William crouched down low next to Mason.
The Pack's Alpha lay on a small hill, his head just sticking up above the peak, with a pair of binoculars. From almost a quarter mile away, he was watching Sunshine Tidings Co-Op. It wasn't a large settlement, no more than a cluster of houses, a barn or two, and a small grain silo. And, from what they'd managed to gather, it has inhabited by a handful of idle settlers with a Mister Handy. In the three days Mason and his people had been watching, they had yet to see any of them tend their crops.
"Ward's count is the same. Twelve settlers, one robot," William reported. Ward, the Bossman Jerry had sent to represent him to Mason, was on the other side of the settlement, somewhat closer than Mason. Their band of raiders made camp nearby in a dilapidated church.
"Did he see any with weapons?" Mason asked. His voice was a low grumble, barely audible; his mouth barely moved to say it. The Alpha was a massive figure, even laid flat against the ground, but he was surprisingly stealthy.
"Just one. Ward said he didn't seem like the rest," William answered. Mason growled something that sounded like agreement. It was a guttural sound, primal. Powerful. William shifted to relieve a certain pressure he suddenly felt.
"I know the one. Walks like a soldier. A mercenary, maybe," Mason said after a moment. That made sense with what Ward had said. And the settlers at Sunshine Tidings certainly had use of a mercenary; half of them looked perpetually stoned, the other half looked like they hadn't eaten in a month. A pack of mole rats would slaughter them, if it weren't for the Mister Handy. Even it wouldn't be much help against anything more substantial.
A mercenary, then. Not very worrisome. There were fifteen of them, one of him. Unlike the rest of them, he'd die fighting, but he'd die nonetheless.
"Alright," Mason said. "We'll move. Go get Ward and meet me at the church."
"Fine," William agreed, and started out on the long trek around the settlement.
It was a scenic walk, but William didn't notice. He went as quickly through it as he dared, keeping to shadows cast by the setting sun. It was sparsely wooded, but there were pivots and dips in the ground enough to keep him hidden. Of course, no one from the settlement was liable to be watching, but it paid to be cautious. William understood that, better than most.
When he finally reached the mound of rubble fallen from the overpass that Ward hid behind, the sun was flirting with the horizon. Ward was where William had left him, laying casually against a block, watching the settlement through his binoculars.
Ward was tall, taller than William, and built from solid muscle. He was handsome, after a fashion, but nothing particularly special. A few of his teeth were missing, and a thick scar ruined one eye. William knew little about the man, but he had the look and feel of a lifetime raider, although he was younger than he seemed at first glance. Probably younger than William, in fact, but not by much. But life as a raider aged a man, faster than any other, and Ward was probably born as one.
"Mason is ready to move," William said. Ward nodded and stood.
"About time," he said gruffly. William said nothing.
"We're going to the church, I assume," Ward said.
"That's right," he responded. Ward gestured in that direction broadly, and started walking.
"Then what the fuck are we standing around here for?"
William followed after, a few paces behind.
The walk to the church was shorter, but not by much. The sun was halfway past the horizon by the time they got there, and Mason had already assembled the men outside.
"Good," he said when he saw the two approaching. "We can get started."
"Kill 'em all?" An Operator asked.
"I don't think so," Mason responded. There was a rumble of dissatisfaction, but nothing more.
"We're going to try and take prisoners," he continued. Ward took a spot with the men, but William flanked Mason. Ward and he were in positions of command, and they needed to act it. They were tertiary positions, at best, but that didn't change the facts.
"Why?" Someone asked. William thought it was another Operator, but he wasn't sure. Mason growled before answering.
"Because that's what I said we're going to do," he answered. His tone silenced any further questioning.
"They aren't armed, they don't have defenses. So we won't worry about a big plan. Just storm the settlement, take them down. If anybody shoots, shoot back. But if they don't, I want them alive. Let's go."
It was night when they got there. They spread out, splitting automatically into pairs, and headed towards buildings. William and a Pack entered a barn, rifles ready. There were three settlers inside, a man and two women, sleeping together on a pallet. William tapped the Pack on the shoulder, indicated he should stay there and watch them. The man did what he was told, taking a position at the door silently. William went back out.
A few others were exiting buildings, either in pairs, meaning no one was inside, or alone, meaning they'd found someone. After a few minutes, the only building remaining was the central barn.
