Author's Note: Thanks to SundayWinterChild for her continued effort in editing these. Also thanks to Forfie for key insight in certain issues.
In other news, a mouse has taken up residence in my apartment. Alarmingly, he's demonstrating a level of shrewdness similar to a certain rodent character in this story. I have mixed feelings about this. .
So it has been throughout the years.
We feared disease. We feared ruin. We feared war. We feared our enemies.
We fear the atomic bomb and yet we embraced it.
Too late we learned that we should have feared the darkness within ourselves.
Sven was busy wiring up another explosive in the shop at Albany. A pile of finished if clearly improvised looking bombs was sitting next to him. The Regulators who came through to replenish their supplies from him tried to ignore the fact that they did look haphazard and their maker had a questionable grasp on reality. They tried to focus more on the fact that there were no other bombs in the area that worked quite as effectively.
Sven looked over when he saw the door swing open. He recognized it as Cindy's silhouette through the doorway. It became immediately apparent that something was wrong. She was slouching, her shoulders hung. Sven did not say anything. He never considered himself to be a man of many words and he brought a different meaning to the term "psychobabble."
However, he could not help his own countenance from falling when he noticed the new patch on Cindy's eye. Cindy simply slumped at his desk and sulked, staring into oblivion. Sven bent down to glance at her.
"That's not…is it permanent?" Sven asked cautiously, motioning to the eye patch.
Cindy forlornly nodded. A lost eye usually meant the end of a Regulator's field career after they hit a certain age. Francis' philosophy was that it was better to keep his veteran Regulators who became injured alive and teaching newbies the techniques they learned rather than keeping compromised experts in the field. They were worth more alive and teaching others than they were out in the wastes with a higher probability getting killed.
"…Are you…will you only be able to make explosives now?" Sven asked.
Cindy did not even reply to that.
Sven fidgeted a bit and became restless. He looked around, as if trying to find something from the shop that might help him but he realized all his usual tactics just could not help. Cindy and he differed on their policies of fire. Fire was the glory of Sven's existence. Cindy was terrified of it from a bad experience back in her raider days. They only agreed on explosions.
Cindy continued to sulk while Sven continued to fidget before finally wringing his hands. She felt bad as she knew he was trying to think of some way to help and frankly, there was no way she was getting her eye back. He could not fix that. Julia had even told her that the Commonwealth had not developed such prosthetics yet.
She looked up in shock when she felt something most press on her lips.
"…Did…you just kiss me?" Cindy asked quietly.
"I…uh…I…erm…look, I thought it…might help. Fire does not help you, heaven's knows why…figured the explosions part wouldn't help as I assume that's how you lost your eye. Uh…I ran out of options." Sven blathered mindlessly.
He was a bit surprised when he found Cindy weeping on his shoulder and nearly squeezing the life out of him.
"I'm…really glad…you understand…Sven."
Perhaps some Brotherhood of Steel members would grudgingly admit that it was still the Enclave that held most of the power in the wastes. Sure, they may have been divided and spread out but they still possessed the best technology and were still manufacturing high level equipment despite the global situation. Lowell Vanderbraun was one of the individuals who would readily agree that the Enclave still, if barely, held the highest bargaining chips and the irony was not lost on him considering the present state of the scene in front of him. Agent Delta Sierra was a lone man surrounded on all side by Brotherhood Knights and yet everyone hung on the words he spoke.
Elder Hail was the most concerned out of them all. He was a Paladin commanding the Iron Storm squad during the battle of Liberty Island. Never before had he seen so many men killed so quickly. The sight of the wounded and the blood pooling around the shores of the island still haunted his dreams. There were few veterans left of that battle still in the Brotherhood ranks, but only that unlucky few truly understood Delta Sierra's speech.
How could something be worse than Liberty Island?
The Enclave agent had requested to be shown a large map so that he could better explain what was going on. Elder Hail did not ask for anyone in particular to follow them but a collection of the senior scribes, Paladin Rufus, Knight Captain Fernando and even Lowell and Evelyn joined the Elder on his tails. Since the Brotherhood leader did not object they took it as a silent nod of approval. Delta Sierra did not even seem to care.
