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AgoTheTiny: You are my first reviewer for this story, and left a review that brought up my day. Here, have a cookie! Oh... wait... the screen's getting in the way. Never mind, I'll just eat the cookie for you. But yeah, I saw a distinct lack of successful Fallout SI's, and figured I may as well give my take on it. Hopefully it turns out well in the end.
002
"This is Radio New Vegas, and I'm your host, Mr. New Vegas. And in case you're wondering if you've come to the right place, you have. It's just about time to get you some news from Primm, as merchants report a large presence of armed and unsavory figures patrolling the town. Residents are no where to be found. You know, I think all news, whether it's good or bad, brings us closer together. Don't you? Got some Dean Martin coming up talking about the greatest feeling in the world: love. Ain't That a Kick in the Head? It sure is, Dino, it sure is."
By six in the morning, I was fully dressed and ready to head to Primm. I'd filled a few bottles I found with Goodsprings' pure, non-irradiated water. Food was another matter. I figured that so long as I managed my radiation intake, most of the food served in the wasteland wouldn't be a problem. I'd have to avoid any of the 'Pre-war' foods, since just going near some of them made the Geiger Counter on my Pip-Boy crackle like a cheery fire. Instead, I opted to get another Gecko steak for the road. So long as I didn't eat the delicious invention of post-war society too quickly, it would last me to Primm, and I wouldn't have to try and sneak around with my stomach growling.
Seeing Jean Sky Diving and the Powder Ganger camp in the daytime was a bit of a surreal experience. Someone had disposed of the Powder Gangers' bodies, but the dried splatters of blood were still visible on the ground. I heard the static from the Ham Radio inside the shack, which I remembered turning off the last time I was in there. Switching into 'stealth mode', I pulled out my Hi-Power and knife, flipped off the safety, and sidled up to the door. Focusing my hearing, I could make out what sounded like someone muttering, providing all of the evidence I needed that there was someone in the small building. Feeling a bit tense, I opened the door a crack and peeked in. Sitting at the desk was an old African-American man with a neatly-trimmed white beard, dressed in an outfit with entirely too many pockets sewn on. A worn baseball cap rested on his head, and a set of safety goggles hung around his neck. Not a Powder Ganger, in other words. I relaxed a bit and straightened up, hoping that I wouldn't need to use the weapons still in my hands.
"Hello? Is someone there?" The old man asked. And... Detected, I thought, rolling my eyes.
"Yeah. Don't worry, I'm not one of the Powder Gangers," I answered, stepping into the shack. Upon seeing me, the man took his hand away from the bulky gray pistol at his hip. Since he wasn't dead-set on shooting me on sight, I figured it was safe to put my own weaponry away. Once my pistol and knife were in their holsters, the man visibly relaxed.
"So, any particular reason you popped in and damn near scared me into a heart attack?" The man asked, leaning back in the chair.
"Curiosity, mostly. I was here two nights ago and decided to check it over again during the daytime. I heard the radio's static and decided to see if any more Powder Gangers had taken up residence," I replied, "I'm Rain Nero."
"Malcolm Holmes. You were here the other night then? Did you happen to pick up a bottle cap with a blue star on it?"
"Yeah. Why? Is it yours?"
Malcolm shook his head and gave me a sad smile.
"There's an old wasteland legend about a fabulous treasure from before the war. Those caps with the blue star on them, the tale goes, are the key to that treasure. They're called Sunset Sarsaparilla Stars."
"Treasure, huh? If it's from a soda company, it's likely just a small cash prize and a T-shirt," I grumbled, remembering when I won a similar contest at a younger age. I felt so sore at being cheated that I'd started drinking the competitor's soda.
"Maybe, maybe not. The thing is, nobody's managed to get enough star caps for Festus to give up the treasure. Some people will do anything to get their hands on the caps though, so keep a gun handy if you start collecting them."
"Yeah, no way in hell am I getting involved with that," I muttered, pulling out my single blue star and placing it on the shack table. Malcolm made no move to take it, instead nodding in understanding.
"I stopped collecting them years ago. Nowadays I just make sure people know what they're getting into when they pick up one of the stars," He explained, getting up out of his chair and stretching. "Maybe I should start up one of those broadcasts like the Happy Trails Expedition did, warn people about the stars that way."
"Turn it into a radio station, it'll get more popularity that way," I replied, "And anyone with a Pip-Boy will pick up the signal automatically. It'll spread by word of mouth from there."
Malcolm's jaw dropped open, then he just grinned broadly at me.