William and Mason took that one. They flanked the door, rifles held down but ready to snap up at a moment's notice. Mason nodded to him, and jerked his head towards the entrance. William threw his gun up and sidestepped into the building.
The Mister Handy was in there, settled on the ground and deactivated. In a corner, a woman. He didn't see anyone else. Mason followed after him, silently moving towards a ladder leading up into a loft. William didn't follow, but held his gun trained on the Mister Handy. If that thing woke up and started attacking, it'd be the most dangerous thing there.
Mason started climbing the ladder. The muted creak of the wooden rungs was the only sound, a soft whine that sounded like thunder in the silence.
Then, someone started shooting.
Mason swore and rushed up the ladder just as the Mister Handy woke up. One of its eyes swiveled, wild, until it saw William. The eye focused on him, and the robot burst into life. The rocket fired, raising it to William's height, and the arms unfolded to reveal the standard pincer, flamethrower, and saw.
But it didn't attack. It just hovered there, looking at him.
"Hey, man," it said. William stared, caught between the instinct to shoot and bewilderment.
"What?" He stammered.
"What. Groovy," it responded, and then flew past him towards the door.
William stared after it, transfixed, until he heard the sounds scuffling in the loft. He rushed towards the ladder, and the grunts and thuds of a fistfight.
Mason had the mercenary on the ground, his arm encircling the man's throat, choking him. The mercenary hit Mason on the back of the head repeatedly, with as much force as the poor leverage allowed.
William hit the man in the face with the stock of his gun. He recoiled, stunned, and faded into unconsciousness.
Mason let his head fall to the ground, and stood. It was dark, but William could still see a trickle of blood running down the Alpha's mouth, and his left eye was darker than his right. It must have been a tough fight, however brief, for him to have even that much.
They stood there, listening for the sounds of further conflict. There were a few shouts, a few screams, but no more gunshots. Then, quiet.
William, blood pumping hot through his body, mindlessly used his thumb to brush away the blood from Mason's lip. The Alpha caught his hand, clearly surprised, and peered at him through the dark. They held that way for a minute, neither speaking. Mason's grip was tight around his wrist, the hand rough and warm. William wanted it.
Mason let go. A woman was screaming, hoarse shrieks that meant only one thing. The Pack's Alpha met William's eyes one more time, suspicious and wary, before descending the ladder and heading towards the sound.
The Operator stood there for a minute longer, clutching his wrist where Mason had grabbed him. The flesh was tender, and he knew it was red. Watching the other man exit the barn, he let his heartrate fall, let himself cool off. When he had, he followed after.
Outside, a ring had formed around the screaming woman. A few raiders were keeping all the other settlers held at gunpoint, stealing glances at the commotion as they did. William sent one back into the barn to fetch the mercenary.
It was Ward. He'd stripped a woman, a girl really, and had her on the ground. The other men watched eagerly, no doubt eager for their turn once he was finished.
Mason stood there, contemplative. Ward didn't notice him, or didn't care. He unbuckled his pants, dropped them to reveal himself already prepared. Pushing the girl onto her stomach, pinning her arms against her back with one hand and holding her hair with the other, he forced himself into her.
"Keep her alive," Mason said. Ward flashed a grin at him, thrusting roughly. Setting a savage pace, Ward took her.
William approached Mason.
"We should start questioning them right away," he whispered. He wasn't sure why he whispered, but it seemed appropriate. Not to disturb the men from their entertainment.
Mason glanced at him, nodded.
"Handle it," the Alpha said. William didn't respond, but obeyed.
The mercenary was starting to wake up, but he wasn't worth questioning yet. William selected one of the settlers at random, a boy of about sixteen, and ordered him taken into the barn. A Bossman did it, and William followed.
Ward's girl had stopped screaming, her voice ran ragged into low sobs. Not enough to drown out the sound of flesh against flesh, or Ward's satisfied moans. One of the other settlers was crying. A couple didn't seem to know what was going on; one was smiling.
The Bossman threw the boy to the ground, and left the barn at a nod from William. William stood there, watching the boy scramble to his feet. He was lean, would have been lanky if he'd been tall enough. Emaciated was more accurate.
"What's your name?" William asked. The boy's eyes kept shifting between William and the door, beyond the door to Ward's girl. They were close in age, although the girl looked a few years older. Maybe they were lovers, or relations, or both. No, he didn't seem quite agitated enough for either. A friend, then.
