Trials of Diplomacy
Chapter 4.) The First Spy
Operatives Zach Zimm and J.R. passed through the protective gate into the bustling minor city of a few honest people run by scoundrels. The on scoundrel, Colin Moriarty Senior, the Operatives did not wish to interact with right at that moment. The plan was to meet with Billy Creel to find out any details from the caravans. Creel had dealt with caravans for his whole life, whether if it was for shipping lanes or security. But the establishment of a commerce hub at Canterbury Commons meant less small and medium sized caravan traffic.
Every once and a while, besides the large established caravans based from Canterbury Commons, smaller caravans for one time trade would pass by Megaton. Creel now made his living helping these one time trade caravans through the rough country of the Capital Wasteland. His house was a mess of hand drawn maps, names and contact information, along with random children's toys. The Operatives had walked behind the shacks and erected buildings to get to Creel's place.
It was the best path to avoid the balcony that Moriarty watched his town. Billy was home and rushing about his place with files in his hands. Occasionally he would saw something about one of the few caravans that would be coming into Megaton. J.R. and Zimm were trying to get the attention of Creel who had let them in and immediately forgotten about them.
The door opened as the twelve year old Maggie walked in and threw her books on the side table. She looked up to see the man that raised her in a manic state. She cared for her adoptive father, truly the only adult she could remember in her life, and the state he had put himself in with the caravan alliance forming caused her some deep seated emotional pain. Maggie went to the kitchen and quickly brewed some herbal tea. Creel wrapped his hands around the tea cup and sipped it slowly.
He paused for minute and sat down, "thank you, Maggie," Billy inhaled the steam to clear his nasal passages, "it's been tough ever since these caravans made a union together. I'm sorry for not paying attention earlier, guys. You're here about the recent Tenpenny caravan, yes?"
J.R. nodded, "we know someone is coming in, we just need to know when."
Creel clicked his fingers and Maggie got his schedule, "thank you dear…no let's see, it'll be back here…in five days time."
"Thank you, Billy," said Zimm as he and J.R. stood up to leave, "if you heed us for the next five days, we'll be at the Brass Lantern."
They wrapped their faces in clothe and Zimm put on his biker goggle and they stepped out of Creel's place and walked down the ramps. The Operatives were crossing the earthen bottom of Megaton as the shadow of nuclear Armageddon spread over them with the changing position of the sun. Chromwell was spouting his verses for his cult from the irradiated pool surrounding the unexploded atomic bomb of the old world. Jericho was waiting for them with several of his men, blocking the way to the Brass Lantern.
"The boss wants to see you two," he said as hi spit a wad of tar from the corner of his mouth, his voice more like a ghoul than usual.
All J.R. and Zimm did was nod. They were led by the guards to Moriarty's Saloon. The music from GNR filled the room. Jericho lifted his thumb up to Gob, the ghoul bartender, who turned the volume on the radio higher. Nova noticed the change in volume and invited her client upstairs to get more comfortable behind closed doors. Jericho led the two operatives to the back room.
Colin Moriarty Senior was already sitting patiently. He nodded and Jericho forced J.R. to sit in front of his dad while Zimm was forced to sit in a chair by two guards holding him down. A third guard stood behind where Zimm was sitting and struggling against his colleagues. He pulled out a small five inch blade and held the cool steel to the Operative's cheek to make him stop struggling.
Colin Moriarty Senior turned to his son, "I'm only going to ask this once, I hope you'd have the common decency to honor me."
J.R. gulped audibly, "yes da," he slipped into his Irish brogue more while around his father.
"If ya lie to me, lad," said the crime boss and mayor of Megaton as he nodded to the guard with the blade to Zimm, "your friend will find it hard to whistle a tune;" the guard opened Zimm's mouth by putting pressure at two points on his jaw while the operative struggled as the blade was inserted into his mouth.
J.R. nodded and tried to remain calm as Jericho held him down. The guard then sliced into Zimm's cheek cutting through it on the right side. The blade went all the way through the muscle and flesh to increase the total size of Zach's mouth. He screamed out and cut his own tongue on the blade before it left his mouth. Sobbing as the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and soaked the front of his jacket and combat armor. J.R. stuggled against his chair as Jericho firmly held him down, "what the fuck, da? Do it to me! Leave him out of this! Jesus…Mary…and Joseph!"
Moriarty Sr, smacked his son upside the head, "don't us the lord's name in vain, I've taught you better than that, lad. That was to let you know I'm serious, the same will happen to the otha side of his face if you lie to me. And for you benefit, lad, I'd never scar my own flesh and blood. Now you're going to answer me truthfully. Now were you part of that dog Ashkelon's foolhardy coup attempt?"
"J.R. looked his dad in the eyes, "Ashkelon did that shit on his own. But I wouldn't call it coup."
Colin Moriarty Senior gripped his son's shoulder, "I believe you, son. Go get your friend to the Clinic."
J.R. picked Zimm up from the chair and passed him a rolled up face wrap to put against his cut opened cheek, "you're fucked up, you know that, da?"
Moriarty just looked back to his son and said, "I'm sane, lad. This is just a fucked up world."
The Outcasts rushed into Megaton, Defender Rococo Rckfowl was practically caring John Harkness. The Raider girl from Alexandria was being led by Defender Anne Marie Morgan, while Defender Arthur Wilderman asked around for where the clinic was located. Half of the residents thought the Enclave had returned because of the armor the Outcasts wore, the guards owned by Moriarty saw the symbols and red paint of the Outcasts. The guards pointed their weapons with apprehension at the three Defenders. Jerhico's men preferred not to have an open firefight and yelled at the Outcasts to drop their weapons; Defender Wilderman was yelling back in return that they need to get to the town doctor immediately.
The Outcasts were not known for helping the wastelanders, and seeing one or a few in a large settlement meant that these former Brotherhood of Steel members wanted some piece of technology deemed too advanced for public use. The guards were not buying their need for a clinic, the Outcasts never asked for help from wastelanders and to do so was seen as weakness in their circle. However, few Outcasts knew that there had been deals made with locals for gathering technology, like that between Protector Casdin and the Lone Wanderer. Most of the technology worn by the Outcasts, especially the Enclave armor, had been provided in trade by the Lone Wanderer. Jericho walked between his guards and the Outcasts, looking at Wilderman and the other two Defenders in their red painted Enclave armor that made them look like demons of the Capital Wasteland.
"What do you want," he barked in a tone that treated the Outcasts like a cancerous disease.
"We need to get to the clinic for these two," said Defender Wilderman as Harkness sagged from Rockfowl's grip.
