The Third Rail was unlike any other bar in the Commonwealth. For starters, the bartender, Whitechapel Charlie, was a foul mouthed Mr. Handy, whom the customers didn't seem all too bothered by. In fact some people seemed to enjoy having it mouth off to them.
Second, the Third Rail had live music, in the form of a beautiful woman, with black hair and a tight red dress, by the name of Magnolia. Luna couldn't be sure of her last name, no one seemed to know what it was; not that it truly mattered. Last names were an Old World thing, used to keep track of lineage.
Luna swiveled away from Magnolia crooning onstage, so she was sitting properly at the bar. She took a swig of her beer, grimacing at the warm, and stale, flat flavour. The only reason she kept drinking it was in order to get a nice buzz going, and that was something the beer was still good for.
Anger welled up inside Luna, anger at herself mostly. How could she have let her wounds get so bad that she fainted? Fainted! I might as well have swooned at Charon's feet just from looking at him...oh wait, I almost did. What is wrong with me?! He probably thinks I'm so pathetic and weak that I can't take care of myself.
Luna shook her head in disappointment, and finished her beer. Slamming the empty bottle on the counter, Luna decided it was time to leave. She bought a bottle of whiskey for the road, and turned around in her seat only to be greeted with the sight of two Gunners coming down the stairs at the back of the room. They stopped to talk to a group of wastelanders, and thankfully hadn't seen her yet. Luna slipped from her squeaky seat and tried to silently creep away. The only possible place for her to hide was to her left. There was a hallway along the far end of the wall, near the back of the room, that hopefully led to an emergency exit. A wooden sign hung above the doorway read 'VIP'. Luna prayed to whatever God still existed that the red glow in the hall was from an exit sign.
To Luna's extreme disappointment, the hallway veered to the right and ended in a room. She nearly tripped over her own feet at the unexpected sight of a man, pouring himself a drink, in the room. He was sitting in what appeared to be an anitque red chair, or perhaps it was brown. Luna couldn't discern the colour due to the red lighting. Not that it really mattered.
He looked up, curiosity flashed across his face before he registered her appearance. Tattered clothes, tattoos, blood, dirt, and grime on her face and arms, and the gun on her hip.
"If you're looking for the best sniper in the 'Wealth, that's me. And if you're looking for a hired gun it's two hundred and fifty caps for my services." He placed the bottle of bourban on the table next to him before sipping from his glass.
"I need to hide. Help me and I'll pay you whatever you want. I need to get out of here fast though!" Luna was nearly on her knees begging this man for help.
"Woah, woah, who's after you? And how much do you have on you right now?"
Luna patted the pockets on her pants, then her chest, and ended in pulling her backpack off and throwing it at his feet.
"Here! Take everything I have. The caps are in a side pocket somewhere. You can sell whatever's in there too, just hide me!" Her voice raised an octave, fear causing her skin to grow cold and clammy.
The merc glanced down at her bag and pushed it to the side with his booted foot, "Uhm, well you didn't tell me who you were trying to hide from yet, but I guess you can try to hide behind or under that couch there." Luna followed the direction of his hand, her hopes falling, but she was just desperate enough to try anything at this point. She scrambled over to the couch and pushed it away from the wall, glancing around for anything else she could use.
"I'm MacCready, by the way."
"Luna." She huffed in reply, the couch being heavier than it looked. Luna got down on her hands and knees, and shimmied in behind the couch, trying to take up as little space as possible, and make the couch look as natural as possible while it sat pushed away from the wall a little. MacCready came over to help her by pushing the couch closer to the wall and effectively trapping her back flat against the wall while she tried to support her weight on one arm and her left knee. It was the most awkward, uncomfortable position she had ever been in.
MacCready stooped to grab her bag, and hefted it onto the couch. As he turned away to, resume drinking, two Gunners strode into the room. They eyeballed everything, as though they were checking for hidden enemies, weapons, or escaped prisoners.
"Robert Joseph MacCready." One of the Gunners said, it was almost a greeting, but sounded too hostile. Perhaps they knew each other? That would certainly explain how the man knew MacCready's full name.
"Winlock. Barnes." MacCready bit back, sinking into his antique chair and gulping his bourban. He grabbed the bottle and untwisted the top, pouring himself another drink. This time the glass was full, nearly to the brim.
"Can't say I'm surprised to find you in a dump like this one." Sneered Winlock.
MacCready didn't waver under the Gunners' heavy stare. "I was wondering how long it would take your blood hounds to track me down, Winlock. It's been almost three months...don't tell me you're getting rusty." There was mock concern in MacCready's words. He raised his glass for another sip, feigning comfort and confidence in his own territory. "Should we take this outside?" He continued, before Winlock or Barnes could interject.
"It ain't like that. I'm just here to deliver a message." Snapped Winlock. His fingers itched to pull out his gun and blow MacCready's head clean off. Or maybe use his combat knife to do the job. Same result, more blood, more personal.
MacCready stood up now, bourban sloshed from the glass, his anger flaring red hot, "In case you forgot, I left the Gunners. For good."