What was most concerning to Elder Hail was that the Enclave agent, as much as he seemed like he was trying to hide it, exuded franticness, an almost sort of contained panic. That was completely the opposite of the cocksure and composed Enclave operative he knew twenty years ago.
"You are fully aware that there is an increase in super mutant activity here in the city, right?" the agent asked, never once looking back at them but still striding hurriedly towards the large map on the wall.
"Yes. We were wondering about that ourselves." Elder Hail replied.
"That is due largely to a super mutant invasion that came out of former Connecticut." The agent answered, pointing to the eastern border of the former New York state. They let the agent continue his explanation.
"This invasion is of a different strain of super mutants who must have originated from some still undiscovered vault or facility in former Connecticut. Simply put, they are smarter than your average mutant." Delta Sierra admitted with a defeated shrug.
"I fail to see what makes this so alarming. Okay, so they're smarter. Does it really make that much of a difference?" Paladin Rufus asked skeptically.
The glare he earned from Delta Sierra would have peeled the marrow from bones.
"We're not talking the simple difference in IQ here. They use far more advanced tactics than your regular mutant out there. They communicate with each other more effectively and execute complex strategies on the battlefield. They even figured out how to use something as advanced as a fat man. Yes, you thought mutants wielding missile launchers were bad, wait till you see one using a fat man." Delta Sierra said, almost angrily.
"How do you know this? Have you seen these things in the field?" Elder Hail asked quietly.
"We lost one of our most heavily defended outposts in Connecticut. They blew the gates open with mini-nukes and most of our soldiers were ruthlessly slaughtered. The mutants hit the facility to capture equipment and supplies. Survivors were…infected to become mutants themselves. Your knight can vouch for me on that one." Delta Sierra pointed at Lowell.
"It's true. The agent saved us from a group of mutants who spoke rather well. They called themselves the New Human Effort and they offered to turn us into advanced mutants like them." Lowell explained for Elder Hail. Rufus however, we still clearly having problems.
"Wait. Why are you telling us all of this? This could be some complicated ploy used by the Enclave-"
"If we do not work together, New York City will fall and become the next bastion for Super Mutants. Those who are not killed will become abominations. Everything you have worked for will mean nothing and will be used to do more harm than good!" Delta Sierra shouted angrily.
"So why are you coming to us?" Rufus retorted.
"Paladin, keep quiet and let him finish." Elder Hail barked but was quickly drowned out by Delta Sierra's retort.
"The New England branch of the Enclave is spread out. We cannot marshal all our forces to launch a sufficient counter attack. We've been playing a guerilla war against them every step of the way they made towards the city. Our casualties have been bad enough. Alone, our forces cannot protect this city. We've worked together once before and we can do it again." The agent emphatically argued.
"And why is this city so important to you?" Lowell asked calmly.
The agent narrowed his eyes at him.
"Why do you all still insist that you're the only ones working to restore what is good in the world? Why do you think we let you keep Liberty Island? We don't have the man power to occupy it. It is better to let a bunch of wastelanders and idiot Brotherhood of Knights keep it instead of letting raiders or some other vermin slaughter each other for it." Delta Sierra spat.
"Point taken. I want all of you to keep silent and let me speak to the agent." Elder Hail said, relaying the order to his subordinates.
"I'm ready to talk if you are." Delta Sierra replied, standing akimbo.
"What's the plan? How do we stop this?" Elder Hail asked.
James and Sven left their rather uneventful stay at the hotel and bar in the city of Haven. Both Regulators took a moment to bask in the soft warmth of the dawn as they gathered their surroundings and the layout of the city. Quietly, both men were impressed. The people of the Hierarchy had Haven turned into a sustainable, if crude, living place. A rather large looking tank appeared to be the main water source and they guessed that it also doubled as the filtration system. Despite the lack of people, all the buildings suggested to the two Regulators that when the sun was further up, they would be in the middle of a busy city. Despite even the ravages of the post apocalypse, it was a safe bet to say that Haven had quite a bit of people.
They spotted what appeared to be a squad of soldiers marching in formation down the street. Most of them appeared to have all their combat armor in place, or at least as much as they could salvage and most of them carried assault rifles. James supposed that those who had their equipment out of place were tolerated as they needed every able bodied person.