Jericho looked up to the balcony where Moriarty was perched over his city, "there is a security deposit of a hundred caps."
Wilderman cocked his head to the side, "you expect us to pay, raider."
Jericho walked between the Defenders and lifted the slumped head of Harkness from his chest to see his pale face by the androids sweat soaked hair, "you're a security risk, and he looks like he's got some kind of…sickness…to him."
Defender Morgan simply stated, "that's why we are here, waster."
Harkness moved his hand into his satchel and removed a pouch, "a hundred caps," he feigned a cough to get Jericho to take the pouch and back away from him, "please let me see the doctor."
Jericho opened the pouch and eye ball calculated the caps, he raised his hand to the guards and motioned for them to lower their weapons, "keep your guns in check while you're in town and finish your business quickly."
Defender Wilderman turned to Morgan, who nodded, and the Outcast shouldered his laser rifle on his back. The Megaton guards lowered their iron but kept a keen eye on the Outcasts. Morgan and Rockfowl helped the Raider girl and Harkness into the clinic. The doctor was already treating a patient that had recently entered with his friend assisting. Operative Zachary Zimm was sitting up on the gurney as J.R. held gauze on his cheek.
The doctor was dark skinned with white hair and beard, "what happened? How long ago?" He asked of the Outcasts as he helped Harkness onto the gurney, "this is my clinic, I'm Doc Church, and I need answers people."
"Is there a town engineer," asked the android from the gurney, "get me the engineer. Tell him to bring machinery fluid, hydraulic lubricant, scrap metal and a welding torch."
Doc Church turned to the Outcasts, Morgan had already set the girl across from the Operatives, "what is he talking about?"
"Arthur, did you hear the list," asked Rococo from the foot of Harkness' gurney, the Defender nodded, "where is the town engineer?"
"Just let me take a look at his injuries," said the doctor as he moved the cape aside, the Outcast Defender put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, "this is my clinic and if you want his man to live I need to address his wounds."
"Where is the engineer, quack," asked Rococo as he gripped the collar of the doctor, his voice cold and metallic even without the power helmet.
Church coughed for breath, another occasion when brawn had beaten him once again, three levels above us. Water Processing Plant, his name is Walter."
Rockfowl nodded to Wilderman who ran out of the clinic and up the ramp over it. Anne Marie Morgan turned her back on the Raider girl, making sure the poor creature didn't touch her. Zimm looked into the Raider girls face and recognized her. His eyes widen as he spoke up to J.R.
"It's her! J.R. it's the girl from the Alexandria," he said through one side of his mouth.
"I haven't finished your stitches," said the doctor as he chastised the Operative for speaking out, "and seeing as I'm not allowed to treat my other patient…"
"We're not stopping you, Quack," corrected Morgan, "we just think you won't be able to help that one out too much."
"I have over thirty years experience," replied Doc Church, "and stop calling me quack."
"With your level of medicine, waster, that's what it comes down to, quackery," commented Rococo as he held his arms across his chest.
Wilderman returned at that moment with a confused looking old man that could only be described as wizened, who turned out to he the engineer named Walter, "can I get to my job now, please," asked the doctor with utter disdain.
Rockfowl nodded as Wilderman pushed the engineer forward; the doctor removed the cape and saw the cloth wrapped around Harkness' ribs, "what did this?"
"Fragmentation grenade," said Harkness, Church got a pair of scissors out, "get the engineer closer."
"Why am I here, what do ya' need?" asked Walter.
"You'll see," was all Harkness replied, not making the nervous situation easier for the engineer.
The doctor was cutting the last bandage away when a squirt of white liquid shot into the air. The doctor and other two patients were shocked, but the Defenders remained calm. Harkness gritted his teeth as another squirt of his hydraulic lubricant shot into the air from his torn up side. The doctor turned to J.R.
"Your jacket, now," Church ordered as he ripped it from J.R. with some assistance from the Operative and applied pressure to the wound.
"Brotherhood," commented Rockfowl as h pointed out the marking on J.R.'s left breast of his combat armor, "get them out of here now!"
J.R. became defensive as he looked between the Outcasts and Harkness, "what the fuck was that," he asked and pointed to white liquid coming from the android.
The engineer and doctor were looking at the open wound as Harkness commented, "mustah moved around a bit in me when we got here."
"Wilderman, get these Lyons ass-kissers out of here now," ordered Morgan.
Defender Arthur Wilderman nodded as he put a hand on J.R.'s chest," get you and your friend's stuff and get out of here."
"Like hell we will traitor," replied J.R. as Wilderman pushed the two of them, Zimm included, out of the door; once outside the Outcast Defender asked, "do you have a place where we can talk?"
Harkness turned his head to the doctor and engineer, "get me a mirror, I'm going to talk you two through this operation together."
Outside of the clinic, J.R. was without his jacket or words, while Zimm could only hold his tongue to prevent it from hurting his mouth more. An Outcast Defender had asked the two Operatives, after finding out they worked from the Brotherhood of Steel, for a sit down meeting. The Brotherhood of Steel and the Outcasts saw each other as traitors and brothers through a duality. To the Outcasts, the Brotherhood of Steel under Elder Lyons had betrayed the core beliefs of the Western Brotherhood and the founder Maxson. To the Brotherhood of Steel, the Outcasts had betrayed the leadership of Elder Lyons and mutinied from the order. Between the two organizations there were strict orders of non-violence because despite their animosity towards each other, they both felt as they were fruits from the same scion. This non-violence relationship was strengthened with no communication and a general feeling of blind hatred.
When Defender Arthur Wilderman asked for a place for where they can all talk, the Operatives were stunned, "there is the…uhm…Brass Lantern," answered J.R.
Wilderman nodded, "lead the way."
Andy Stahl was behind the front counter, "no. No! You can not bring this into my establishment. A freaking Outcast! I can't have an injured man here, bleeding everywhere. Fuck…Colin, what are you thinking?"
"Well, fuck you too Stahl," mumbled Zimm and winced at the pain from his cheek, "can I get some fucking whiskey…and a new fucking bandage."
Zimm threw the bloody gauze on a table to expose the course black Brahmin sinew that only kept together half his wound. He'd have to see Doc Church to get the rest finished. The doctor used some coagulant to slow the bleeding, but the moving muscles in the face allowed for blood to still trickle out. The worst for the Operative was the cut on his tongue because like any other wound in the mouth the first instinct was to explore it with the tongue. The added pain cause him to wince, grimace, and placed his mood in a sour state. Stahl put a bottle of vodka down on the table with three glasses.
"Stronger proof," said Andy as he nodded to Zimm's pain, "I'll see if there are any bandages."
