Pip-Boy.
"Find something funny?" He asked, staring at his wrist.
The man began to speak amidst his laughter. "Yeah… you guys are really funny. Sitting on those hills, killing my men, surviving those shotgun rounds, yeah… you assholes are still dependent on the old world aren't cha.
The calm one tilted his head, but his gaze remained on his wrist. "Dependent?"
"Yeah, even after all this time, people like you exist, people who continue to use the tools that almost destroyed us. You fuckers just can't move on can you!?" The leader screamed. "Even after two hundred years, here you are, still enslaved by the old world!"
The calm one raised his head, his helmets black visor meeting the leader's burning eyes. "Enslaved, huh. You mean like them." He said, pointing to the slaves, now untied and being comforted by the cheerful one.
The leader scoffed. "Those aren't slaves, those are prisoners. They were offered the chance to be a part of something amazing, to be independent and live without fear, but they spat in our faces and chose to be dependent dogs! So we fulfilled our duty as free men and brought them under control before they spread their bias further. We can help them be free, but you, you don't deserve freedom! You deserve to be wiped from the earth!"
The calm one stared at the hyperventilating leader for a long time, before replying: "I see… well I can agree with some of what you said, but everything else is bullshit."
The man's eyes hardened with fury, but the calm one continued: "Technology certainly did destroy the world, and it certainly can be used to do that again." He said solemnly. "But you see, that only depends on who uses it."
The calm one grasped the sides of his helmet, twisted, and pulled it off. The face of a young man with long, dirty white hair and brown eyes so dark the leader mistook them for black.
His appearance made the leader sneer. "A slave and a junkie, huh?"
The young man shook his head. "No, that's it's natural color, I don't know why but it is." His voice was clearer without respirator of the helmet. "But more importantly-" The young man placed the helmet on the ground and walked in front of the leader and knelt to meet his eyes. "This is the face of someone who won't make the same mistakes of the past."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "You're a fucking kid."
The young man smiled slightly. "Yet here I am after ordering the deaths of all your men." He reached into his duster. "And now I'm going to fulfill my duty and prevent people like you from going out of control."
From inside the duster, the young man pulled a small, strange box-looking machine. He held it by a hilt which had two buttons where his thumb was located, and an orange wire that went from the front of the machine to the back. Still smiling, he raised it in front of the leader's face.
Before the leader could react, the young man pressed down his thumb and a blue light flashed.
When he lowered the machine, a change in the leader was immediately recognizable.
His head hung loosely to one side, his shoulders slouched, and his mouth hung agape. He looked in all directions, his expression confused, and his eyes tired.
Packing away the machine, the young man asked as clearly as possible: "Why were you being sent to the Cliffside City."
The leader looked up, and struggled to answer. "Ummm… we got a message saying that… the group we sent in needed reinforcements… at Flint's Place.
The young man looked to the effeminate one, who shrugged. Looking back at the confused leader, he then asked: "Where's Flint's Place."
Again, the leader struggled, but managed to reply. "It's… by the old highway… two-twelve I think… "
Satisfied, the young man motioned for the two to let the leader go. After they did, he reached out and pulled the red armband from the man's bicep. He then asked a final question: "What do you want in the city?"
Unlike the last couple times, the leader answered immediately: "I don't know."
Narrowing his eyes slightly, the young man sighed and stood up. Taking out a knife, he wrapped the red armband around its hilt and made his way towards the cheerful one and the slaves.
A woman with dark skin currently had her arms wrapped around the cheerful one's body, and was sobbing quietly into his chest. In an attempt to comfort her, the cheerful one and the other two slaves gently rubbed her back, shoulders, and arms.
When the young man approached, the cheerful one tore his gaze from the woman to see the knife being held out to him. "He's going to snap out of it in a minute, figured you should do the honors."
The cheerful one looked up at the calm one's exposed face and smiled in gratitude. "Thanks." He took the knife and stared at it for a minute, then gently pulled the woman to her feet. Softly whispering to her, he led them to the leader, who had begun to awaken from his trance.
The calm one quietly watched, his hair flapping wildly in the wind, as the cheerful one handed the knife to the woman, and after only a few whispered encouragements and reassurances, the woman raised the knife and began wildly stabbing and slashing the leader.
The sounds of his screams managed to be heard over the woman's shrieks of rage.
After looting some of the bodies, the raspy voiced one came and stood next to the calm one. He removed his helmet, revealing the flayed, corpse-like face typical of ghouls. "What now?"
The calm one breathed deeply and exhaled. "Give the slaves as much time as they need to calm down, then call Ross and tell him to pick us up at the extraction point. We'll discuss our next move when we're back."
The ghoul raised his eyebrow and stared at the calm one.
"What?" The young man asked.
"Is the mission over?" The ghoul asked, deliberately serious.
The young man stared back, before chuckling mildly. "Don't worry it's over."
The ghoul smirked and put his helmet back on. "I'll make the call now, ready when you are kid."
As the ghoul walked off, the young man looked to the corpses around him and frowned.
These people would definitely be the first to go.