"Excuse me, soldiers. May I ask a question?" James called, holding a finger out to tell them it would only take a second.
The squad of some ten men stopped and looked at him silently though their halt suggested they would indeed listen.
"I seek an audience with your leader. Where may I find him?" James asked. A few of the infantrymen chuckled in disbelief.
"And why might you want to see the Director? What makes you so important?" one of the soldiers asked, the designated spokesman.
"I'm one of the Liberators." James said firmly, learning the power of that title.
The soldiers immediately hushed up and looked at each other before fixing their gazes at him as if trying to burn his image into their minds. Was this the living, breathing form of that faraway legend they heard?
"Uh…the Director is at the Estate over there." The spokesman muttered.
"Thank you." James answered before he and Sven followed the proper direction. They did their best to ignore the blatant stares.
Carl and Adam marched somberly forward. They were flanked on all sides by heavily armed combatants, the very ones Carl saw before he cut off radio contact with James. Their armor was not lacking in creativity but there was no elegance to it at all. Salvaged from whatever hard material they could get their hands one in the wastes, they were the trademark handiwork of raiders.
The only reason that Carl and Adam were walking with them and not counted as prisoners was the fact that they were Liberators and their escorts were members of the Western Coalition.
The squad leader, a burly, muscular man with a scruffy face eyed them.
"You don't need to walk so stiffly. Sure, we're raiders but the boss says we can't be barbarians. That's why we're taking you with us. You say you want to talk to the boss, well then, you will talk to the boss." The leader grunted.
Adam and Carl did not respond.
"You think they're just going to shoot us in the back when we least suspect it?" Carl quietly whispered to Adam, bending down to speak into his ear.
"Just play it cool, Carl. We got this." Adam muttered back through the side of his mouth.
"We got this? I'm not sure what you're talking about, Adam. They got us surrounded and they have the advantage here. We don't have the jump on them anymore." Carl retorted.
"I said we got this, Carl." Adam reiterated through clenched teeth.
"Did you hit your head somewhere back there?" Carl asked in incredulous sarcasm.
"Just shut up Carl and go along with this." Adam grumbled.
"Fine." Carl grumped.
In truth, neither Regulator were sure where exactly they were, only that they were quite some distance west of the final stretch of the Mohawk. Somehow, in the middle of this barren wasteland, a band of raiders had managed to scratch a living into the desolate sand. It was actually quite jarring for Carl and Adam because it seemed one moment there was nothing but lifeless terrain and then out of nowhere dwellings started appearing as they were led along. First they saw dugouts and outposts of sorts, an outer ring of defense of the raider clans. Then they found dwellings of sheet metal and other light material, including animals skins, usually Brahmin in origin but there were a few that Adam was almost certain came from Deathclaws.
And here they were, bustling in the middle of a massive raider abode. It seemed oxymoronic but here was a civilization of raiders.
Carl was about to asks someone to pinch him as he must have been hallucinating but he decided it would not have been a good idea to upset their hosts. Sure, nearly ninety percent of the population in any settlement carried some sort of weapon these days but these denizens seemed a bit heavily armed, even for the standards of their time. Still, the people talked, did business and mingled just like other regular people in the wastes. Sure, their temperaments and manners were a bit more crude or barbaric but not overly so, not enough to shut down communication.
Either that or they just grew up being used to it.
"You have appealed to speak with the Warlord, so to our Warlord you shall speak." The group leader announced, leading Carl and Adam to a simple but spacious looking dwelling. It appeared to be a large tent made of heavy animal skins. The entrance itself was kept open though it was still a bit dim inside.
The group leader led the two Regulators to a single man inside. At first, the tent dweller had his back to them. The group leader opened his mouth so speak.
"Hail, Warlord Yeohart."
The man called Warlord Yeohart was probably just a little younger than the Liberators, perhaps in his mid-thirties. He had a muscular build with numerous faded scars crisscrossing his body. The armor he wore did not cover his whole body, something a bit comfortable with the sleeves ending at his biceps to keep him cool but did enough to pad his vitals. His facial hair could be better described as stubble than an actual beard. His countenance was firm. It did not exude any hostility or barbarism that might be expected of a raider leader.
It did not have any compassion on it either.