Defender Wilderman sat down and removed his helmet to show his plain face in a recon helmet, "would you mind locking the door too?"
Andy turned to J.R. as he pointed a thumb to Wilderman's direction, "is he serious? You know I have a business to run right, my place can't be some conference room for you."
"I can see its booming," commented Wilderman to the empty room, "but we need to have a private discussion."
Andy Stahl turned to Colin Moriarty Junior, "I don't take orders from anyone."
"It needs to be a very private discussion," said J.R. as he watched Zimm down another glass of vodka and wince as he slide a healthy amount of caps across the table to Andy, "this is triple the amount for the bottle."
Andy locked the door and turned around, "I'll take my time looking for the bandages in the backroom, Zach."
"Take your time," said Wilderman as Zimm stared at the Outcast with pained hatred.
Zimm downed a third glass of vodka, some dribbled out from the hole in his cheek making him wince more, "son of a bitch!"
"Take it easy, Zach," J.R. reached out to take the bottle but it was closer to Zimm and he held the bottle to pour a forth glass.
"He says to 'take it easy'," the operative mumbled to himself, "well it helps with the pain from this fucking disgrace. Thanks to your dad."
J.R. tried some humor, "at least chicks dig scars."
"Fuck you," said Zimm as he drank straight from the bottle.
"You're going to rip your stitches," said J.R. in concern.
"It's already permanent," grumbled Zimm.
"Are you kids seriously Brotherhood, or did you just steal your armor from dead initiates?" Wilder commented in disdain to Zimm and J.R. for their bickering.
J.R. turned his attention back to the Outcast, "we've been in the shit for a year now."
"Elder Lyons finally decided to branch out to the locals," the comment was meant to entice the Operatives into another bickering match, but they knew the time was to listen, "my name is Arthur Wilderman."
J.R. pointed to Zimm and did the introduction, "Operative Zachary Zimm and I'm Operative J.R."
"J.R.? I thought the shop keep called you Colin," the Outcast was confused.
"He is … a fucking… Moriarty," slurred Zimm as he was well on the way to getting completely sloshed.
"It was your idea to come back into this town, Zimm," replied J.R., "I was fine doing my business in the Vault, but you wanted to pull me from there for this place."
"You two are like a married couple," Wilderman rubbed his face second guessing talking with new recruits, "I'll just call you J.R., it'll be easier that way. What is this Operative thing?"
"What exactly are you looking for, Outcast," J.R.'s demeanor had turned cold in the question and answer session with the Wilderman.
"I guess the beginning is the best place," Defender Arthur Wilderman said tapping his fingers to the table, "two years ago, Elder Lyons approached me for a job. In my past life I was Knight Artemis of the Brotherhood of Steel. I have been giving monthly reports to Elder Lyons on the Outcasts, their movements and holding positions."
"So you're saying that you're an embedded Brotherhood Operative with the Outcasts," J.R. put two and two together.
"Bullshit," called out Zimm before he leaned back in his chair more.
Wilder tossed his holotags onto the counter, "most Outcast tags have been updated by Scribe Jameson to read deserter. Mine shows that I've maintained my position and rank in the Brotherhood. You can also talk with Paladin Vargas, he was my closest friend and can vouch for my character."
J.R. flipped the holotag in his hand, reading Knight Arthur "Artemis" Wilderman and showing the face sitting before him, he threw them back, "means shit, but don't think we're not going to double check everything you tell us."
"Now you're sounding a little more like a Brotherhood recruit," Knight Artemis commented, "my communication with Elder Lyons was through a dead drop at the Nuka Cola Plant in a garbage can. The messages I've left for the Elder haven't been picked up in over a month."
"A dead drop?" Questioned J.R., Artemis explained the system of leaving a locked note with a live grenade that only the recipient knew the code, "why haven't we been involved with this…operation?"
Zimm was in a drunken stupor, barely able to keep his eyelids up, as Artemis leaned in closer to J.R., "why would you two have been briefed on my operation?"
"We're Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services," J.R. furrowed his brow as he tried to recall any words from Bael or Yearling about the Outcasts.
"Lyons told me I'd have been rolled into another service, never mentioned which one and it's been two years and it hasn't happened," answered Artemis in concern as he tapped his fingers nervously, "it's been difficult working for Casdin when my thoughts go back to what I was…am…it is so difficult to tell what's true sometimes."
"When did you last exchange information with Elder Lyons," asked the Operative.
"My last swap with the Elder was around six or seven weeks ago," said the undercover Knight.
"I hate to tell you this, Knight, but Elder Lyons fell ill a little over a month ago in Graydtich, he is currently unconscious," J.R. was straight to the point, "Scribe Rothchild has been running the show as Lyons hand picked him as his successor."
"So Rothchild has been selected by Elder Lyons to be the new Elder? Without consent from the Western Founders…do you realize the shit storm this will cause in Casdin's camp?" Artemis for the first time seemed incredible nervous.
"The Outcasts are really out of the loop from current events," commented J.R., "Casdin will find out way or another."
"The Outcasts make it a point not to get involved in local affairs," Artemis said, repeating the lines he so often heard from his traitorous brothers-in-arms, "they're, we're, beginning to see Lyon's camp as a local affair now."
"What do you think Casdin will do with the information," asked J.R. biting his bottom lip.
"Ol' Henry will try to contact the Western Brotherhood to see what they advised," said Artemis with unblinking eyes, "he might even try to get himself appointed Elder of the Capital Wasteland…"
"That'll be difficult because we do have that one ace up our sleeve," J.R. was referring to the housing and education of Arthur Maxson, the boy king of the Brotherhood of Steel from west to east coast.
"Why ..hiccough…why was Roe's…girl with you," slurred Zimm from his stupor.
J.R. cleaned up the spittle at the corner of Zimm's uninjured cheek, "I had completely forgotten that was how this all started."
"You mean the raider druggie? She was with that guy we were ordered to escort here." Artemis thought nothing of the two except was Harkness even really a man.
"Thought Outcasts kept out of local affairs," answered J.R. before he explained, "and that raider druggie was from when we took over a building, a good frie… colleague of ours made it his decision to help heal her."
"Tough bit of luck he'd have with that," answered the Knight, "we all saw her medical report, besides a history of constant abuse she was overdosed on so many chems her brain practically shut off."
"So she's dead?" J.R. was confused.
"No, but maybe with a few liters of detox and a couple of weeks to clear her system and months rehab she'll be good as her previous fucked up state," answered the Knight with a laugh, "why'd you save anyone in that state is way too much work."