"Ben," the boy answered. His voice was still high, a little shrill. He didn't seem young enough for that, but it came to some later than others. William moved closer, slowly and casually. The boy didn't retreat, didn't seem sure whether he should or not.
"Ben. I'm going to ask you some questions, Ben. Will you answer my questions?"
"I- I guess. What kind of questions?"
"Simple questions. About this place, about the people here. About other settlements nearby," William said. He kept his voice low, even, and calm. Soothing. The boy relaxed, slightly, and his gaze held on William for longer stretches.
"Okay," he said. William smiled.
"Okay. When did you first come here?"
"A while ago," the boy answered. William chuckled lightly. The boy relaxed further.
"I'm sure. How long ago is a while ago?"
"I'm not sure. About a year, maybe? We don't really keep track," he said.
"Who did you come here with?"
"A friend. Some friends. We heard about it, and thought it'd be safe. Safer."
"Safer than where? Where did you come from?"
"Blue Beach," the boy responded. "We always called it that."
He gestured vaguely northeast. "It's that way. I think."
"And the others? What about them?"
"Well, Molly and Jim and Tabitha were already here. So was the Professor," the boy said.
"The Professor?"
"Yeah," he said with a little laugh. "The Mister Handy. He's called Professor Goodfeels. I think he's from before."
"Alright, Ben. Who else?"
"Uh, everyone else came later."
"How much later?"
"A few weeks, I guess. Maybe a few months. I don't really remember," the boy answered. William stepped a little closer. A little too close, so he could feel the boy's breath on his neck. But the boy didn't retreat. He didn't seem to notice.
Outside, voices rose.
"Lift her up!" Someone said. It sounded like Mason.
"Hold her there, damnit. Alright… Alright. Move. That's it." That, too, was Mason.
"Fucking… Fuck, this cunt's tight," Ward said. It must have been Ward.
"With both of you in there, it's gotta be!" Someone joked; the others laughed. The girl was moaning, not the breathy moans of pleasure, but the harsh, whiny moans of pain.
William took a deep breath, snapping the boy's attention back to him. Something on William's face must have scared him, because he shrunk back. But he didn't step back.
"Alright, Ben. What about other settlements?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are there any in the area? Do you trade?"
"I mean, there's Abernathy Farm. Vern and Tabitha go up there to buy food sometimes," the boy responded.
"Anywhere else?"
"Um, I guess Tabitha goes down to this place every once in a while. Not very often, though. And I don't know where it is. She comes back with food, though."
"Does this place have a name?"
"I don't know. I think- I don't know. I'm sorry," he said. He sounded sorry, to his credit. Or maybe it was fear.
"Lay back, would ya?" Somebody outside demanded.
"What are you doing?"
"She's got another hole, don't she?" Laughter. "Lay back, and I can get at it."
This time the moan was more of a scream.
"Would somebody shut her up?" Ward.
"I'm not sticking mine in her mouth. I like my cock," somebody responded.
"Then knock her fucking teeth out first," Mason growled, obviously short of breath. There was subdued laughter. Some were bolder, louder. Not many.
William laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. Rubbed it with his thumb.
This time, the boy's attention was undivided.
"Ben."
He grabbed the boy's other shoulder, feeling the bones beneath.
"Y-yes? Do you have any more questions for me?"
"No, Ben. I think you've told me what I needed to know."
His breathing was growing shallow. He could hear them outside. Hear what they were doing.
"Are you going to let us go," the boy asked. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes.
William didn't answer.
Outside, the girl was weeping.
The mercenary was named MacCready. He was based out of Goodneighbor, hired by one of the more lucid Sunshine Tidings settlers to help build some defenses. And he wanted to live.
William stood next to Mason and Ward, considering MacCready. The mercenary was tied to a chair, in the middle of the big barn.
"We should just kill him. We killed all the others," Ward said impatiently.
"The others weren't skilled mercenaries," William responded. The others were piled outside, far enough from the settlement that they wouldn't stink, burning. They'd been kept alive long enough to corroborate the boy's information and clarify some details, and then killed.
"So? We don't need him," Ward said.
"That's not necessarily true," MacCready said suddenly, nervously. "I've got a lot of skills. Lots. I can do anything you want. And I'm cheap, too. Really cheap. Hell, I'll give you a discount. Because I'm also nice. And-"
"Shut up," Mason grumbled. The mercenary obliged.