"That's brilliant! Get a little more variety out here in the Mojave. It'll take a bit of work to get the station set up, but I have a few contacts I can draw on. What should I call it, though?"
"That's easy," I said, his cheerfulness beginning to infect me as well, "Sunset Star Radio."
With happiness lingering in both our hearts, Malcolm and I went our separate ways. He promised me that I'd be credited on air when he got the station set up, and I promised that I'd be listening as soon as my Pip-Boy picked up the station. I felt genuinely good about that act. By having Malcolm change his approach to the star warning, he was out of harm's way. That would keep the old man alive a lot longer. Until Sunset Star Radio was up and running, I was content to listen to Radio New Vegas. The host was nice, and the music wasn't bad, despite being well out of my usual genre. My walk down the road was uninterrupted, but there were a few tense moments as I caught my first glimpses of some of the Wasteland's critters.
Radroaches were pretty much exactly what was on the tin. Giant, radiation-mutated cockroaches. Just seeing one made my skin crawl, and I was thankful that it was over by that crashed bus and puddle of radioactive sludge instead of on the road. Bloatflies were a similar story. They were tricky little bastards too, flitting around and shooting stingers from their arse with the force of a crossbow. I saw a few coyotes too. They were some of the only animals not twisted by radiation, and they seemed more curious about me than ready to rip my throat out as Sunny had warned. Maybe I was just naturally gifted with animals? Most household pets back home had loved me on sight, even the ones that usually didn't like strangers. I stopped when I caught sight of another critter up on the nearby cliff. It was a short, bipedal lizard with steel blue scales and fiery orange eyes. It let out an odd squeak and I could have sworn it waved one of its short, stubby arms at me before running off out of sight. I stayed still, a swirl of emotions and thoughts running through my head. In the end, they were released in the form of another un-manly Squee as I came to a critical conclusion. Geckos were as adorable as they were tasty.
Another hour of walking passed, and I could begin to see something on the horizon. Crouching down, I pulled my binoculars up and took a closer look. What I saw confused me a bit. Why was I seeing roller coaster tracks? Another thought occurred to me, and I checked the highest point of the tracks. My hunch was correct, as I could just barely make out the shape of a man in a black leather coat with a scopeless rifle. I checked my Pip-Boy map for any other towns nearby, and quickly came to the conclusion that I was looking at Primm. The option to take out the sniper was available, but I didn't want to risk putting my enemies on alert until i had a more complete map of their forces.
I let my binoculars fall back around my neck and continued my walk. The western side of Primm was divided from the east by a collapsed bridge that had been poorly covered by a sheet of metal. I could make out several guard posts formed from the same metal. The western side was flying flags, marked with the two-headed bear I'd seen on Private McMahon's uniform. Once I was close enough, I was able to read the words on the flag, 'New California Republic'. My reflection on the flag was cut short as an NCR Trooper came running up to me with rifle in hand.
"Hey, where do you think you're going? Primm is off limits," The trooper said. It was an unprofessional approach, and it showed that this was a rookie, probably fresh out of basic. Yep, his hands were trembling.
"Private McMahon should have told your CO I'd be coming," I said, taking a step forward. The trooper flinched and raised his rifle to point at me.
"Bullshit. Just turn right back around, and I won't put a bullet between your eyes!" The Trooper snapped, trying to act tough to compensate for his fear.
"You haven't even taken the safety off, Rookie," I replied, grinning as I saw the mirror between this situation and an encounter in Metal Gear Solid 4.
"Careful, I'm no rookie! I'm a ten year vet!"
Holy hell, he even said the same line! How does this type of stuff even happen? The trooper tilted his head and looked down at the side of his AR15 ripoff, checking the safety for himself. That was when I struck, moving forward to grab the rifle by its barrel sleeve with one hand, and dealing the trooper a light punch to the throat with the other to knock him off balance. Without missing a beat, I grabbed the rifle with my other hand as well and pulled, rotating my body. The soldier was yanked off his feet and went head over heels before landing on his back, thoroughly disarmed of his rifle. I shifted my grip on the weapon, flipped off the safety, and racked the bolt, pointing the gun down at the soldier. Flawless. I doubt I'll get a chance to do something like that again.
"Jameson?! Oh fuck! Stand down!"
A tanned man in the NCR uniform, sans the chestplate, ran up, pointing a Hi-Power at me. I just smiled, flipped the rifle's safety back on, and tossed it onto its owner's chest.
"My name's Rain Nero. Your CO should be expecting me," I said, smiling.
