Chapter 10:

The High Roller

Sorry it took so long to update folks. To clarify from the previous chapter, the Raul you met wasn't the same Raul you had seen in New Vegas. Just wanted to clarify that to any one who may have been freaking out of a beloved sarcastic ghoul going bad. Remember, Raul was probably still in Mexico at this point, not Sacramento. I've been busy the past few days. I wanted to announce I have a current competition going on. For all of you beautiful people who want to try, feel free to submit a character spreadsheet either through PM or review, etc to me. We're looking for a new companion. If you are interested in contributing one, I'll need to know their name, background, specialties, equipment, skill set, and other miscellaneous knowledge. If I feel a character is too overpowered or too mary-sueish, then that character will be shot down. Any way, I shouldn't be all to busy the next few days, so expect my schedule of a chapter every two or three days to resume. Anywho, carry on!

A gunshot rang out in the darkness. Johnson hadn't made nearly the time he had wanted to, but at last he was finally nearing what he had hoped was Reno. It was a lot smaller than he thought the former capitol of Nevada should have been, but nevertheless, he was still eagerly anticipating any people that might be inside. It had taken four days to get from Sacramento to here, and the sky was dark with the moon nowhere to be found. The wastes were beset by blackness which encompassed the desert sands like a tarp. Ahead of him, street lights beckoned as a beacon of hope. There was a crossroads, the black pavement relatively dirt free compared to the rest of the roads that Johnson had traveled. He walked towards it, but saw dark figures sulking in and out of some objects he could not identify from this distance. Deciding that caution was always preferable to a charge, Johnson pulled out his rifle, and crouched to minimize chances of detection. He steered clear of the open road, deciding that the lights would easily indicate where he was, and his boots on the pavement would broadcast his presence. He slowly moved forward.

Yelling could be heard, and Johnson finally realized where he was and what these objects were. He was in a graveyard, and the strange objects were tombstones. God, there were a lot of them at that. Johnson took cover behind an unmarked tombstone, and peered over to see if he could get a good view of the figures. There were approximately twenty or so people. Four were hunched over, two children and two adults. The rest were wearing dark clothing and what appeared to be some form of hat. Johnson chose not to pay attention to that detail, but rather the weapons that were in their hands. One held a revolver, from the looks of it, it was a large Smith and Wesson. They were murmuring something about a priest or something of that nature. Johnson did hear a definite word, however.

"FUCK YOU!" the man on the ground yelled and began to stand. His outburst was then retorted with a different outburst, this one being from the revolver. It spat lead into the skull of the man who slumped over and disappeared. The revolver then turned to the woman who was frantic, as the person she had once sat next to had been blown away. There was more speaking. This time, it was the gunman who spoke loudly. He waved the pistol back and forth between the woman and the smaller figures. This triggered more speaking from the woman which was far from calm. Johnson wanted to do something, his conscientious urged him forward. However, the discipline in Johnson had him remain there. He realized that with the large number of people he would quickly be overwhelmed, and that his mission was far more important than what was happening here. He maintained his position, and still remained listening. Once again, however, he heard another loud bang as the weapon fired off a second time, then a third time. He then began to yell again. Johnson, with an unknown urge, and an animalistic fury poked his head above the tombstone one more time. This time however, he pulled his rifle up as well. He tapped the scope, and night optics took hold, diminishing the darkness with a green glow. Johnson could now see how many exactly there were, and although he was almost certain that he'd get overrun if he got into a gun fight, he sighted the first guy and pulled the trigger.

Johnny's revolver flew as the first bullet hit the man in the arm, the second pierced the leg, and the final one decapitated him. The others began to look around for what the hell just happened. The devil let loose another burst from the darkness. This one was in quicker succession, a burst of four rounds easily cut the Ronny down. His blood splattered on Guy who was unfortunate enough to stand behind him.

"What in the hell?" Ramos began to state as he was then cut down as well. Salvador finally was able to home in on the rounds, a dark shadow clung to some tombstones in the far side of the cemetery. Although he himself couldn't be directly seen, the muzzle flashes illuminated the foreboding skies.

"Dios mio!" Salvador called out. He dove into a nearby shallow grave as rounds tore into where he once stood.