"Fuck it," he said after a moment. "I don't know what to do with him. Let Mags figure it out."
He turned to William.
"Take him to your sister. She can handle him."
William nodded.
"I'll come back as soon as he's delivered," he said. Mason grunted.
"Get him there, come back. That's it."
William lifted the mercenary to his feet, and prodded him outside with a pistol.
A dark splotch on the grass marked where the girl had been killed. Another, much larger, marked where the rest had been rounded up and gunned down.
There was a third, in the back of the barn, where blood had dripped between the loft floorboards. It was surprisingly small, but, then again, the boy hadn't been very big to begin with.
"So, your sister?" MacCready asked cautiously. They sat around a small fire that William carefully stoked. He'd bound MacCready, but stupidly not gagged him.
"That's right," he responded gruffly. He wasn't interested in a conversation. But MacCready decided to be persistent, apparently.
"That guy Mason is the boss? Him and your sister?"
William shuffled through his pack for something to cook. He found some radstag meat.
"Yeah."
After planting a row of y-shaped sticks on either side of the fire, he laid straight sticks through them to form a grille. He let it heat up before laying the steak across it.
It was rudimentary, but it would stand.
"So, are they…? You know," MacCready asked. William glared at him.
"No." He said. It came out hotter and angrier than he'd intended. MacCready flinched, but then seemed curious.
"Okay. So, they're just the two biggest badasses in your operation, so they get to be in charge?"
The steak sizzled and dripped. Radstag was not very good tasting, but it would fill you up and keep you filled. That was worth a lot more than flavor.
"They aren't in charge. The Overboss is in charge," he answered.
"The Overboss. Right. Who's he?"
"She's the one in charge," he said. "The three bosses are under her."
"Three bosses? Mason, your sister, and who?"
William flipped the steak.
"Why do you care?"
"Well, I want to work for you guys, of course. I want to know who exactly I'm working for. Are you the third boss?"
"No," he answered. That, too, was laden with more emotion than he'd intended.
"Okay. So, there's the Overboss. She's top dog. And then there's Mason, your sister, and the third guy. Where do you fit in?"
"I'm Mags's second-in-command. We lead our gang, Mason leads his."
"And the third guy leads his. Right. Well, Mags leads her gang, right? It's not your gang. She's the boss."
William took a deep breath. MacCready watched him.
"She's the boss. But we work together," he answered. Calmly.
"Sure, sure. But she's the boss. Your boss. And she's got you working for Mason. While she's leading her gang."
"What the fuck do you know about it?" William snapped. MacCready didn't flinch this time. If William had been paying attention, he'd have noticed it actually encouraged him.
"And this Mason guy. He's the boss of his own gang. Him and Mags are. But they don't have a thing going, I guess. Just… colleagues. Coworkers."
"That's what I said."
The steak was burning.
"Right. That's what you said. So, Mason? He's got a thing on the side, I bet. Seems hard to believe, though. That'd he'd ignore Mags like that. I mean, she's the top dog; she's the best. Why settle for second…?"
"She is not the best," William barked.
The steak burst into flames.
William scrambled to get it off and put out. His arm knocked down the grill, sending the smoking sticks tumbling across the ground.
MacCready, hands still bound behind his back, grabbed one, thick leather gloves protecting his hands.
The mercenary lashed at him with it, narrowly missing with his first strike. That was all he got.
William punched him in the head, sending him sprawling to the ground. He stomped on MacCready's wrists, until his hands went flaccid and released the stick. For good measure, he kicked the mercenary in the side a few times.
As MacCready coughed and wheezed, William dragged him against a tree, and tied him up against it. Then he gagged him.
The Terminal was bustling. Raiders and slaves alike worked, building dorms and offices and warehouses and defenses. In a week, it had already been transformed from the hollow ruin it had been, into a small settlement. There were even slaves put to work cleaning the streets and walkways, removing the centuries' dirt and trash.
To MacCready, it was a thoroughly shocking sign of what he was dealing with. Not just another band of raiders, like Saugus or Corvega, but an organization. An army.
To William, it was a hopeful sign of how far they had come, and how far they had yet to go.
Mags had had her office built first, on top of one of the parking garages, overlooking the entire Terminal. Hers was the only completed structure made with metal; all the others were wood, although several new buildings were being built with metal.