J.R. thought for moment keeping silent, Zimm pleasantly added, "bitch tried to take my head off…hiccough… but I got her just as good…stupid raider…bitch…tried to a… to attack me with armor on!"
"Well that explains all the chems she took," answered Artemis as he tossed his hand mid way in the air.
The white liquid flashed into J.R.'s head, "who was that guy with you…was it even a …man?"
"They call him John Harkness, he traded some pretty high grade post-War tech for passage here," answered Artemis.
"Did you say post-War technology?" Questioned the Operative confirm, "how is that even possible… we've been looking for this guy."
"We?" Artemis wanted to make sure who was being referred to in the pronoun.
"The Brotherhood," answered J.R. before he elaborated, "this… Harkness…escaped from some Operatives that were holding him at headquarters. He also caught the attention of Rothchild when one of his Scribes was nearly killed."
"I can't just let you take him," said Artemis as he shook his head, "too many questions would be asked."
"I just need some time, keep them here for a week and I'll see what can be arranged," J.R. knew well he couldn't plan anything this big without a few key players.
Daniel Roe had finished his meeting with Ashkelon, warden of Springvale Prison, and entered his second home: Crowley's Casino. He was just about to get a guard to head downstairs and discuss the deal with Crowley when his eyes went to the cards. Roe bit his bottom lip ad he eyed the blackjack table closely and he could hear his pounding heart in his ears. Without realizing his feet had even begun to move, Dan had stepped closer to the card table and swung his leg over the stool to sit down. The dealer smiled to him, his face having become a regular fixture in the mini-casino.
Dan mindlessly opened his cap pouch and placed a bet when the dealer called for them. He checked his cards, eight of diamonds and five of clubs. The dealer turned to him and he tapped his cards to indicate he wanted another. The next card was turned over and ten of diamonds put him over to a bust. Having lost the only thought on Roe's mind was to get it back and then to push his luck. The risk, the adventure, the adrenaline were renewed in his bloodstream with every new deal.
Lost for hours, Roe didn't even know until and unpleasant sight brought him out of his gambling high. The scribe, Actaeon, stood besides Roe with filthy woman with her hair done in little horns. The woman looked and smelt like a slaver, the Operative was not surprised at the company the scribe kept. Roe couldn't help but curl his lips in disgust.
"What do you want," he rudely asked of Actaeon.
"Is that anyway for you to greet a good friend of yours," Actaeon pointed to the woman, "this is Carolina Red."
"I'd say it was a pleasure, but I'd prefer a deathclaw," answered Roe as he turned back to his card table.
"Mice little habit you have here, Roe," said Actaeon as he pushed more caps up for Dan to bet, "did I just do something bad?"
"What do you and your cooz want," asked Roe extremely annoyed at that moment.
"Well, you know how you said you would help me find Harkness?" Asked the Scribe, Dan squinted.
"I said I'd keep an earout for the name," corrected the Operative.
"Carolina here is presenting me with an opportunity…" the Scribe was trying to be obvious and discreet at the same time; it was not working out well.
"An opportunity to finally lose your virginity or remove that stick from your ass," asked Roe, trying to demean the ego of the Scribe.
"I'm not a whore," replied Carolina in anger.
"I believe you," Roe was anxious to get back to his cards.
"You'd prefer to fuck a Brahmin anyway," she rejoined, "dumber and easier for you to get. Not to mention the two heads make you think it's a threesome."
"You done," asked the Operative with consternation.
"Look, I don't know your deal with this tight ass," she mean the scribe, "but I need a merc team for a mission."
"Higher Talon," said Roe as he turned to the Talon Company mercenaries at the counter, "she needs a job."
"I bet she does," grunted the mercenary as he blew a kiss to Carolina Red.
Carolina punched the merc in the face and slammed his head onto the counter. The guards surrounded her quickly ready to kick her out but Dan waved them off. The ghouls grumbled under their face wraps and dragged the Talon mercenary away. Dan turned to Carolina Red to berate her.
"This isn't like any other saloon in the wasteland," he pointed out the guards, "they don't mind tossing your ass out or putting a few holes in your flesh. They don't like our smoothskin very much anyway."
"Fuck'em and Talon," Carolina said, "I need men with balls who can get the job done. He thinks you're such a man."
"Thanks," Roe turned back to his cards, "but no thanks."
"Three hundred caps," Carolina pushed trying to higher the Operative, "All I need is six men."
"And a bath," added Roe, "I don't get up in the morning for three hundred caps."
"Three hundred plus expenses," she pushed.
Roe shook his head, "I would need more."
"How much more," Carolina asked.
"What is the job first," Roe folded his arms in front of his chest, "I won't put out any offer till I know the terms of the mission."
"There is a settlement in the North that is hording weapons, food, and aqua pura. Worst of all, they are trying to come on the slaving market…" Carolina had worked out the mission brief with Actaeon to gain the appropriate response from Dan, "it's called the Republic."
"I've heard of it," said Roe as his thoughts went back to old settlement known as the Republic of Dave, "what is the plan?"
"Before a direct attack on the Republic, we're to cut off the trading lane Canterbury Commons," Carolina let the threat of an attack on Roe's home town to manipulate him into action.
It had worked and Roe had fallen for it, "if I am a part of this mission, there will be no movement against the Commons."
"Only if you are part of this mission will Canterbury Commons go unharmed," answered Carolina.
"Make it five hundred caps," said Dan as he turned back to the cards.
Carolina put five pouches on the table along with a piece of paper, "be at that location in two weeks. Fail me and you'll have a lot to answer for. I will find you, your family, and your friends and put a collar on them."
"Understood," Roe said as he gathered the pouches before the dealer took them as a bet, "if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with someone that is far more important than you two."
"Shouldn't we be on our way as well," said Actaeon to the slaver as Roe sneered at them and walked to one of the guards, "and thank you, Dan."
Roe didn't acknowledge the scribe as he turned to Crowley's ghoul guards, "I need to see your boss."
The ghoul nodded and led him downstairs, "interesting friends that one keeps," commented Carolina.
"Now it's time to fulfill your end of the deal," the scribe said as they walked out of the casino.
"Head west," she said as they walked past the whore house.
"What is out west, and who is this guy," asked Actaeon.
"Jury Street Metro Station and one of the best bounty hunters in all of the wasteland," Carolina said with a small smile, "opportunity makes strange bed fellows, doesn't it?"
"Before you even think of getting in my bed, you'd need to scrub yourself for a week, with steel wool, slaver," said the Scribe as they crossed over the hill out of Springvale.