"These men…Regulators…have appealed to speak to me?" Yeohart asked his under leader.
"Yes, Warlord." The soldier replied.
"Regulators no less. This is indeed unique. I'm glad you brought them to me. Leave us, lieutenant. I will call you when needed."
Adam and Carl both fidgeted uncomfortably. They were alone now in Yeohart's pavilion, the most powerful man of what they had always heard was a raider's coalition. Simply put, Yeohart was not exactly what they had expected.
"We do not see many Regulators. The few we have seen were more inclined to shoot at my men. Now, two have appealed to speak to me. This is interesting. Very interesting." Yeohart said simply, crossing his arms in front of himself as he sized up Adam and Carl.
The Liberators did not reply.
"But you two…you both have the letter "L" on your sleeves…Are you…could you two be two of the Liberators? Is that what the L stands for?" Yeohart asked.
"Yep. We're two of them." Adam admitted. Carl hesitantly nodded.
"Well…this just keeps getting more intriguing. Now, I have been rude. You have appealed to speak to me with what I assume is a request and I have done all the talking. Now, it is your turn to talk." Yeohart welcomed, clearly excited that he was in the presence of living legends.
They simply needed to say that they were Liberators and that they wished to speak with the Director. That done, they could practically hear people bustling all through the Estate. James noticed different mannerism and procedures from the people in this place. He wondered if they were rather similar to the culture of the people before the bombs fell. Still, there was no way he could prove that. No one remembered what that looked like.
It did not matter. Soon, James and Sven were being escorted down a hall by two armed guards wearing combat armor and brandishing assault rifles. Eventually, they were led to a proud looking man who wore what must have been the uniform of a military officer during the pre-war days. It reminded the Regulators of the uniforms of the Enclave officers except this one was darker, more dark blue than tan.
"Are you the Director?" James asked, being brought to the man.
"No. My name is General Jason Omedea, commanding general of the Hierarchy forces." General Omedea announced. He had a regal stance and a very confident looking countenance. James silently grumbled to himself that the man reeked of arrogance. That and he had to be as young as his own children. There was no way someone as old as his son could have been made commanding general, when his own son, Lowell, was simply a Paladin by simply climbing ranks. This man was either really good or licked a few too many boots.
"And I'm told you two are Liberators." General Omedea said, quietly analyzing the older men before him. They looked like two old soldiers who had seen too many battles. They both seemed weathered and worn. The marksman obviously had lost his left arm, a well built prosthetic taking it place. Meanwhile, the explosives expert had not taken off his blast helmet and was breathing heavily into its attached filtration mask. Omedea mistakenly decided that either the man was quirky or he had some breathing issues. He could not have known that it was actually both.
"That's an Excelsior rifle you have there with a silencer attachment. That seems to be standard operating procedure for Regulators who carry that rifle." Omedea remarked, looking at James.
"Regulators who carry this rifle usually do not have a lot of teammates to cover them and some might flat out work alone. A silencer makes sure they stay hidden by not drawing attention to where they might be. It costs more but that investment can save their lives." James explained.
"Hierarchy forces would love to get their hands on those. What few rifles we do find or obtain are only given to the best marksmen with the most experience." Omedea replied.
James did not reply and simply nodded. He tried to hide the fact that he did not like the way Omedea said "obtained."
"Follow me. I will take you to the Director." Omedea finally announced.
The Hierarchy general led the two men further down the hall before leading them to a large, closed door. Despite the two centuries of age and the weight of time, the Liberators could still see the shadowed, polished beauty that the wood of the door once had. With no further ado, General Omedea opened the door and saluted a figure sitting at a large desk inside the room.
"Director, our visitors have arrived." The general announced while signaling the two men to walk in which they did.
Sven and James were surprised by what greeted them.
"Welcome. I am Director Catherine Omedea of the Hierarchy."
"So yes, I got a beautiful wife back home. Her name is Rachel. We also had our first child a couple months ago. Haha, I'm starting to miss, little Shiloh. Ah heck, I miss both of them." David said as they continued to trudge through the endless miles of dust, sand and more dust. Joseph, as usual, was striding in the lead in his constant, seemingly everlasting determined demeanor. David was in the center where he just suddenly started talking about half an hour ago about his life. A rather relieved Isaac was in the back, glad that someone was finally talking.