"Yeah, I heard." Oh, yes. Winlock would enjoy using his knife on MacCready. "But you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth, and that isn't going to work for us."
MacCready couldn't contain his anger any longer, Winlock thinks he could just walk up in here and mess with him, on his own turf, and mess with his business? Hell no. "I don't take orders from you, not anymore. So why don't you take your girlfriend, and walk out of here while you still can."
Barnes seemed to finally find his voice, "What! Winlock, tell me we don't have to listen to this shit!"
Winlock raised his hand to silence his partner, "Listen up, MacCready. The only reason we haven't filled your body with bullets yet, is because we don't want a war with Goodneighbor." Winlock took a step towards MacCready, getting in his personal space. Just as he hoped, MacCready took a step backwards, the backs of his knees bumped into the antique chair, resulting in MacCready falling back into it. Winlock would look back on this small victory and smile at it, for a very long time. Continuing his speech, and glaring down at MacCready with a hint of a sadistic smile, Winlock said, "See, we respect other people's boundaries...we know how to play the game. It's something you never learned."
"Glad to have disappointed you."
"You can play tough all you want, but if we hear you're still operating within Gunner territory all bets are off. You got that?" Winlock jabbed a calloused finger in MacCready's face, further invading his personal space.
MacCready scowled, "You finished?"
"Yeah... We're finished. Come on, Barnes."
With that, they turned and walked out, not turning to check if MacCready had pulled a gun on them. They knew he wouldn't, if he wanted to live out the rest of his days in relative peace.
MacCready continued to scowl, and gulped down his drink. Already picking up the half empty bottle and pouring himself another full glass. After a few tense minutes, and the fact that he had nearly forgotten his hidden fugitive, he grumbled, "You can come out now, they're gone."
"This might seem stupid to ask, but, should I be hiding from you too?" Came Luna's muffled question. MacCready sighed, then stood up and ambled over to the couch, pulling it away from the wall and freeing the girl.
"No. I'm not a Gunner anymore. Besides, why were you hiding from them? You know, aside from the usual problems people are wanted by the Gunners for."
Luna stood back up, with a little trouble. Her muscles were sore and stiff from holding such an uncomfortable and awkward position for so long. She dusted off her hands and knees, taking her time to find the right words, and answer his question.
"A few days ago, I was captured by the Gunners. They wanted to give me to their head honcho as a gift, or a prize, or something. They didn't say exactly what for, just that I was 'his type'." Luna almost choked on the phrase. She knew what it meant, Luna was no stranger to the concept of sex. Though she had never had sex, for fear of contracting some incurable, terminal disease, she was well aware of it. Her parents had diligently taught her about how babies were made, consent, safe sex, and the signs to look out for in a potential partner - to make sure they were healthy and not carrying any sexually transmitted diseases. That didn't mean she didn't get riteously horny sometimes, she was human after all, and in the peek, of what her parents would call 'her fertile years'. Of course, that didn't mean she wanted to be some goon's trophy, sex toy. Just thinking about his unwashed, possibly diseased genitals, made Luna want to hurl. Which reminded her, Luna had not eaten in at least two days, maybe more. And, as if she needed another reminder, Luna's stomach began cramping and growling horribly, making her feel downright sick.
MacCready blew out a puff of air, "That's...that's messed up. But you know what?" He took a sip of his bourban, "That guy is a crazy son of a bitch. I've heard some terrible stories about what he puts his girls through. He even convinced his men that Jet-heads, chem users, could be cleaned up and make good cannon fodder. They ate that shit up, too." MacCready put his glass on the table to his left, then pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and lit one. "The Gunners are crazy motherfuckers, and I'm glad I got out when I did."
Luna sat on the couch that she had hidden behind, finding a chance to rest and gather information on the people who wanted her. "Why did you join them in the first place?" She asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
Blowing a smoke circle, MacCready didn't miss a beat, "The money." Shame flashed in his eyes briefly, before being replaced with sadness. Luna realized that this was a more sensitive subject then it seemed. She decided to change the it, so as not to piss him off.
"So you're for hire, then?"
MacCready snorted a laugh and then answered, "Not anymore, doll." Luna's face screwed up in confusion, and then slowly, anger. I gave him all my shit. What the fuck?
"I work for you now. You already paid me."
Luna wanted to wipe the smug look from his face, and she wanted to do it with her fist. But, she had to admit that she had a heady rush of relief, knowing that she would have some form of protection and companionship in the Wastes.
A pang of guilt stabbed in her heart, at the thought of having left Private Tyler behind. He had helped her escape the Gunners, and had sort of been her companion in the first place, and she abandoned him in a fit of misplaced rage. Maybe there was still time to go back to find him, to thank him for sticking his neck out for her. Would he still be waiting for her in the same place, or would he have already moved on without her? It had certainly been a number of days since she left him behind. Perhaps Luna would find her dog, Sam, as well.
With renewed vigor, and enthusiasm, Luna stood up and said, "We better get a move on then. I have someone I need to find.", then turned and began heading for the exit with MacCready in tow.