"Dumb shit, you don't even know what to do with a lady, let alone your own bits," retorted Carolina as she continued walking, "but you know what I was talking about. A good upstanding boy like yourself and a classy lady like me…"
"When I see a lady, I'll inform you," he said while pulling his hood down more and then taking the extra fabric to protect his mouth from the dust and dirt.
Carolina pulled out some biker goggles from her pocket for protection of her eyes, "it'll take us a few hours to get there, maybe half of day."
The sun bleached the earth, the dust and dirt carried by the wind battered the scribe and the slaver as they headed west. Rotting corpses of mole rats meant someone had been by recently enough to been attacked or in need of food. The buildings off in the distance stood like eyesores in the barren landscape even though they were less than three stories tall. If tumbleweeds still grew, the entrance of Scribe Actaeon and Carolina red would have been the opening of a 1960's Western. There was no movement at Jury Street, nor the Metro Station entrance.
The wind whipped against the buildings making a low grinding sound. There was a diner with no windows and two buildings in working condition; one was a grocery store and the other was an electronics supplier. Actaeon turned to Carolina and moved his hand against the background of the apparently empty area. The unsaid question was: why are we in this ghost town?
Carolina held her hands cupped around her mouth, "Samuel Warrick, Sam Warrick, ya there?"
She kept shouting out his name as the sun was past its high point and still directly shinning on him. He moved the Brahmin leather brimmed hat from his face. The bright rays of sun that got through the clouds illuminated his tan middle-aged face; his trademark sunglasses protected his eyes. He grumbled while brushing his sweat dampened and greasy hair back away from his face. Living his life as he did, his naturally dark hair had blond highlights. He picked up his sniper rifle and leaned forward from the reclined lawn chair to get up.
Standing at six foot and three inches, Samuel Warrick was easy to spot standing above the scribe and slaver on the electronics store, "girl, will yeh shut your noise? My query is down 'ere," his accent placed him from some where south of the Capital Wasteland.
"Warrick, get your leather chap wearing ass down here," ordered Carolina as the bounty hunter smiled.
"What are you an' the hood doin' these parts, Carolina," he asked as he sat on the edge of the building with the sniper rifle on his lap.
"Got a job for you, Sam," she said pointing a thumb to Actaeon, "he needs to find a man."
"Give 'em direction to Madame's at the Mills," Sam fiddled with is rifle, "I'm already on a job for the Foreman."
"Doesn't look like much of a job," Carolina said, "for him to come to your front step."
"The boy tried to hire me for protection," Sam laughed and shook his head, "took his caps upfront and before I could take him down he ducked into the diner. 'Bout a week back."
Actaeon spoke up for the first time to Sam, "what makes you think he's still there?"
Sam stopped smiling, "so the hood can speak? Well, I know he's there because I'm good at what I do, boy. He's about out of food and ready to eat a bullet, or he's already done it."
"We didn't see anyone in the diner," said the Scribe.
"Hold on, I'll be down in a second," said Warrick as he climbed down the ladder and out of the electronic shop, "let's go see about good Prime."
"Why did the Foreman want Prime," Carolina was referring to the leader of Evergreen Mills and the bounty offered to Warrick.
"Prime apparently got Foreman's sister pregnant," laughed Sam as he turned to Carolina, "didn't even know the little guy was potent. I tell ya what, if that kid is smart as Prime and beautiful as Larissa, the Mills might have a good future."
The three of them walked into the empty diner, Warrick moved behind the counter and swore out loud. The bounty hunter slung the rifle on his should. He knelt down and lifted some unused food onto the diner counter. Actaeon stepped behind the counter to see a headless body sitting in a corner leaning forward against a strange Chinese Assault rifle.
"Fucking Prime," seethed Warrick as he pushed the bloated body to the side as air slowly escaped the body and picked up the rifle, "can never make it easy for me, could yeh?"
"What do you mean," asked the Scribe.
"He damn well knew the bounty called for his head," said Sam as he checked Prime's pockets, "fucker sold out short on me, he 'ad five hundred more caps. So what is it you need, hood?"
Actaeon explained who his target was to the bounty hunter as Sam continued to check Prime's body, "he need to be found alive, for questioning."
"I get you," said Sam as he picked up Prime's belongings for himself, "what's the pay?"
"I was hoping you'd do this for free," said Actaeon.
Warrick burst out laughing, "Carolina, is this boy serious, fah free?"
"'fraid so," Carolina pursed her lips, "but I'm sure you'll love his company."
Sam sighed, "I rather get caps, but I guess I can use yeh, boy. Grab that there body."
"Er…'scuse me?" The Scribe looked to the bloated and decaying headless corpse.
"If Imma gonna help yeh, you're gonna help meh," the bounty hunter passed two leather belts from the counter of the diner to Actaeon, "best tah strap it tah yeh back at the waist and under yeh arms."
"Doesn't sound like the first time you've hauled a body around," commented Actaeon.
"Gotta collect your bounties," said Warrick as he moved out of the diner, "hurry up will yah, I wanta get to the Mills before that fucker attracts all the animals of the wasteland."
Operative Anna LaCroix was with Elias but not in the servants' quarters where they prayed. They were in the basement of the Alexandria, which was the location of the utilities like the trash incinerator and gray water system. The gray water system allowed for the conservation of potable water in a closed system. Anything not used for food or drinking went through a cleaning process of sand and charcoal filtration, boiling from the heat given off by the incinerator and a light form of irradiation at levels barely dectable in the world at present. In the former USA where your enemy was radiation, it also became your friend: the Atom.
In this utility area was three cages kept over from the former inhabitants of the Alexandria. The constant sound of running water, boiling water, and high levels of heat given off by the incinerator was a physical and psychological torture all in one. The reasons for it's existence was based out of Star Paladin Bael's mind. Knight Captain Galeas was currently holding one of the servants, Kimi Mahal, there as punishment for abetting Harkness and the raider girl in escaping the Alexandria.
The servant was drinking a glass of water holding it with both hands like a sacred relic, "easy, Kimi, easy. Let me refill your glass," said Elias as he poured the pitcher to fill her glass again.
"Why do you help her," asked LaCroix of Elias, "she's a traitor."
"Come here to gloat, murderer," said Kimi Mahal with chapped lips; she was in shorts and a dirty tank top that clung to her with sweat.
"I feed her and water her in hope she will see the error of her deeds," answered Elias as he handed Kimi another glass of water.
"I think your time and resources are wasted, Elias," commented the Operative.
"Do not give up so easily, Anna," Elias pushed a plate of food forward, "an open mind is like an open palm, full of potential and able to grasp anything."
"Like a gun to shoot you," offered Kimi with a sickening smile to LaCroix.
"An open palm can also grasp a pen to write poetry, or a flute to temper the heart and soul with music," Elias was smiling and offering more water, "or another open palm in understanding."