William took MacCready there, holding the mercenary in front of him, with his pistol buried in the man's back.
Mags was there, sitting behind a large desk. Stacks of papers and holodisks covered most of the surface, far more than William had expected. She was writing, he couldn't tell what, but it seemed to be highly engrossing.
"Mags," he said gently. She looked up, saw him there, and blinked rapidly. She looked… frazzled.
"William. What are you doing here? This means the operation at Sunshine Tidings went well?" She looked at MacCready with a suspicious eye. "Who is this?"
"A mercenary we captured at Sunshine Tidings. It all went like we planned," he responded. She frowned.
"Why did you bring him here?"
"Mason wasn't sure what to do with him. He wanted you to decide," William answered. Mags leaned back in her chair, contemplating MacCready. The mercenary worked his jaw like he was trying to talk through the gag.
"Kill him or hire him, I suppose. I don't know. I'm much too busy to deal with it," Mags said after a minute. "Wick! Get in here!"
An Operator entered, Wick. He regarded the scene briefly before turning the Mags.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Take this mercenary back to Nuka-World. Give him to Jerry. Let him deal with it," she ordered. "Tell whoever's running the monorail to mark it down as a Special Delivery."
"I will," Wick said. He took his pistol out, stretching out his hand for MacCready's wrists. William cautiously handed the mercenary over.
"Be careful with that one. He's crafty," he warned. Wick nodded, and the two marched out.
"And remember to sign in with the time!" Mags called after them.
"Yes, ma'am!" Wick called back. Mags sighed heavily, rubbing at her eyes absently. William leaned against a wall, watching her.
"You look tired," he said. She paused rubbing her eyes to glare at him.
"When we started this, I don't know what I was expecting. But it was not this," she said, gesturing towards the stacks of paper.
"I have to keep track of everything that goes over the monorail, and what happens to it once it gets here. Every cap, every screw, every plank of wood. When it's loaded in Nuka-World, when it's unloaded here, and what is done with it. Who did the loading? Who took possession of it? Everything is accounted for," she said wearily.
"Sounds like a lot of work," he said.
"You have no idea how hard it is to get raiders to fill out paperwork. Most of them aren't even literate. It's a nightmare; I've thought about putting together classes for fuck's sake."
"Not what you had in mind when we left Diamond City?"
She glared at him again. He grinned mischievously.
"But it has to be done. We'd lose half of our supplies if it wasn't, and the other half would get hilariously misused. It's necessary, but not glamorous. Here's an example," she said. She took a paper from one of the stacks and handed it to him. He looked it over.
"It's a requisition form. They need 12.7mm back at Nuka-World, because I had too much sent over here. So one of Jerry's people filled out this form, specifying how much they have and how much they need. To the bullet. It also says who filled it out and when they did it. So what I need to do, is cross-reference that with my records, to see how much 12.7mm we actually have, how much we use, how much we need, and how much they originally sent us, and then either approve or reject the requisition. But doing that requires actually knowing that information, which means taking records in the first place. Which we haven't ever done on this scale. It also requires-"
"Mags," William interrupted. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. He handed the form back, and she replaced it in its stack.
"I apologize. I don't think I've ever been more tired in my life," she said. He believed it.
"But I assume you have to get back to Sunshine Tidings," she continued. "There ought to be an empty bunk somewhere. If not, you can take the monorail back to Nuka-World tonight, and come back in the morning. We don't run it for passengers anymore outside specific times, except for special cases."
"I'm not a special case?" He asked wryly.
"No," she answered. She opened a drawer in her desk, and withdrew two papers to hand to him.
"What are these?"
"One is a requisition for supplies. Food and water, bullets if you need them, for the trip back. Get that in to Sidney downstairs as soon as possible. He'll handle it. The other is in case you do take the monorail. You'll fill it out with the time you're riding, the purpose of your trip, and your name, and file it at the time of boarding. They have them down there, but I might as well give it to you now. You'll fill out another when you come back."
"Where do you get all these forms?" He asked.
"Somebody found a printing press in a closed section of the park about a week ago. Out by Dry Rock. Couldn't get in without the power turned on, so nobody had touched it in decades. We got it up and running," she answered. "But most of it is done by hand. I've got about twenty slaves working day and night."
"Where did you find the paper and ink?"
