Here's my first attempt in a long time at a fanfic. Most of the main characters are new and the events of this story take place after the defeat of the legion at Hoover Dam by the courier. Please read and review! It's good to know at least one person is reading.
Usual stuff about the Fallout universe belonging to Bethesda and i own nothing. Rating may change.
My father once told me a simple truth.
"Son, sooner or later you're going to realise that the world is not divided between dark and light. No matter how many of those pre-war books you read it's not going to change someone into a hero or a villain."
At that point he would always lean in, close enough for me to see those kindly brown eyes, those pools of soothing chocolate waiting to be lapped up by a soul in need of comfort. If I close my eyes tight enough I could almost smell the undertones of whisky. Not the overpowering crescendo of alcohol that is the hallmark of many of the strip's patrons, but the soft melody of liquor that followed his usual nightcap.
"In this world there are no goodies or baddies, just winners or losers. We're all gamblers… and it pays to know how the dice is going to fall."
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I quietly remembered the innocence of my youth. Similarly reassuring thoughts were far from the mind of the man sat opposite me. He was in his mid-thirties but, like many of the Mojave's wastelanders, years of exposure to the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust made him look at least ten years older. Even from the diluted light from the single bulb overhead, I could see his hair was already greying and he appeared gaunt and thin. Such an unhealthy appearance was not helped by the current circumstances.
For the last twenty four hours this unfortunate man had frequented the basement of the Crimson Caravan Company's headquarters just outside the Strip. The fact that he was both tied to a chair and struggling to hide the pain of several beatings attested to the fact he had pissed off someone at the very top. Someone who was going to get a satisfactory result whatever it took.
I leant forward into the weak light that encircled the man, the rustle of my pre-war suit causing him to flinch instinctively. "How much more is it going to take Jed." I wasn't sure if this was his real name but it was the alias he had used last. "Jed Sparrow" a travelling merchant looking for safe passage out of the Mojave with a trading caravan. A plausible escape story and one that would have worked had he not chosen a convoy that belonged to the Crimson Caravan Company, the very people he was trying to escape.
"I told you a million times over." He rasped, the words barely able to crawl from his parched throat. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm a travelling merchant looking for a way out of this shithole."
Credit to the man, at least he was determined to stick to his story. I sighed, why did they never own up? Honesty was a difficult trait to find in a criminal these days. I let out a low whistle that reverberated around the damp, dank basement.
"Do you like to gamble Jed?" Even with the swelling around his face, I could tell that Jed was confused by the question.
"I… I guess," he stammered back with the caution of a man who knew one wrong word could land him yet another beating.
"Of course you do," I smiled at Jed, a pained and morbid smile that I imagine vampires give their victims before the first bite. "My old man once said we we're all gamblers. Personally I like to think there are two types of gamblers: the lucky gamblers and the smart gamblers. The latter can predict every eventuality, calculate every permutation." I could tell that some of those words were not in Jed's vocabulary but his expression of confusion was replaced by one of fear as the basement door creaked open and a guard in leather armour walked in.
"Let's be honest Jed, you're the first type, and you're luck's run out."
The guard handed me a dark object which I then placed on my lap, tantalisingly out of the reach of the faint light.
"What's that?" Whimpered Jed, his voice laced with fear.
"Me on the other hand, I'm the smart gambler. The intelligent one who can make the best of his odds and get the result he wants."
Slowly almost tortuously, I moved the object at my fingertips into the light.
"You may recognise this Jed. It's a standard .22 silenced pistol which fires a low calibre bullet that is 91% accurate at 40 yards on a clear day with a negligible crosswind."
All the blood drained from Jed,s face, no mean feat considering the number of cuts and bruises he was sporting.
"On average it takes three bullets to the torso of an unarmoured man to incapacitate him. If the three bullets are fired within the 40 yard cut off, each one has a 70% of hitting an organ or artery. If one of the bullets does hit an organ, an average built man will be dead within four minutes, instantly if it hits the heart."
By now Jed was trembling with fear, his eyes screaming even if his mouth was not lubricated enough to join in. I lowered the snub nosed gun to his knee cap.
"This is your right knee cap. At a range of one inch the accuracy is 99% and I have only a 5% chance of hitting a major vein or artery. But a 100% chance of causing untold agony and suffering for… well let's find out how long."
I squeezed the trigger.
An animalistic scream echoed around the room as Jed writhed in his bonds, his face contorted in pain. Should I have felt guilty? Perhaps deep down I felt the natural repulsion at hurting another living creature. The same innate instinct that compels a human to reach out and comfort those who are suffering. But if you live amongst animals long enough you become one and this glimmer of emotion was extinguished almost instantly by a single thought. Winners and losers. I had no time for losers.
After almost a minute, Jed's screams subsided enough for me to ask him again.
"How much more is it going to take Jed?"
"No… more…please… no… more."
I withdrew the pistol back into the darkness, a move which elicited almost a whimper of gratitude.
"Where is the bottle cap press? No vagaries Jed, an exact location along with your accomplices or I move onto your left kneecap."
"North… Sunset Sarsaparilla HQ… sub station next to marked car… I told Gilbert to move it further… I told him…" Jed was on the verge of losing consciousness but I resisted the urge to shake him back to reality, the movement might prove too much for his nervous system.
"The names Jed," I said calmly, "Give me the names of your friends."
"Henry Gilbert and… and JB Cutting." The last name gushed out like a sigh of relief.
I nodded grimly, the job was done as far as I was concerned. I stood up to leave but Jed managed to utter one more fractured question.
"Will they? What will…"
"The Caravan Company has no interest in killing you. Just destroying the counterfeit bottle cap press and sending your associates a message." I nodded at his knee. "As for your kneecap, Dr Usanagi at the New Vegas Medical clinic handy at surgical reconstruction. As for post op, one super stimpak and med-x then diluted stimpak in a 3:1 ratio every five to six hours until the pain subsides."
Beads of sweat were snaking down Jed's face, his breathing ragged from the ordeal he had endured. But even after all his captors had done for him, there were still traces of gratitude littering his eyes like he was a starving child searching for a few morsels of human kindness to devour. I hadn't told him about the post op for his own benefit that would have almost made me a decent human being. I had simply done it to appease the pressure in my head, the unending surge of statistics and facts that threatened to overload my brain. It wasn't the violence that I relished any common gang member could put a bullet in a man's knee, it was the way I marked my superiority. I let jed know that I was cut above the rest, no matter what he said or did I could outsmart him and that scared people more than a bullet.