"Shiloh? Is Shiloh your child? I never heard of the name 'Shiloh.'"
"It means, 'Peace.' Similar to our greeting, 'Shalom.'" David explained.
"Ah." Isaac replied.
"Yes. She's an energetic little girl. I'm going to be very disappointed if this mission drags out long enough that I miss her taking her first steps." David said, almost worriedly.
"Ah, don't worrgoing to be very disappointed if this mission drags out long enough that I miss her taking her first steps." David said, almost worriedly.
"Ah, don't worry about that. I don't want this journey to last any longer than it has to be." Isaac reassured.
"Do you two ever stop talking?" Joseph muttered up front.
"What?" Isaac asked, staring in shock up front at Joseph's back. That was probably the first time they ever heard Joseph talk during the day without being prompted.
"You two have been talking so long. It's making a lot of noise." Joseph answered.
Isaac and David exchanged puzzled glances.
"Just don't talk so loudly. Or don't talk at all. That would be better." Joseph sighed.
"Why are you opposed to talking?" Isaac asked in bewilderment.
"I am not opposed to talking. Just not on the hunt." Joseph explained.
"On the hunt? We're hunting?" Isaac inquired.
"Of course. What did you think we were doing?" Joseph winged back.
"Um…walking!" Isaac retorted in exasperation.
"Hey guys, maybe we should all calm down." David tried to intervene, gesturing for everyone to cool their tempers.
"Of course we are walking but we need to keep silent on the hunt when we are walking. You never know what might be listening to us." Joseph hissed.
"We are fine. There is nothing that anyone could be hiding behind for miles around here. Have you seen this place? There aren't even tree hulls anymore." Isaac growled.
"You are hopeless." Joseph grumbled, stomping back in the lead.
Here was the moment they had been waiting for, trudged this many miles out in the middle of nowhere to deliver and all of a sudden, Adam found himself at a loss for what to say. Here stood before him Warlord Yeohart, someone Adam expected to be an obtuse, coarse and bloodthirsty barbarian. Instead, the warlord showed refined mannerisms. Sure, he had a gruff voice but that was probably from years of yelling.
"Warlord Yeohart…we're Regulators representing…well, the Regulators…" Adam fumbled. He mentally kicked himself. That was the worst opening he ever gave.
Yeohart did not even seem to notice. He just kept listening intently, with a smile even.
"Word has come to us of your conflict with the Hierarchy. It is endangering the caravan lines between the Commonwealth to the north and Albany as well as New York City to the south. We were hoping some sort of deal could be made that you and the Hierarchy could resolve your differences…or at least leave our caravans alone." Adam finally said.
Yeohart frowned by nodded diplomatically. He signaled for Carl and Adam to follow him as he left the tent. It appeared by his actions that he intended to give them a tour.
"I started far out to the west. It may have been further west than New York. Yes, I was a raider. I was always a raider. But I heard stories." Yeohart started, showing them the nomadic dwellings and the surprisingly bustling market life that his camp had. People were trading in common items that could be found throughout the wasteland. With caps too, not with fired bullets.
"What stories did you hear?" Adam asked.
"I heard stories of five Liberators who were brining life back to the place called New York City." Yeohart answered with a sly grin before continuing.
"I decided that if it only took four or five people, why not I, a gang leader, try my hand at creating something glorious? So I learned to read. Then I learned how to put theory into practice. Civil law, rules of economics, the revolving story of history, diplomacy, battle tactics. I read as much as I could and implemented as much as I could. Sure, all I had to work with were raiders but even raiders can be turned into an empire if you're clever enough. Where I couldn't buy out I shot out. I learned from history that fear and coercion can be great weapons but I also learned that you had to be fair. My people, though harsh, are still protected by rights. That is why anyone can appeal to me that I may hear their case. Even slaves are protected by basic liberties and can one day be free people again." Yeohart explained, motioning to a rather eerie, massive cage that housed a number of sorry looking and frightened slaves. Carl and Adam cast appalled glances but quickly hid them.