"Private McMahon was going on about finding some guy in Goodsprings who could help us. If you're him, then why the hell did you attack Private Jameson?" The trooper demanded.
"Plain and simple, I tried to explain the same thing, only he decided to threaten me. I showed him why threatening random people is a bad idea," I replied, "No real harm done, and it caught the attention of more reasonable people."
The trooper let out a long, exasperated sigh and holstered his weapon. I couldn't help but chuckle at the look on his face. It said plain and clear 'I'm getting too old for this shit'.
"I'm Sergeant McGee, New California Republic Army 5th Battalion, 1st Company. So long as you aren't going to cause any more trouble, you're clear to go speak to Lieutenant Hayes in the command tent."
I gave the Sergeant a nod and strode merrily into the NCR camp, catching the sound of him chewing out the Private. I passed by Private McMahon, who was stationed at the makeshift bridge between the two sections of Primm. We shared a wave, and he seemed relieved that I had arrived safely. Two tents were set up near a section of the stone wall that surrounded all of Primm. The tents were made of tan canvas of similar color to the NCR uniforms, and had a boxy design to maximize usable space. Taking a gamble, I entered the left tent. Inside, a female trooper of Asian descent was sitting at a small table looking over some documents, and a Causasian man wearing a beret and bandoleer over his uniform was pacing the tent, seemingly lost in thought.
"Lieutenant Hayes?" I spoke up. The man's gaze snapped to me in an instant, and his thoughtfulness was covered by a professional mask. He nodded and introduced himself more fully.
"I'm Lieutenant Hayes of the New California Republic Army, 5th Battalion, 1st Company. What's your business?"
"My name's Rain Nero. I'm here to assist with your Powder Ganger problem," I replied.
"McMahon said you'd be coming, claimed you were involved with forming the Goodsprings Militia," Hayes began his pacing again. "Even if you've got the skills, I'm not comfortable sending an unknown civilian to what could very easily be their death."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"Nothing, unfortunately. Primm isn't in our jurisdiction, and we're short on men as it is."
"And the men you do have are complete rookies," I added. Hayes perked up at this, and raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Jameson?" He asked.
"Jameson," I deadpanned. Hayes let out a sigh similar to the one McGee had, and the female trooper in the tent let out a small laugh.
"Oh this ought to be good. What did he do this time?" She asked.
"Acted with unprofessional conduct, and threatened to shoot me after I said you were expecting me," I repeated. Hayes cut in and brought us back on topic,
"We're getting distracted here. The point is, I can't authorize this mission. I'm sorry, but you'll have to head back to Goodsprings."
"You don't have to authorize a damn thing," I stated, "I only checked in for McMahon's sake, and to get any helpful information you might have on their numbers and command structure."
"Why are you so dedicated to this?" Hayes prompted, "Did one of the convicts do you wrong?"
"I have no grand vendetta against the Powder Gangers," I chuckled, "It's as simple as the fact that there are people in need, and I have the means to help. That's all I need."
"People like you don't usually last long in the wasteland," Hayes sighed, "If you're going to attempt the mission, there's nothing I can do to stop you. However, understand that there's also nothing I can do to help you either."
"I'll report back when the town's clear."
Lying prone at the southern edge of Primm, I swept over the town and its major two attractions with my binoculars. The convicts didn't have many people out on the streets, and even those they did have were sticking to the road in front of the Bison Steve hotel. The only exceptions to this were the snipers posted at the two highest points of the roller coaster's track. I'd have to make a tighter sweep of the small residential district and the two shacks by the destroyed gas station, but those four were the targets I could handle with my rifle. I crawled behind a small boulder, rose into a crouch, pulled the rifle off of my back, and prayed to all things holy that I'd calibrated the scope correctly. The snipers were my first priority. If I killed the two on the street without taking them out, they'd go on alert. I settled and aimed for the sniper on the southern end of town, closest to me. The Varmint Rifle was pretty light, so it wasn't too hard to keep it steady. I moved back into my observation position and looked through my scope.
The southern sniper was lighting up a cigarette, his Varmint Rifle leaning against the safety rail of the track next to him. I checked my aim and held for three seconds, then took the shot. The suppressor did its job, reducing the report to a sound similar to a blowpipe. I cycled the bolt on reflex and sighted down the scope again. The sniper was dead and had fallen forward, causing him to hang over the safety rail. I shifted my attention to the northern sniper and began the process of lining up my shot once again. This one was a little more active, and was watching the northern road to Goodsprings. I lined up the shot, held for three seconds, and pulled the trigger. The shot hit between his shoulder and jaw, and the man slumped over the railing, dropping his rifle. I watched it fall, then looked around my scope at the main road to see if the other two convicts had noticed. Shit shit shit!