"All around you, brother. Tickets, fliers, magazines, books. We recycle them. The machinery isn't complicated; we have several in operation."
"It's incredible, Mags," he said, honestly. She shook her head.
"No, it isn't. Not yet. Eventually, though, the Terminal will be the central hub for our entire operation. From Nuka-World to the farthest outposts, everything will be controlled and monitored here. Under my control. Then, it will become something to behold."
She took a deep breath, and continued writing on the paper she'd been working on. It was a dismissal, he knew. As he was walking out, though, she stopped him.
"This is where the power is, William. That's the most important lesson I've ever learned. This is where the power is."
He nodded, and left.
She continued working, quietly and subtly, at building an empire.
Jerry took an office in King Cola's Castle.
Calvin and Lizzie Wyath, his two lieutenants courtesy of Mason and Mags, were given offices adjacent to his. Lizzie preferred to stay in her laboratory in the Parlor, but Calvin regularly occupied his. Jerry had contemplated converting one of the rooms in the Castle to a lab for Lizzie, to make sure she was always near him and available, but he'd decided against it. It was best to just leave her be.
Using Calvin and Lizzie, or Lizzie's name, Jerry was busily consolidating control of Nuka-World's management, moving most of the three gangs' leadership structure to the Castle. After only a week, the Castle had already become the center of Nuka-World, supplanting Nuka-Town and Fizztop.
The Overboss herself requested a room there. She was, of course, given the most grandiose room for an office, a floor above Jerry's. She had done little while she was there, mostly observing Jerry at work. It was boring work, creating an administration from the ground up, but she seemed engrossed by it. Every once in a while, she'd offer some suggestion or insight. Every time, it was exactly what Jerry needed to do. Her expertise surprised him, but he very quickly learned to accept it, wherever it came from.
Calvin was an interesting case. He had a thin face, but disproportionately large ears, and large dark eyes that paired very well with his messy black hair. Jerry found him very attractive. And he had a keen intelligence, although he hid it well. He was not what Jerry had expected from Mason. Far from it. But he had yet to decide whether it was a welcome deviation from expectations.
He was, however, indispensable to Jerry's work. The Pack was the most difficult of the gangs to manage, especially for Jerry. They resisted his attempts at bureaucratization, resisted his attempts to organize and monitor their activities. But they would listen to Calvin. Perhaps it was the simple fact he had been left behind by Mason to lead them, or perhaps it was some quality of charisma that Jerry couldn't see. Regardless, Calvin was his only method of handling the Pack, and was therefore an integral part of Jerry's work.
He was with the Overboss, going over records of their 12.7mm stockpile, when Wick arrived with MacCready. The Operator led the mercenary into his office, hands bound and a pistol held against his back.
"Ma'am, sir," Wick said, asking for an invitation to speak.
"Go ahead," Jerry said.
"Mason captured this mercenary while taking Sunshine Tidings Co-Op. He and Mags have deferred his handling to you," Wick explained. Jerry leaned back in his chair, contemplative. MacCready looked ragged, no doubt due to being hauled from Sunshine Tidings to Nuka-World without regard for his safety or well-being. But he also looked canny, his eyes darting between Jerry and the Overboss, obviously trying to discern which was the more dangerous. After a minute, it seemed he decided on Jerry. Unwise.
"I see. Thank you. Please ungag him, and then you can report back to Mags. Tell her it'll be handled," Jerry said. Wick obeyed, taking the rag from MacCready's mouth, and then leaving without another word.
MacCready stood there, saying nothing.
"You're name?" Jerry asked.
"MacCready. Robert Joseph MacCready," he said. Jerry nodded.
"You're a mercenary. I assume you want to work for us, as opposed to dying?"
"That'd be nice, yeah."
"I see," Jerry said. MacCready wasn't sweating, and seemed to be staying admirably calm. The Overboss was staring at him, her face, as usual, betraying nothing.
"Boss?" He asked her.
"Kill him," she said immediately. With similar speed, MacCready realized he should refocus his attention from Jerry to her.
Jerry nodded.
"Yes. That's what I would say. But, before that, I'd like to try something," he said. She glanced at him, then nodded.
He pressed a finger to the intercom on his desk. It was tied into four different receivers; one in Calvin's office, one in Lizzie's, one in the Overboss's, and one in the entrance. He opened a line to the entrance.
"Bim?" He asked.