"I am impressed by your diplomacy, sir Liberator. Alas, the Hierarchy has not extended the same to us. They attack us on sight, trying to drive us away from the area of the Hudson river and deprive us of the caravans routes. They want the trading areas to themselves and claim that they are protecting the caravans from us 'brutal raiders' when they are in fact the ones that fired the first shot." Yeohart explained.
"Have you tried to communicate with them at all?" Adam asked.
"Yes. All have failed. Guns fired before we can even speak our minds." Yeohart replied with a shake of his head.
"I see." Adam murmured.
"Now that you have appealed to me, I ask that you go back to your Regulators and have them help me make war with the Hierarchy." Yeohart requested.
"Wait, what?" Adam sputtered with a gulp.
He could tell that he was already getting more than he bargained for. He was fairly certain that an equally shocked Carl was silently praying.
"Thank you for showing them in, General. You may take your leave." The Director Omedea stated. The General simply nodded and left gracefully. No one could tell what was going on under Sven's mask but it was obvious James was trying to pin down the connection between the Director and the General, considering his shifting eyebrows.
"He's my son. Yes, you may think that he has his rank through blood but he's actually very competent as a war leader. I would have had him removed from his office or found someone to replace him if he did not lead our forces to victory." Catherine Omedea explained.
"Ah. I was curious. Anyway, my name is James Vanderbraun and this is my comrade, Sven." James introduced.
"A pleasure to meet you. I must say…I'm stunned. Two actual, live Liberators are sitting in my office. I've only heard of you in the stories. Its…wow…" Catherine blathered.
Truth be told, she was a bit disappointed. Here she had heard stories of larger than life heroes who tore down slave towns, took on whole armies and rebuilt cities only to find them as…actual people. James seemed to be weathered with graying hair forming at the sides of his head, his left hand an obvious prosthetic. Meanwhile, Sven…still had his blast helmet on. For now Catherine quietly noted him as an eccentric but wondered if there might be more to him.
"So, I assume there is a matter of some importance that would you bring you all the way from where you were in southern New York to my office?" Director Catherine started.
"Yes. It is a matter of your conflict with the Western Coalition." James replied.
Sven simply breathed into his filter.
"Very well. I assume you are familiar with our ongoing conflict with them. What are you proposing? Would the Regulators like to help us drive those raiders back?" Catherine asked, frowning.
"Errr, no. We're more concerned with the fact that our caravans from New York City to the Commonwealth are getting caught in the crossfire. We would appreciate that the Hierarchy not bother the caravans in any way. Those caravans are vital to the survival of all the parties involved on the trade line. Your conflict with the Western Coalition and the disregard for neutral traders is causing some problems." James replied, shifting uncomfortably.
Sven breathed into his gas mask.
"I don't understand. You are Regulators yet your concern has more to do with the caravans rather than the Western Coalition, a nation of raiders?" Catherine asked curiously.
"We have a separate group of people handling the Western Coalition right now. Sven and myself were sent to speak with you." James explained.
"Very well. What if I were to tell you that most of the caravan attacks are the responsibility of the raiders? Our forces are not barbarians like our enemies." Catherine replied, showing that she was not happy with the implied accusation.
"All right, but perhaps a more permanent and better solution would be to negotiate a sort of peace with the Western Coalition?" James suggested.
"Ah, you should know better, yourself. You cannot negotiate peace with raiders. The only diplomacy they understand is hostile diplomacy, usually in the form of bullets. We have been fighting this war with the Western Coalition on and off for almost a decade. They represent a threat to our livelihood. In fact, you should probably be thanking us. Your Regulator State would have suffered from their attacks by now if it wasn't for us." Catherine replied.
Both James and Sven raised an eyebrow at her.
"Regulator State?" the two asked in unison.
Catherine looked equally confused.
"Yes. Your Regulator State of New York City and Albany. Those are well under Regulator control and since you two were sent here, it is clear that you have consolidated enough to form a sophisticated government." After all, you said that this was in the interest of your caravan trade." Catherine replied.
"Um. Sure. Look, we're really just asking this because we need the caravans to continue if we're to survive as cities. We are also concerned for the sake of your two peoples, the W.C and the Hierarchy. If there was a way we could help negotiate some sort of peace-"
"That will never happen, Mr. Vanderbraun. There can never be peace with raiders" Catherine interrupted with a stern nod of her head.