One was starting to walk over, hefting a cleaver and a stick of dynamite. I cycled the rifle's bolt and lined up on him. Three, two, one... I took the shot, and it impacted with the back of the criminal's head. I had two shots left in the magazine and the last convict was aware something was going on. I cycled the bolt and lined up. Three... The convict started running to his fallen compatriot's body. Two... He knelt down next to the fallen man, then looked up at the dead sniper. One... The convict actually looked in my direction, and a tiny glimpse of me was the last thing he ever saw. Letting out my tension in one breath, I rose into a crouch, pulled back the bolt, then thumbed the magazine release for my rifle. Reaching into the far left magazine pouch on the back of my belt, I retrieved another magazine and slotted it into place, then cycled the bolt forward again and slung the rifle over over shoulder. I drew the Mk III from its holster on my left hip and pulled out my knife, holding it in a reverse grip.
I made my way down into the residential district, where the condition was similar to the homes in Goodsprings. Some had been completely demolished, and others were still standing with only mild work done to patch them up. Using the tactic I had with Malcolm at Jean Sky Diving, I paused outside each door and waited to hear if anyone was making even the slightest noise inside. I heard nothing on the first house, but went inside for a more in-depth check. The very first thing I noticed was a kebab of some unknown meat on a plate set at a table in the main room. It was cold, and beginning to attract flies. I examined the table closer, and saw that a thin layer of dust had begun to form on the wood. Nobody had been in that house, and whoever had left during the middle of a meal to get to safety from the convicts.
The situation was the same for the other houses. No convicts, but signs that people just got up and left. No signs that the convicts had raided the houses either, which seemed odd to me. The two shacks by the gas station were up next, requiring me to go around the wall and pass the bridge leading to the NCR Camp. McMahon was still on duty, and we shared another friendly wave as I passed by. I actually liked McMahon, he seemed like a bro in the making. Sucked that he was in the army, though. It meant that he wouldn't be able to go with me on awesome bro quests. I paused outside the first shack by the gas station, blinking as I went back over those last few thoughts. They weren't wrong, though.
I did my usual round of listening outside of the shack, made easier by the thin metal siding that served as its walls. Once I was confident that there was nobody inside, I entered. The shack was a single room, with worn advertising posters used to cover some of the gaps in the walls. There wasn't anything really of note, but I did learn that the year 2281 had finally perfected toaster and refrigerator technology. For the sake of courtesy, I shut off the lights in the shack on my way out. The next shack made me pause. I could feel the familiar tingle of spiritual presence from a full three meters away. Something terrible had happened in that home. I could hear the radio playing inside once I got close enough, but it was distorting oddly, and ocassionally bursts of static would interrupt the transmission. There was nothing to do but go in. It took a lot of effort to fight my instincts, which were telling me to get as far away from there as possible.
The main room of the building was actually a small office, with a pair of desks on either end of the room, one sporting a dead terminal on top. On the right side of the office space was a reloading bench for making ammunition, like the public one I'd seen between Chet's store and Trudy's saloon in Goodsprings. It was also a reminder for me to start collecting my spent casings. Along the back wall was a counter, some filing cabinets, and a poster showing a man in some sort of power suit offering a helping hand to Uncle Sam. On the counter was the radio I'd heard, and my presence seemed to have made the distortion and static increase tenfold. I looked to the left side of the room, and immediately I saw why there was so much spiritual activity.
Two bodies had been left to rot on the bed, both decapitated. One man, one woman. A wife and husband. My vision flickered to black for a moment, then returned, and both bodies were whole again. A man and a woman, husband and wife, both with brown hair and happily in love with each other. The husband was Primm's sheriff, an easy job most days since the people of Primm were good folk. They were asleep when the end came, and their spirits had been bound to the place where their bodies were left. My vision flickered once again, and both man and woman were staring at me with the glazed eyes of death. A silver and brown blur flew from under the bed, colliding with my chest with enough force to blast me halfway into the office space. I looked down at what hit me, and found an old Winchester lever-action rifle, fitted with a peep sight. I returned my pistol and knife to their holsters and stood, carrying the rifle with me.
Once again, words came out of my mouth that I had no hand in deciding. Once again, they were true words, a promise I intended to keep.
"Rest easy, Sheriff. I'll get the men that did this."