"Yes?" Bim responded, his voice coming through distorted and covered with static. It was an unfortunate consequence of no one really knowing how the machine worked, let alone knowing how to maintain it.
"Could you send someone to fetch Lizzie Wyath for me? Make sure she's told it's urgent," he said. After a moment, Bim responded.
"Yes, sir. Right away."
"And if you could tell me when she gets here?"
"I will, sir."
"Thank you, Bim."
Next, he buzzed through to Calvin's office.
"Calvin?"
A pause.
"Jerry?"
"Yes. Could you come over to my office, please?"
"Of course."
"Thank you."
They waited in silence for the other two to arrive. Calvin, of course, showed up first. He entered the office cautiously, looking MacCready up and down with suspicion. He nodded his respects to the Overboss, and took a seat across from her against the wall.
"What's this about, Jerry?" He asked.
"I'll explain when Lizzie Wyath arrives."
And so they waited until Lizzie Wyath arrived.
The intercom buzzed.
"Boss?"
"Yes, Bim."
"Lizzie Wyath is here. She's on her way up."
"Thank you, Bim."
Within moments, she was entering the office. She did not enter cautiously, and she spared no more than a perfunctory glance towards MacCready.
"What is this, Jerry?" She demanded.
"Thank you for coming so quickly. If you'd have a seat?" Jerry responded. She frowned but sat next to Calvin.
"Mason has found us a mercenary, and no one can seem to decide what to do with him. I'd like your advice," Jerry said. Lizzie frowned again, and peered curiously at MacCready. Calvin frowned as well, thankfully in a more thoughtful manner.
"He's a mercenary? We don't need a mercenary, do we?" Lizzie asked. Jerry shook his head.
"No, we don't. Not really, anyway. I'm sure we could find a use for one somewhere, but we weren't looking for one," he answered.
"Where did we find him, exactly?" Calvin asked. Jerry shrugged, and gestured to MacCready.
"Answer the question," he said.
"Uh, I'd been hired by a group of settlers at Sunshine Tidings. They wanted me to help them set up some defenses. Your guy, Mason, attacked the place and took me prisoner. Simple as that," he said. Calvin nodded.
"I'd say kill him," Lizzie said. "We don't need a mercenary."
"Why not just let him go?" Jerry asked. Lizzie laughed.
"Let him go? He's seen every part of our operation, from the Outposts to the Castle. He's not exactly on our side, and we've given him no reason to be. If we let him go, he'll head straight to Goodneighbor or Diamond City and compromise us."
"I disagree. It could be useful to have someone like this working for us. Someone that can go to places like Goodneighbor and Diamond City without raising suspicion; John Hancock can recognize a raider from a thousand miles away. But a mercenary? Free to come and go as he pleases. Hire him, pay him well, and send him to do jobs that require more tact than our people typically possess," Calvin argued.
"I agree with that one," MacCready said, nodding eagerly and gesturing towards Calvin with his bound hands.
"Ridiculous. There's no way we could ever trust him. Even if we showered him in caps, he'd always be susceptible to someone willing to pay more," Lizzie countered.
"That's true of a lot of people here. What kind of raider wouldn't accept ten thousand caps, or a hundred thousand caps, to put a bullet in one of us? Sure, most of our people our loyal, but not that loyal," Calvin said.
"And how, exactly, does that change the fact that this mercenary would happily kill all of us if someone paid him enough to do it?" Lizzie asked.
Calvin thought for a moment.
"I suppose it doesn't, does it? And there is no guarantee we'd be able to pay him enough to keep that from happening," he said. He was quiet for a moment more.
"Alright. I agree with Wyath. Kill him," Calvin said.
"Now, wait a minute-" MacCready began.
"The Overboss and I came to the same conclusion," Jerry said. "I'm sorry, Mr. MacCready."
The Overboss, with perfect timing, drew her .44 and shot him in the head. His corpse collapsed to the floor. The blood would stain the carpet, but Jerry didn't really care. He pulled a Nuka-Cola from a drawer in his desk, and popped the cap. He took a drink.
"Was that it, Jerry?" Lizzie asked. He nodded.
"That was it," he said. She stood, nodded to him and the Overboss, and left.
The three of them sat there, Jerry sipping quietly at his Nuka-Cola, while the mercenary Robert Joseph MacCready's brain seeped into the carpeting.