"I'm sorry, Elias, I just do not see it," Anna wanted to spit on the servant in disgust, "things like art and music have no place in this world right now."
"Anna, you are so wrong. Now is when humanity needs art and music the most," Elias was gathering the plates and pitchers, "I always thought that was the reason GNR was so well protected."
"Possibly," agreed the Operative after a long pause, "maybe we do need music and poetry."
"If all could keep and open mind," began Elias, "than I doubt we'd have all these conflicts throughout our small corner of the wider world."
LaCroix thought to herself, but we have more than one palm and hile we keep it open and full of potential the other is held back in secret. We, the Alexandria, are this other palm, she realized.
Scribe Mendel was sitting in the living room with the LaCroix family. Dennis and Susan LaCroix had been more open to the community, their names being revered for fairness like that of Doctor Gordon Hopkins. People went out of their way on the street to greet them and occasionally ask for advice. Mister LaCroix had used this notoriety to start a news service in Grayditch.
His contacts within the Brotherhood, specifically Scribe Mendel, gave him leaks of information. So threatening was their popularity that many thought Susan LaCroix would have made a better choice for Mayor. Though she did decline the recommendation when it was first offered. Dennis saw the activity to the town as a welcomed form of progress. The only issue for him and the Grayditch Guardian, the title recommended by Susan, was the want of people for information and the limited supply he could produce through holotape typing and recycling.
He had asked for assistance from the Brotherhood, especially for the poor of the community who could not afford a holotape reader. Susan brought out a tray of herbal tea seeped in hot water with three tea cups. The herbs from Drayden had been coming more readily since access through the land between the Air Force Base and the Wasteland came under Brotherhood control. There was a calm silence as the tea seeped.
Susan began to pour a cup for Mendel, "Georgina, to what do we owe this visit?"
"Has the Brotherhood of Steel come up with a solution for my paper," asked Dennis.
"Oh, would you listen to him, going on about his paper," Susan smiled and lightly tapped the knee of Georgina Mandel, "to tell the truth, I love that Dennis has gotten a hobby."
"It's morethan a hobby dear," said Dennis LaCroix, "it's my job…my passh…"
Susan leaned forward and kissed her husband, "I'm your passion, dear."
"That you are," Dennis LaCroix agreed.
Mendel put her tea down after wetting her lips with the warm liquid, "the Brotherhood has been busy, Dennis. Jameson heads the Order of the Quills and she's taking point on the trial. She just got elected as the counsel for the defense."
"Can I quote you on that for the Guardian?" Asked Dennis.
"As an anonymous source, sure," agreed the Scribe, "but everything from said after this point in and the strictest of confidence."
Dennis and Susan had a concern look, "the last time we heard someone from the Brotherhood say something like that…"
Susan didn't finish as she pushed herself closer to Dennis, "we were attacked and almost died," said Dennis as he caressed his wife's shoulder.
"This doesn't involve leaving the safety of Grayditch," eased Mendel, "your name is on a short list for being a judge. You turned down the nomination for mayor, before we even knew what was occurring in this settlement, but when you are nominated to be a justice we ask you not to turn it down."
"Is the Brotherhood trying to stack…are asking me to lead to an unfair judgment," asked Susan.
"We aren't trying to use you," corrected Mendel, "we just want a fair trial and your support would be very popular."
"I'm not sure I like this," answered Mrs. LaCroix, "I can't give an answer right away, but my honor and integrity can not be purchased."
"And that is why we've been close friends," agreed Georgina Mendel.
Star Paladin Bael was sitting in Marshall Lawson's office. He was unable to lean back from the chair and put his feet up. The weight of his power armor would not allow him to without breaking the chair. Cristano oriented himself to look out of the open door. The Lawman of Grayditch walked in and threw his duster off on a coat rack.
Under his duster was a Dutton down white shirt with a short collar and thin arm bands just under the elbow of each arm. A thin black neck tie that was in a bow with a good five inches of extra fabric was tied around his throat. Marshall pulled one end of the bowtie to undo it while he unsnapped the top button of his shirt. Lawson pulled out his hooch and poured two glasses and downed his belt quickly as he refilled his glass. Bael took the other glass for himself and drank, rubbing his mouth with the back of armored hand afterwards.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of a drinking partner," Lawson asked as he put his boots up on his desk.
"Seems like you're had a tough day," Bael poured the next round for himself.
"You can say that," answered the Regulator.
"I hate all this formal political crap," said the Star Paladin as he talked conversations with hidden agendas, "that is not for men like you and I. Your name will be put on a list of nominations to be a trial judge. I want you to say yes."
"I should have you arrested for corruption and conspiracy," stated Lawson plainly.
"But you won't," answered Bael with a smile.
"Why do you think that, Star Paladin," questioned the Lawman.
"You may hide behind the demeanor of a legitimate law bringer to Grayditch," said Bael as he sat back down, "but you and I both know you're still a bounty hunter. Since caps and killing define your world, I'm going to offer the most wanted man in the wasteland to you for bounty."
"You know where Junders Plunkett is located, bullshit," said Lawson, "our best men have been after him, and they're either dead or injured."
"A Brotherhood scouting team found him," answered Bael as his smile grew, "and when we found out about the bounty on his head, I made certain he was put under house arrest. He is currently alive and well, what's his current worth now?"
"Five thousand caps," answered Lawson as he thought of the long and hard, "murdered a man and his wife in Canterbury Commons, the child survived though. How are you certain it is him?"
"The scouting team described him as a white man, good with small blades, with one eye," Bael described the fugitive, "his death would make everyone happy. You, Sonora, and hopefully my men could all be happy."
"And all you want is for me to agree to be a justice?" Lawson took out his signature smokes, "not asking for a complete acquittal are you?"
"You give the right verdict and sentence, all we want is a fair and balanced trial when it comes to the justices," answered the Star Paladin, "and when the trial is complete, you'll get Plunkett's finger."
Marshall Lawson didn't hesitate this time and stuck out his hand to make the deal with Cristano Bael.
Operative Hannah Newton was barely a few yards from the Citadel. Knight Michael Ban was still recovering and out of duty from field work. His current position was tactical assistance from Citadel Control with several Scribes in support. Joint Newton in the field were three Knights with years of experience, however it was clear that the Operative was the tactical lead for the mission. The Alexandria had become a mission of rumor amongst the local raiders and even the Brotherhood of Steel itself because of an unacknowledged agreement between the Operatives and the embellishment of those raiders to have survived. Star Paladin Bael fashioned his operations as burn and salt, though in practice there had been more leniency shown than rumored.