The Sheriff and his wife both gave me a nod, and my vision flickered one last time. The oppressive feeling in the house vanished, and the couple's corpses were once again lying headless on the bed, unmoving. The radio's distortion and static faded away, returning the near-demonic sounds it was producing to normal music. Wasting no more time, I made a beeline out of the shack. My heart was pounding and my nerves were shot after that encounter with the 'other side'. My knees felt weak, and I fell on my rear, doing nothing more than just breathing. I was starting to remember why I tried to avoid contact with spirits.
Once I'd recovered from that ordeal, I took the time to examine my new rifle. I tested the lever, and flinched as the weapon spat a cartridge at my face. Seeing that as the easy way to check the caliber, I retrieved the cartridge and examined it. I recognized the blue band around the bullet from the .357 Magnum cartridges I'd been given with Joe Cobb's revolver. I worked the lever a few more times and made sure the rifle was fully unloaded, since I didn't plan to actually use it until I could do some work on the gun. I placed the rounds in the pouch with my other .357 cartridges and got back to my feet. I found that the loops sewn on my backpack made for a decent way to carry the rifle until I could get a proper strap added to it. Taking one last careful breath to steady myself, I drew the Mk III and my knife once more.
With most of the town covered and cleared, there were three places left to sweep. One was the 'Mojave Express' building. I winced as I saw the dead African-American sitting outside the brick building. He wore a messenger bag with the NCR flag sewn on, and I checked it only to find some indication of the man's identity. I came away with a small document, which I filed away for later reading. I followed my standard procedure for the building itself, then entered. Once again, the building was split half and half between a work place and a home. In this instance, it appeared to be a delivery company of some kind. A small broken robot was sitting on the counter, with a few scrap parts to try and fix it. I decided to leave them alone, and exited the building.
Since the Bison Steve hotel was likely to be a much longer endeavor, I decided to check the Vikki and Vance casino first. Listening at the door this time provided me with the sounds of people talking and moving around, as well as a radio playing. That led me to believe one of two possibilities. Either the casino was where the civilians had holed up, or it was the convicts' hiding place. One way or another, I needed to handle my entry carefully. At last, a ping of inspiration hit my mind. Very carefully, I turned the knob of the main door and let it swing inward just a bit, then retreated out of sight and nudged the door open further. An old African-American man came running out, brandishing a revolver and looking a bit fearful, but determined. I knew I'd found the civilians.
"The next time the door mysteriously opens, you might not want to run out like an idiot," I said, causing the man to jump in surprise. The next thing I knew, there was a loud 'bang!' and a searing pain in my left bicep. I grit my teeth and felt a growl rumble in my throat as I stood there glaring at the man who had shot me.
"Shit! Son, you shouldn't have snuck up on me like that! Come on, let's get you inside, before those criminals get us!" He practically dragged me into the casino, where more people were waiting with guns ready, mostly Single Action Army revolvers and Varmint Rifles. I tore my arm out of the man's grip and made a show of holstering my weapons, doing my damnedest to ignore the pain and blood trickling down my arm. My blood. Spilt by some random asshole with a happy trigger finger. I'd expected to get injured at some point along the mission, but certainly not by one of the townsfolk I was trying to save!
"For the goddamn record," I snarled out, still fixing the old man with a death glare, "I already took out the four sentries and checked the town. Any convicts still left are in the Bison Steve hotel."
"Now I feel even worse about this," The old man said, "Here, I've got a stimpak on me, it's the least I can do to right the wrong."
Without so much as waiting for an 'okay', he pulled a syringe filled with a reddish liquid out of his pants pocket and stuck it into my arm just below the wound. The stream of curses that erupted from my mouth would have been enough to make the saltiest sailor blush, and it was enough for most of Primm's residents to take a long step away from me in case I got violent. True to the effects Doc Mitchell talked about when he offered to sell me some stimpaks, I could already feel the tissue in and around the wound begin to crawl, slowly knitting itself back together. A small piece of metal popped out after a moment and clattered to the ground. The pain faded to a dull ache. I reached up with deceptive calm and pulled the syringe out of my arm, then set it on the nearest table, which happened to have a few slot machines as well.
"When someone is suffering from a gunshot would, the standard procedure is to elevate the would and apply a pressure bandage. Nowhere in that equation is there randomly injecting a needle into someone without their goddamn consent!" The last words came out more as a roar than a shout, and I swore I saw the old man's hair blow back a bit. Still grumbling to myself, I retrieved a bottle of water and a bit of clean cloth from my backpack. I popped the top and took a swig, then doused a bit over my arm to aid in getting the blood off. Stupid settlers and their stupid town. Stupid me for trying to help the idiots in the first place. I'm not even getting paid to do this crap! The old man was still hovering over me, looking a little awkward, but apologetic.