"I'M GETTING THE HELL OUTTA HERE!" one of the other lackeys shouted as he turned to run. The final five followed him. The shots were now ringing out in single succession. Those who had fled were now being cut down methodically. From the front of the group to the rear, each began to meet a bullet to the back of the head. When the shooter got to Rodriguez, he no longer fired and Rodriguez quickly disappeared toward the city. Salvador was baffled. He hadn't seen such disciplined and accurate shooting in quite a while. Salvador wanted to poke his head up, but he knew what would happen when he did. Instead, he simply lie there in the ditch, unmoving.

Johnson scanned the surroundings, looking to assess the area and see if any of the scum were still around. They had unfortunately all scattered like dust in the wind. He saw a single figure still kneeling next to the large grave. It was surrounded by about five or six dead bodies of various size and appearance. Johnson emerged from cover, but still did not stand completely up. He slowly crouch walked in that direction, avoiding the light of the streets and taking care to make sure that he avoided making more noise than what was completely necessary. He skulked toward the point of interest, and shortly before getting there, he took cover once again behind a tombstone. He scanned the terrain with his scope, akin to that of a hyena about to approach a lion's abandoned kill. He got up to the mass of bodies and he saw a young girl. She couldn't have been older than eight or nine. She had her young face covered in blood, but she was still breathing. Johnson was relieved that she wasn't the one who had been hit. Johnson looked around her, and saw that her mother, father, and older sister all were dead. Unlike the parents, the sister was...different. She lacked any sign of bodily damage on her. Johnson rolled the cadaver over onto her back, and realized what it was. She hadn't been hit in front, rather the back of the head. The entire skull cavity had oozed out once Johnson had rolled her over. He realized that the .357 that the suit man had wielded couldn't cause that amount of damage. He then made the realization that none of the other corpses had fire arms on them. Just a combination of switch blades, ice picks, and a few lead pipes. Johnson sat in horror as her fate had slowly come to fruition in his mind. Fancy pants hadn't shot her, but as she turned to flee, in the heat of the moment Johnson must of sighted her as a fleeing combatant and put her down.

I am trained to prevent this damn it! Collateral damage is NEVER okay. It is unavoidable, but this is a case where it SHOULDN'T have happened. I need only time my shots...keep getting the blood from getting to his head. I'm a Ranger for pete's sake! This is the second time this has happened.

Johnson's thought was interrupted by a voice.

"Such precision does not come naturally around here. And that rifle, who are you?" a voice asked. Johnson spun around, bringing his weapon to bear. "A bellum omnium in omnes I see. Nothing wrong with that, and no one is judging here."

"Who exactly are you?" Johnson asked the strange man who climbed out of the ditch. He was not dressed in the fancy attire of the others. Instead, he wore what appeared to be simple clothing. The clothing was extremely dark, but the fabric did not seem to be what Johnson would expect in post apocalyptic America. It was still for the large part, largely cotton and polymers. The texture appeared to be that of pre-war under armor, or a track suit. Despite the texture, it yielded many pockets, the majority of which were filled with who knows what.

"Hmm. I suppose you may call me...Edward. Edward Jenner at your service," the man stated. He held out his hand. Johnson shook his head.

"Okay, so who the hell are you really, and who the hell are these goons?" Johnson bore into him with eyes of menace.

"You do not intimidate me mister. Nevertheless, I will answer your questions. I am really Edward Jenner, and I represent a group known as...the Salvatores. The men you encountered were the Castrucci, we've been meaning to deal with them for a while. I was implanted as a way to obtain information for the eventual strike," Jenner stated, he pulled a pair of shades from his pocket and put them on. His eyes were completely gone, lost within the dark glass of his sunglasses. Odd considering that it was probably nearing midnight, and the few lights were illuminating the streets. Johnson turned to look at the girl who was blindfolded and still shaking. Her arms and legs were both bound and she could not move either of them. Johnson pulled off the blindfold, and took out his knife. Her eyes went wide as he approached her with it. Instead of cutting her, she was surprised when he instead cut the rope that clung so tightly to her skin.

"Hi there, my name is Eric and I-" Johnson started. The girl started to cry. "just...rescued...you..." Johnson slowly finished. The girl kept looking at what Johnson had assumed was her father, then her mother. Finally her sister. "Listen, I'm a part of the army, I'm here to help you. What's your name? Can you tell me your name?" Johnson asked kindly. She looked at him, then looked away. She shook her head and said nothing. Johnson shrugged and let out a quiet exasperated sigh.

"You seem to have a very unique set of skills likely acquired during a long career." Jenner once again added, nodding slightly at Johnson. Jenner then beckoned to him. "Perhaps you can be of use after all."