James frowned and silently noted that this was going to be harder than he thought.
Sven breathed into his gas mask and wondered where burning stuff would help solve this.
Carl and Adam sat outside in the market place. Adam had managed to wiggle their way out of giving Warlord Yeohart any Regulator aide against the Hierarchy. The raider Warlord had accepted their word as good that they would neither aide the Hierarchy nor fire upon the Western Coalition.
The only warning the Warlord gave them that if this promise was broken, then his trust would never again be the same for the Regulators.
This left Carl and Adam in a predicament. It was clear to both of them that the Warlord did not see the option of negotiating with the Hierarchy. However, they now also wanted them to fight against the Hierarchy, something that both Carl and Adam knew simply was not an option. The Regulators were simply small, roving bands of vigilantes. The last time the Regulators gathered as a force was at Liberty Island and from what the Liberators had seen vigilantes are not necessarily the best soldiers. Casualties were excessive. If it were not for the fact that so many wastelanders had been impressed by the sacrifice of the Regulators at the battle and signed up to replenish the ranks, the New York District of Regulators could have very well died with the battle.
They had been given a mission that they probably could not resolve.
"What are we going to do?" Carl asked, looking over and down at Adam who seemed just as shell shocked as he was.
Both were lounging on a bench set in the middle of the marketplace. Warlord Yeohart was indeed delighted to have them but the warlord was a busy man and had to dismiss them when their meetings was over.
"Lets wait here a bit. There's maybe some more information we can get." Adam suggested.
"Right." Carl agreed, nodding emotionlessly.
"Excuse me?" a nervous whisper hit their ears.
Both men quickly looked over their shoulders, surprised that someone seemingly had been listening to them. They did not realize that there was anyone there. They were even more surprised to find that behind the bench was in fact a large cage. The person whispering to them was a skinny, poorly clothed young man who was covered in dirt.
"Are…are you…you two are Liberators? The Liberators?" the man asked nervously, constantly glancing around as if afraid he might get found out by something.
"Um…yes." Adam replied carefully, wondering what all the tension was about.
"You…you became the Liberators because you liberated a slave city…right?" the man asked.
"Uh huh." Adam nodded. That was when it hit him and Carl what they were looking at.
The cage was a large slave pen.
"When…when will you liberate us?" The slave asked pitifully.
Carl and Adam immediately felt a very heavy, condemning weight fill their limbs.
"We…we can't…" Adam finally replied in a painful whisper after an agonizing moment of silence.
"But…but…why not?" the slave asked, heartbroken. By now, some of his fellows were starting to gather.
"We…it's just the two of us. We're not as young as we used to be. We're old, injured, with families at home. We're also within the borders of a whole nation…not just some slaver town…" Carl explained.
The slave nodded painfully, as if understanding though clearly devastated.
"I'm…I'm sorry I bothered you. I just thought…you could liberate us too." The slave mumbled.
For a long time, Adam and Carl just stood there, their dusters quietly billowing in the breeze.
Back at the Estate of the Hierarchy capital of Haven, General Omedea met with a group of individuals. By the appearance of their uniforms, they were all from various ranks of the Hierarchy military. The general was the first to start.
"Have you made sure that the Liberators have left Haven?" the general asked.
"Yes, General. We have confirmation that they have left and are already on the road back to the Hudson River." One of the aides replied.
"All right. Keep scouts posted and have them notify us if at any point those Liberators return. With that in mind, launch one of those reconnaissance missions into Albany. Perhaps these Regulator States are not as powerful as we thought them to be."
"Wait, General…you mean one of those reconnaissance mission?" another aide asked skeptically.
"Yes. The covert kind with a lot of noise. Just like every other reconnaissance mission we held against every other enemy we had before we took them over." General Omedea retorted.
"But…they're the Regulator States. If they managed to get the crater called Albany up and running, from a stronghold of Super Mutants no less, then don't you think they'll still have more than enough guns ready to-"
"You saw those so called Liberators. They're old men, worn and weakened from too many years of doing their hard work. Don't you see? They're invincible only because of the psychological aura built up around them. We will be the first people to recognize that. They are not invincible. We used to think the risk was great but now that we know that the Regulator patrons are not in fact demigods, we shall take down this paper death claw."