"I swear, if you ever pull something like that again, I'll impale you through the spleen with a rusty pike," I growled at him one last time, then took a deep breath, counted to ten, and released. "But first I'll have to find the rusty pike."
"Well, youngster, I have to say that is one of the more interesting reactions I've seen to a person getting a stimpak," The old man chuckled, "Name's Johnson Nash. Normally, I run the Mojave Express outpost here in Primm."
"Not sure if you knew, but two of your couriers are dead. One's buried in the cemetery up by Goodsprings, and the other's right outside your store," I told him. Johnson's expression fell, and he shook his head sadly.
"Guess I shouldn't be too surprised. Being a courier is risky work. Never should have accepted the job from that cowboy robot. Had us hire six couriers, you know? Cargo was strange too, a pair of dice, a chess piece. That kind of stuff."
"Cowboy Robot?" I prompted, hoping that it wasn't Victor.
"Yeah, had the picture of a cowboy on its chest where its face should be."
"Goddammit Victor," I grumbled, facepalming. I knew there was something off about that robot.
"Oh, you know the one?" Nash asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Eeyup, currently lives in Goodsprings. He actually tried to save the courier that died there, but didn't arrive in time. I get the feeling that whatever she was carrying was the real package, and the rest were just decoys. It's not my business anyhow," I sighed and unslung my Varmint Rifle from over my head and set it next to my backpack. "What is my business is wrapping up this mission. Can I trust you not to touch my stuff while I'm trying to save your town?"
Nash sighed and raised his hands in defeat.
"I know we got off on the wrong foot, but you can trust me. Your loot will be safe until you get back."
I nodded, not mentioning how every time someone tried to reassure me that I could trust them, I started looking for the knife that would stab me in the back. I removed my medical bag and stretched, making sure taking the stimpak had fully done its job. With near thirty pounds of weight removed, I could move a bit faster, and I'd need that speed if I ended up getting into a firefight. Satisfied, I walked to the Vikki and Vance's door, drew my Mk III and trusty knife once more, and went into danger once more. Johnson made one final comment just as the door closed.
"Best of luck against those crooks, son. You're going to need it."
The entryway of the Bison Steve Hotel was lit only by a dim, flickering bulb. An overturned table and cabinet were placed across from the entrance but nobody was stationed there, making the crude defense point useless. On the right side of the room, I spotted the glow of an active computer terminal. The device itself was sitting on top of what used to be the hotel's front desk. I'd have to check that out later once that floor was cleared. I was still missing a lot of the world's lore, and any tidbits I could get from data entries would help fill in the gaps.
"Damn. Running out of smokes again," A voice grumbled from the hallway beyond the defense point.
"Are you shitting me? You go through what, four packs a day? Need to cut back, man. Cigarettes don't grow on trees," Another said. From my estimate, they were just around the corner. I moved up just beyond the overturned tables and crouched as low as possible. I only had one chance to get these guys, or I'd have to deal with an open confrontation. That was something I was most certainly not prepared for.
"Well they're made of leaves or some shit, right? So technically they do grow on trees."
They were much closer now.
"Whatever. If I find out you've been stealing my smokes, I'll kneecap you, no matter what the boss says."
I heard the first convict turn away to respond to that statement. Now! I popped up over the table, weaving my arm around one convict's body to slit his throat, and double-tapping the other with my Mk III. I wiped my knife off on the blue suit jacket one of the convicts was wearing, and began the slow process of dragging their bodies behind the front desk, where they wouldn't be found. As a matter of habit, I looted the magazines from the pair's 9mm pistol and Varmint Rifle. I stashed the weapons where I could easily collect them later and passed the tables once again, pausing to peek around the corner. Another convict was slowly making his way towards the far side of the lobby, balancing a Varmint Rifle on his shoulder. I aimed and pulled the trigger. When the man fell over either dead or dying, I advanced, checking an open doorway. Inside was a wrecked gift shop, with merchandise strewn about like trash. There were wooden toy cars, teddy bears, empty Sunset Sarsaparilla bottles... For the sake of completeness, I checked behind the counter. I found a locked safe and the remains of several broken bobby pins strewn about... and hello. There was a book, in seemingly pristine condition, titled 'Tales of a Junktown Jerky Vendor'. I'd almost missed spotting it in the low light and trash.