"I'm not some sort of lackey, now if you don't mind..." Johnson stated as he began to leave.

"Ah yes, but you do want to help me defeat those who killed her parents don't you? Besides, if you scratch my back, maybe I can scratch yours in the future."

"Fine, but the moment this is over, I'm leaving. I can't afford to stay bogged down for a while. I need to keep heading East. I have a job to do."

"Courier?"

"No. Warrior."

"I see." Jenner began to leave, and Johnson followed in pursuit. As they walked, they came upon a strange sight. A large sign faced them: RENO: THE BIGGEST LITTLE CITY IN THE WORLD." The landscape was pocket marked with scorches from atomic weapons, but for the most part, the town was still largely intact. Oddly enough also, the place had power. That was not something that Johnson had been prepared for. After all, when America is disintegrated into tiny ash, there isn't much room for electricity. Various neon lights illuminated various casinos and bars. People freely sulked in the streets. The entire time while within them, Johnson felt as though every movement he made was being carefully assessed and calculated. Needless to say, his hand was near his holster the entire time. As they were walking down the main street, they approached an intact casino. While not as large or as glamorous as the Las Vegas casinos that likely inspired it, it was still a strange sight within the new America. "Welcome to my little corner of paradise, the den of sin known only as Mictlan. I am but a humble servant, a loyal compatriot to my masters, we have something we hope you may be able to help us with."

Here we go again... Johnson thought. God knows how long it was going to take to make it to the East Coast. Especially at this pace. "I really should just be..."Johnson started.

"Nonsense! Come! Have a drink! Sleep in a room, relax friend." Jenner nudged him. Johnson was thrown off by this. Such speakings seemed to be illuminated by the devil, the scenery was appropriate with various forms of light-bulbed fire. Some strippers flowed around poles, and there was a bartender with a cabinet made of various forms of liquor. The cabinet itself was made of broken bottles of booze, and inside it housed what else but more booze? Johnson yawned, he realized that the least he could do would bunk down here. However, his gut kept gnawing at him, it reminded him to avoid the bottle. He had to treat this as though it was simply one extremely large and extensive combat operation in an unknown territory. There were 99 different ways for Johnson to get killed out there, but he'd be damned if a bitch would be one. Johnson studied the new environment, then once again looked to Jenner.

"Alright, fine, I'll stay the night. Where is my room?" He asked. Jenner smirked and shook his head.

"Now now, where are your manners? You need to check in at the front desk like any good old customer, but this one will be courtesy of the house."

"Don't bullshit me, the saying the house always collects exists for a reason."

"All will be explained in due time, child, in due time. Go get your beauty sleep." Jenner nodded at the front desk then walked away. Johnson was left with nothing more than his thoughts, a rifle, and a sidearm. As Jenner turned to walk, he nudged into Johnson and dropped a note. The note gracefully fell to the floor and lie there, expecting Johnson to pick it up. He did such, and uncrumpled it. On the front, it stated, "VIP: Luxury Suite, three nights -B" On the back, it said in hastily scribbled writing Your room, eight o'clock. Johnson pondered over whom B was, and what was to happen at eight. He showed the front of the note to the man working the desk. The man was put off by a stranger clad in armor and who wielded enough weaponry to tackle the guards of the building. He gave Johnson the key any way, then gestured toward the staircase on his right.

"Go up three floors, the room is the first door on the right," again the man resumed his uninterested pose. Johnson gave a quick nod, then hurried up the stairs. When he reached the room, he fumbled with the key for a second trying to get it in the lock. His hand was trembling. Using his other hand, he steadied himself and put the key in the lock and opened the door. He pushed the door open, and was greeted with what someone might expect from a more luxurious pre-war hotel room. A king sized bed sat in the middle of the room. There was a television sitting on the dresser towards the foot of the bed. Oddly enough, Johnson doubted that he would be able to find any good TV stations. To the left of the dresser, close to Johnson there was a mini-fridge. This would no doubt be stocked with overpriced hors d'oeuvres. To the right, there was a bathroom, and Johnson could only imagine what horrors could fester with a fifty year head start. Walked into the room and studied his surroundings very carefully. If there was a trap, or a trick, he was going to find it now, and not two in the morning when a grenade goes off for seemingly no reason. He saw nothing in the room, nor hidden anywhere that would throw him off. Satisfied, he slung his rifle against the wall. He removed the magazine, put the rifle on safety, and left it there. He was not going to sleep in that bed. If someone were to come in the room, the first place they would check would likely be the bed. Instead, Johnson decided that he would occupy the bathtub. He grabbed a pillow and blanket and fashioned a rudimentary nest inside of the tub. He then took some extra pillows and fluffed them up. He stuffed them into the bed, making sure to carefully hide them underneath the comforter. Johnson hoped that whoever would enter the room would be delayed enough by this deception, that he could then get the jump on the attacker and take him down instead. He could then get the hell out of dodge, and continue on his merry way. Johnson put his side arm on safe, and put it carefully behind the toilet. The toilet was within arms distance of the tub, and if someone were to come in, the weapon would be concealed, but still close enough to be dependable in a do or die situation.