The Alexandria and BIOS, by default, were known for extreme operations more so in their after effect like the forty yard wide sinkhole near out of Friendship Heights. The other members of the Brotherhood treated the Operatives of BIOS, whom they saw rarely, as distantly as possible because of the mysterious nature of their work. The Knights were able to follow Newton's orders, a prospect that frightened and excited her at the same time, because of a mixture of regard, intrigue, and fear. They stood in front of the remains of a broken bridge that had a standing overhang that stood three stories tall and around fifty feet wide.
One of the Knights approached her, "ma'am, five tangos total carrying small arms and no high caliber rounds. Would be easy to 'November' them all."
Hannah sighed audible into her communications unit, something Ban was beginning to pick up on as a habit of hers when frustrated, "Newton, turn to channel six."
The Operative turned her comm unit over to the private line between her and Ban, "what seems to be the issue," he asked smiling into the microphone.
"I rather…dislike when they use the term 'November,'" she referred to the phonetic alphabet code that stood for neutralize.
"Netwon, you're just arguing semantics at this point," Ban was firm in his tone, "just do what needs to be done."
Hannah switched over to the mission channel and announced to the other Knights, "hold your men back," she ordered.
"Operative Newton, switch back to channel six," ordered Ban from Citadel Control.
"I'm going to try something different," she announced to the Knights and to Ban.
"Ma'am," questioned one of the Knights causing Newton to turn around.
"Stay your ground," she said as she resumed walking forward.
Ban was on the communication system right away, "you follow her, Knights, do you understand me?"
Hannah fired back through her communications unit, "Knights, stand your ground that is a direct order."
"What the hell do you think you're going to do, Hannah," said Ban into the comms, Newton decided to not respond.
She walked forward to the raiders, they did not attack immediately. Newton took this as a good sign and stopped thirty paces in front of them. She did not draw her weapon. The five raiders leveled their weapons at her, the most advanced piece of technology they had collectively was a bolt action rifle. The Operative did not hold her hands up, but low and clasped together in front of her.
"Let us come to an agreed upon solution," she said, her voice metallic through her power armor helmet.
"Then leave us be," yelled back on the raiders, "we ain't do nothing to you steel types!"
"I'm guessing you've heard about the Alexandria Arms," Newton let her new home add to the tension of the situation, "we, you, myself, and several Knights stationed around you, find ourselves in a very familiar situation. I would like to avoid that situation having already gone through it first hand. I'm going to offer you the chance to gather your belongings and leave in five hours. If any violence occurs within these three hours, than rest assured that the actions at the Alexandria will be revisited here and today."
The raiders asked for a few minutes to discuss amongst themselves before asking for Newton, "can we get twelve hours?"
Hannah thought quickly, "split the difference and you can have eight hours."
"We don't want to die over this shit hole," said another raider, "it's home, yea, but so too can be our next place."
"You have my word," said Newton before she got on the comms to tell her men to move up to secure the area as the raiders began to pack up.
"Operative Newton, switch over to channel six right now," ordered Ban as he waited for Newton to confirm the switch, "Do you know how reckless and stupid that was? That's rhetorical, don't answer."
"It worked," rejoined the red head, "look at the bright side, my way saved a lot of ammo."
"Ammo is nothing compared to your life, I swear you're acting like a green initiate right now," Ban was getting more pissed off now, "you never pull a stunt like that again, you hear me? I'm still your superior and that is an order."
"We'll see about next time," she said as the Knights were finally at her position, "Superior Ban, please let the Scribes know that they can start moving over to do some surveying."
"You're a real fire cracker," said Ban as he clicked off from the communication unit and informed the Scribes; he looked down to his pendant of Saint Jude and whispered quietly to himself, "thank you."
Knight Bors and Operative Quin Schieber were entering the small community of Big Town. They crossed a rickety bridge over a pool of irradiated water between a pike wall. There were two guards at the entrance, both had assault rifles but neither raised them as the two men in power armor approached. Behind the guards were military grade robots including a sentry bot, protectron, and mister gutsy.
"You're not raiders, slavers, or super mutants," stated one of the guards, "so what are you doing here?"
"We're from the Brotherhood of Steel," answered Bors through his power armor helmet, "several of our brothers are operating in the north and we've been asked to check in on the settlements like Big Town."
"The Brotherhood should know that Big Town is under the protection of the Family," said the other guard, there was an unsightly lump from his bottom lip.
"We're not here for a fight," said Schieber, "the protection of this settlement by the Family is good, the Brotherhood has been working to help secure the areas between settlements. And from outside forces like the Enclave."
"You'll be welcomed in Big Town as guests," answered the guard with a bulging lower lip.
There was some street activity but the population could not have exceeded over twenty permanent residents. As a frontier community, Big Town was under constant attack from slavers, raiders, super mutants and the elements. Failure of a community like Big Town was almost certain until the Lone Wanderer assisted in the return of the town doctor and reactivated the security robots. The caravans began to trade with town as it was a stop before Arefu. The relative close distance between Arefu and Big Town also benefited a small organization known as The Family. The Family appeared on the door step Big Town and offered a security deal for a donation of blood. More security, trade, and an ability to survive, how was Big Town able to refuse?
Bors asked from the guard where the town leader was, only there didn't seem to be anyone or a council to lead. The only person the guard told them that they should see upon recommendation was the local doctor. The walked to the place named Red's Clinic. As they entered, they saw a gurney cornered off to the side by a medical shade. The room led to a kitchen area where a woman in a red jumpsuit with a red bandana was boiling water. The knights walked into the room as she turned around to the heavy footfalls their power armor created.
"New in town," asked the doctor in comment to their power armor, "what can I do you for?"
"Just passing through, wanted to see what the town had to offer," said Bors as he removed his helmet, "Knight Jamie Bors."
"Knight Quin Schiber," introduced the Operative using a different rank than his actual rank.
"Red, local healer, or the closest thing to it," she introduced herself.
"The community seems pretty solid," commented Bors as he rubbed his beard trying to make small talk.
"We get by," answered the doctor with a smile, "we don't ask for much, we don't get much, that's for certain."
"What do you have, and what do the people here want," asked Schieber first thinking that there lacked a strong economy because it lacked agriculture or domesticated animals.
"We have each other, most of us have been together since Little Lamplight," answered Red, "we provide a good waypoint for those just kicked out of the caverns."
"Big Town could be so much more though," replied the Operative.
"We don't need it to be that, right now," modesty and ideas of grandeur were lost on the doctor.
"Any other people we should meet while in town?" Asked Knight Bors.