I backtracked and added the book to my growing stash of loot, then moved across the lobby. There were a few noticeable areas leading off of the lobby, like an elevator shaft, a stairwell leading up to the hotel's second floor, and a maintenance door that lead god-knew-where. Unlike the entrance, which was covered in rubble and roughly patched back up with wood, the lobby had survived mostly unscathed. There was still some trash lying about, but I assumed that to be the work of the convicts. I checked the maintenance door first, but found it locked. Unfortunately for that lock, there was a gap in the door frame. I paused to listen and make sure there wasn't someone waiting for me on the other side of the door. After a few seconds I deemed it clear and slipped my knife into the gap, using the old trick that was usually reserved to credit cards. I pushed in the maintenance door, pausing only to unlock it properly from the inside, and moved down the tile-floored hall beyond. The far end was blocked by more rubble, but a side-corridor showed that the detour wasn't a waste of time.
I peeked around the corner, then instantly pulled my head back. A convict was standing in the kitchen at the end of that corridor, with a gas tank on his back hooked up to nothing less than a flamethrower. I was about to just throw my hands up and call bullshit.
"Shit! Someone killed Kenny!" I heard the muffled shout behind me, and mentally kicked myself. I'd forgotten to retrieve one of the bodies.
"What?!" The flamethrower-packing convict roared in anger, "The bastards! They killed Kenny!"
I leaned out from cover and lined up a shot, then pulled the trigger on him, putting a bullet just under the military helmet he'd somehow gotten his hands on. Unlike the others, he did not fall silently. His gas tank and weapon clattered to the ground, drawing more attention than I needed. Sensing open confrontation ahead, I flipped the safety on my Mk III and holstered it, switching to the comfortable familiarity of the Hi-Power.
"Oh fuck! They got the boss!" One of the voices screamed. I heard the running of footsteps entering the kitchen, and two men in armed with lead pipes and tire irons knelt at their fallen leader's side.
"You, you caused this you fucking asshole!" One of the men screamed, looking to my left at something I couldn't see through the limited area. A hostage? The convict raised his pipe to strike, and I reflexively shot him. The loud report seemed to echo through the entire building, marking the complete end to stealth.
"!" The other convict let out a wordless noise of shock and surprise, then a scream of psychotic rage. He barreled down the corridor at me with the speed and ferocity of a charging bull. My reflexes proved to be exceptional once again, allowing me to block the swing of his tire iron, grab the man by the throat, and throw him to the ground. I double-tapped him with my Hi-Power. I waited to see if any more convicts would show up, but none came. I moved forward into the kitchen, keeping my guard up. It didn't take me long to find who the convict was blaming for his comrades' deaths. Bound and gagged, a middle-aged man dressed in commonly available leather armor was staring at me with wide eyes from his kneeling position between a refrigerator and dirty mattress. Without a moment of hesitation, I moved forward and cut his bonds.
"And who might you be?" I asked, returning my knife and pistol to their holsters.
"Deputy Beagle, at your service," The man drawled, "Certainly is the low point in my law enforcement career. Thank you kindly for cutting me free."
"I swept the town already. Any criminals left alive are in the upper floor of the hotel," I informed the deputy as I pulled him to his feet. "The civilians are all holed up in the casino. You should get to safety while I wrap up."
"Well, I'll defer to your judgement on these matters."
Without any further prompting, Deputy Beagle began to 'sneak' out of the hotel. I use quotes around that because he was making a complete parody of stealth with his movements. Anyone with a third of their brain would be able to detect him. That was probably why he got captured in the first place! Once I was sure that Beagle was out of the hotel, I began the grand process of looting. Cigarettes, in particular, seemed to be the item of the day. I found loose packs and cartons damn near everywhere. While I wasn't a smoker myself, other people were, and I figured I could probably use ye olde cancer sticks as a trade good. In the main dining room I discovered another wasteland critter, though this one was dead and being roasted over a campfire. From the best I could tell, it looked like a two-headed cow. That made me start craving steak, but I didn't have the time to sit there and make sure the cow was cooked properly. At the very least, I was delighted to find that I wouldn't need to hunt too far for food. Between bags full of surprisingly fresh produce and a stocked fridge, I had all I needed to make a decent lunch with plenty to spare for the road. I snacked on a few carrots to make sure I had enough energy to keep going for the remainder of my mission, and added all that I'd be carrying out of the hotel to my stash at the entrance.