Johnson reminded himself that he was going to wake up at 7:30 in the morning to get ready for whatever Gook is going to come into his room. There were no clocks left in this world, but being able to wake up before a specific time is a natural ability for any one who has had to take such significant special forces training. He wondered what Jenner guy had to offer, and what the hell was going on in this town. Who were the people who were shot in the cemetery? Who were the shooters? Why the hell did he care? Johnson hoped that all of these questions would be answered as he drifted to sleep.

The night passed with little activity. Johnson had half expected to be plagued by a nightmare, or a memory as he had so many other times during this personal hell. Secretly, he desired a nightmare or a dream, no matter how terrifying or remorseful. Even the worst of dreams still reminded Johnson of a time before the war, a time before man killed man for the sake of a gallon of gas. Johnson thought of home, and was burdened by the thought that he may never see his family again. He knew that the odds of anything surviving such devastation was slim, at best. Nuclear fire had brought out the worst in humanity. If the bombs, the radiation, or the plague didn't kill you, it was the abominations that surrounded the country side now that did. The dehydration as the water that had once been taken for granted and had scattered throughout the world had either dried up, or become so irradiated that you internally cooked every time you drank it. Food that, if it hadn't already spoiled, was also so incredibly dried up and irradiated that it would pain you to simply eat it. As Johnson's other senses began to wake up as well, he slowly shifted around in his bath tub fortress. Getting a feel for his limbs once again, he reached for his weapon and made sure to load it. He kept it ready as he peered around the corner into the rest of the room. It was still empty. Johnson was honestly a bit disappointed. He had expected at least something shifty to have happened during the night. Perhaps it was the lack of shady activity that was the thing that actually made him nervous. Johnson walked to where he had left his rifle, and found it exactly where he left it. He grabbed it as well and loaded it, but slung it over his back. He then turned and pulled up one of the chairs that had been placed in the room. He faced it towards the door, and sat down. He was now playing the waiting game. Whatever was about to throw down might as well go now.

As he waited, eventually, there was a knock. Johnson, however had already unlocked the door and told whoever was on the other side to come in. The door opened a with a creak and Jenner entered the room and sat on the bed.

"Alright, it's time I asked you. Was the Only Easy Day Yesterday? Or did you Lead the Way?"

"I always Lead the Way," Johnson stated.

"Excellent. Good to hear from you Staff Sergeant." Jenner stated. Johnson smiled. "Let's get to work, shall we?"

Beautiful people, I am dreadfully sorry that this chapter took so long. It's been over a week and I greatly apologize for the delay. Unfortunately, life briefly caught up to me so I had to pretend that I have a life. I should be able to resume my standard schedule of chapter postings immediately. You can expect another chapter either tomorrow night or Sunday. Again, there were quite a few references in this chapter like there are in all of my chapters. If you can find all the ones that I have sprinkled around, then bravo for you. Please remember the character creation challenge I stated in the beginning. Format should essentially be something like:

Name:

Gender:
S.P.E.C.I.A.L skills: (Don't give me numerical values, just a basic summary.)

Skills/Abilities:

Bio:

Welcome to the crime infested lair of sleaze known as New Reno beautiful people. There are many predators roaming these waters if you don't play your cards right. The beautiful Golgatha outside is able to accommodate many people every year. For those of you who played the pre-Bethesda Fallouts, I'm sure you'll recognize many of the familiar names and locations that are bound to appear. For those of you who joined on during Fallout 3 or New Vegas such as myself, I will be sure to give enough background and explanation so you don't just sit their thinking "wut dafuq?'" As always, reviews, favorites, etc are greatly appreciated. I will see all of you beautiful people later. Don't lick any play sets, and peace out home-slices.