"I'm honored you thought I was important enough," Red's tone was flat, she didn't seem upset or ecstatic, "I can't really think of anyone with much to say worth saying."
"Do you know the direction to Arefu," asked Schieber as he took out his map.
"Keep left of the river and you'll get there before night fall," she said and pointed out an area on the map.
"Thank you, Red," said Bors as he put his helmet back on.
Bors and Schieber left Big Town and made their way to Arefu. This frontier town was different compared to Big Town because they did not need to import all their food. Brahmin and mirelurk were abundant sources of nutrition and well protected by the Family. The majority of the town lived up on the remains of a concrete overpass that was safely away from the creatures at ground level.
However, Arefu proved to be similar to that of Big Town. The leader of the town, Evan King, was not really comfortable with territorial expansion or population as he didn't want to risk the structural integrity of the overpass. Even though expansion was not in their interest, the people were welcoming to the Brotherhood of Steel. Arefu seemed to be the perfect spot to launch operations into the northern region and the Operatives would have to relay their intelligence to Scribe Yearling. The northern frontier was being explored by Sentinel Tristan's Centurians, who were holding a train tunnel as a base. The Operatives followed the land bridge that marked the end of the Potomac and the many small lakes it gave birth too.
The night had fallen as they crossed the rocky and sand filled wasteland. They were walking in silence in total darkness. The moon was new and reflected no light. The little light that was available came from the stars. The ambient sounds of the wasteland were limited to their footfalls, the wind sweeping against the sand and rocks with the occasional cry of an animal in the distance. There were some structures in the distance and Schieber asked Trip to do a thermal scan.
Schieber and Bors cleared out the radroach nest and made camp. Trip was keptas the guard all night. Before the sun of a new day broke through the heavens, the Alexandria Operatives were back on their feet making their way farther north. The sun had found a prominent place in the sky before their silence was broken.
"There are several unidentified objects closing in on your position," said Trip in its light female voice.
"Not like any other programmed combatants," asked Bors.
"Negative, the radiation level exceeds five times the amount of feral ghouls," replied the machine to give a scale estimate, "objects are nearly comparable in size and structure."
Schieber and Bors looked at each other and started to move forward, "how many and announce distance, Trip," ordered Schieber as he and Bors began to pick up pace.
They kept moving north running as fast as their armor would allow, "thirty units that are a hundred yards and closing the distance."
"Thirty, how can there be thirty?" Questioned Knight Bors as the Operatives kept on running to the north.
"I think I see some ruins a head," called out Schieber.
"Ruin is twenty yards ahead," replied the robot, "hostile units are seventy yards and closing the distance."
"How the hell can they close in that fast," asked Schieber to no one in particular.
"You have reached the ruins," replied Trip a few minutes later, "hostile unites are fifty yards out and closing distance."
Knight Bors turned on his head lamp and quickly searched the ruins in first glance to luckily find a service entrance door; he kicked it with all his and the suit's strength but it didn't budge, "Trip, get that door open, now!"
The robot used its precision laser to cut through the lock, "twenty yards and closing distance."
The door opened as the robot and Operatives went inside the dark service tunnel, "seal the entrance, Trip."
The flamethrower was concentrated to melt the metal of the door to its frame. Schieber turned on his head lamp like Bors to see the tunnel they had entered. Quin sighed as he thought to himself, more sewers. Trip was almost done sealing the door when the pounding began against the metal door. Along with the pounding noise, scratches could be heard like nails on the metal.
"What the fuck were those," asked Schieber as he looked to Bors.
The pounding on the door continued to the annoyance of Bros, "shut up, will yah," he yelled at the door, "I dunno kid, lets see where the hell we are first."
"I'm getting really sick of these underground tunnels," commented Schieber as they waited for Trip to finish sealing the door and ordered the robot to take point.
The tunnel led downward, water still collecting in it just as it had two hundred years earlier. Trip led the way in front of the Operatives, in stealth mode the beams of light occasionally showed the distortion of the robot. The water was calf high and made a sloshing noise as the Operatives moved forward. The twin beams of light from their head lamps bobbed up and down as Schieber and Bors moved forward.
Trip reported into Bors and Schieber, "two humans, no advanced armor, small arms at sixty yards out."
Turning to each other, the Operatives made certain their weapons were at the ready. They proceeded in a split formation taking equal strides down the tunnel with Trip leading the way. Trip warned that their head lamps would be noticeable at twenty-five yards. The Operatives kept the robot to the front to act as a bullet sponge.
There was a bright light at the end of the tunnel and it began to become larger the close Knight Bors and Operative Schieber got farther down the tunnel. The outline of the two men in the bright light showed their position to as sitting down and not at the ready. As the Operatives moved closer, the noise from the armor boots sloshing in the water alerted the guards to their presence. A large spot light was turned on and shown down the tunnel to illuminate the two members from the Brotherhood of Steel. Any idea of a surprise attack was gone.
"You lost, Brotherhood," asked a guard in some mercenary armor.
"Must be if they is using the sewer tunnels," answered the other guard with similar armor on.
"Shut it, Trapper," snarled the first guard, "and you lot, hand over those pretty laser rifles."
"Like hell we will," answered Bors as he made his barrel align with the raider's chest about to give an order to Trip.
"You have no room to discuss this," the guard flipped a switch and two mark three turrets appeared from them hatches in the ceiling.
Schieber made certain his internal communication unit was on but not his helmet speaker, "Trip, why didn't you tell us about the turrets?"
"Operative Schieber," the robot responded through its internal comm. unit, "the switch activated the power source for the turrets; they were not activated and not detectable."
"Remain in stealth mode and untraceable, Trip," ordered Schieber as he looked to Bors.
The Knight sighed and lowered his laser rifle knowing they were in a bad situation, "just where the hell are we?"
"Welcome to Paradise Falls, steel heads," the guard said as the other raider, Trapper, collected the laser rifles from the Operatives, "we hope you'll enjoy your stay."
The guards smiled sinisterly showing their black rotten teeth, Trapper pulled the laser rifle from Schieber's hands with force. Despite wearing some of the most advanced armor in the world, Quin felt incredibly naked. There would be only two outcomes from being at Paradise Falls: bad and worse. He hung his head as he followed the guards, who pointed his own weapon at him, his only thoughts were now of his family back in Drayden. If only they could see where I ended up, he thought cynically in his head, how ironic for a Schieber to end up at Paradise Falls.
A/N: I would like to apologize for how long it took me to write this chapter. I hope this has not dissuaded anyone from reading, but I will try to get back on schedule with quick chapter updates. Thank you once again for reading. I hope you will take the time to review. This chapter has not been beta-read.