There was only the upper floors left to loot... and clear, not necessarily in that order. I climbed the stairwell, trying to get my brain back on the task at hand. The problem with the second floor, as I rapidly discovered, was that it had a lot of rooms, and that meant a lot of places for people to hide. The only reliable way I could think of to clear out the convicts was to put them on full alert and then take them out as they came to investigate. The problem with that plan was that I wasn't used to drawn-out encounters, and a floor full of enemies with an unknown amount of firearms meant that there was too high a chance of me taking a bullet.
For the time being, I followed standard procedure. I moved past a maintenance closet and the upper section of the elevator shaft I'd seen on the first floor. There was a convict around the corner, who quickly and easily fell to a slit throat. I dragged the body back and unlocked the maintenance closet with the same tactic I'd used on the lower floor, and stashed the body there. He had been carrying a 9mm as well, providing me with an extra two magazines for my primary 'loud' weapon. Including the one in my Hi-Power, that was eight total magazines. With some basic math, I realized that I had over a hundred 9mm bullets to burn through. I caught another convict down the hallway and dropped him with a shot from my Mk III, setting this one in a chair so it just looked like he had fallen asleep. Rubble blocked my way around the corner, prompting me to begin checking the rooms.
If the first floor of the Bison Steve had taken some damage, the second and third floors were demolished. The only way I found to reach the third floor was by climbing the broken floor in one of the rooms. The remaining criminals fell without much resistance, making me almost wish I'd alerted them so I wouldn't have been bored by the sixth guy I killed. Only two of them, who I assumed were the relief snipers, actually had firearms, in the form of Varmint Rifles. I was so worn out by the end of it that I didn't even bother to search the rooms more thoroughly. I was content to just take the two rifles and pistol, then haul my arse back down the stairs.
Even so, my work was not quite done. There was still the gift shop safe to sort out, and that terminal by the main desk. Grumbling to myself, I yanked open the vending machine at the bottom of the stairwell and grabbed a 'Nuka-Cola' from it. The cooling unit on the machine had long-since malfunctioned and died, but I just needed a drink and wasn't a fan of alcohol. I felt a little better by the time I'd finished the Nuka-Cola, but my annoyance levels were still critical. I needed time to rest and get my head back together, but there were people waiting on me to give them the all-clear. My resolve and dedication to certain philosophies were being sorely tested in the face of reality. Once I'd dropped the rifles with the growing pile of stuff, I returned to the gift shop and stared at the safe for a moment. The face of the safe was fitted with a numeric keypad, still functioning after all this time. Alternatively, there was a more standard tumbler lock installed for quicker access. The safe was airtight and had a self-contained power supply that hadn't died out in all of the years of abuse it had likely seen. Picking the lock was out of the question, since I didn't have any bobby pins. I also couldn't make an improvised crowbar to try and get it open, due to the safe being airtight.
I let out a cry of despair as I realized what I'd have to do if I wanted to get into the safe. I'd have to test combinations, one by one. This was a challenge, and my looter's instinct was telling me that something good was in the safe. It wouldn't have been installed and left uncracked if there wasn't. Still, I needed to go tell the people of Primm they could return home. That took priority over my selfish desires. Determined to take care of it as fast as possible, I practically sprinted out of the hotel and across the street. I opened the door to the casino, stuck my head inside, and looked at Johnson Nash, who was still by the door chatting with Deputy Beagle. Once they noticed me, I rattled off at high speed.
"Convictsarealldeadfoundalockedsafeinthehotelthathassomethingawesomeneedtocrackitkaythanksbye!"
I darted into the room and found the gear I'd left. Quickly grabbing the silenced rifle, medical bag, and backpack, I charged out of the casino bellowing a war cry. As it was, I completely missed the confused looks I received from most of Primm's residents.
Ending Notes: Holy hell, that took me most of the day to actually write. I'm glad that the (one) review for this story is positive. It really gave me the motivation to keep going on. Anyways, I promised some further explanations last chapter, so here we go.
Why is Rain so seemingly overpowered? Well, it's all relative. Due to his (mostly faked) skills with CQC, Rain has the upper hand over the average person in close range encounters. Anyone with proper unarmed training could probably take him down without too much difficulty(such as NCR Rangers or Legion Praetorians). The Powder Gangers and the average NCR grunt(we see the rough shape of their training during Flags of Our Foul-Ups) don't have that advantage. Rain is usually pretty calm during combat, but once he has one major weakness, and that's a berserk button when he experiences unexpected pain. He also gets a bit careless when he's annoyed, which can lead to missing out on certain things. There's actually quite a bit of good loot in the upper floors of the Bison Steve Hotel, including a nice laser pistol that would have been Rain's introduction to the field of Energy Weapons.
Until next time, Everyone!