Why We Fight

By: Interfectorem

*Warning: This story contains suggestive topics and language some may find uncomfortable, as well as mild racial themes in the "Intros" in order to better show some of the story's underlying themes later on.*

*Also: Skip the intro chapters if you are more interested in the character's life as an NCR trooper than you are with his upbringing. I intentionally made it to be read without the intros and still make sense. Although, some of the smaller details later on may be referenced in the intros.*

Intro1: Ed Hēilóng

We'll hit the ground running here. My name is Ed Hēilóng, typically pronounced "Hey-long", and if the name wasn't a giveaway, I am black… I was abandoned as a child or lost my parents to inevitable circumstances like so many other kids before me in this wasteland, but I was fortunately picked up by a couple of Shi fishers near the docks of San Fran. I was far too young to know exactly what happened to my parents, but the two Chinese descendants who walked me off that wharf say the burlap bag I wore as a shirt had the letters "ED" painted crudely on the front in black paint. No idea why I was wearing that shirt or what those letters stood for, but I was about three years old at the time and didn't know what I was ever doing.

The Asian man and his buddy walked up, asked me things I don't remember, but were probably along the lines of "Where are your parents?" and "What are you doing out here?." I can't tell you what I said, if they were speaking English, or if I could even talk at that age, but I was taken home by one of the men, and introduced to a harsh but fair woman who I still call "Mama" but with a little deeper tone now that I'm older.

From there, I was given the name "Ed" and then given the formal title of Hēilóng. I would've assumed that the last name given to me was that of my adoptive parents, but they went by "Zhang." When I was a little older, I asked what my name meant since my parents refused to teach me Mandarin, Shi, or whatever they spoke (I honestly still don't know). Turns out that my last name was given as a form of joke between Mama and Pop that meant "Black Dragon." I suppose they wanted to cover all the stereotypes and put them on me… Who would you say I am? I am "Ed, the Black Dragon", the orphaned black kid with stereotypically strict Chinese parents…

Anyways, I grew up as normally as an orphaned kid who was adopted by Shi/Chinese-American parents would in the post nuclear world. I grew up knowing fish, and did so alongside my Pop. The parents were smart and taught me everything I needed to know, and all the customs of the Shi who ran San Francisco. I always used to ask if I was going to be offered to the Shi for work or research as I got older.

However, I was always met with the same reply from Pop, "You are strong, Ed Hēilóng, but the Guardians of the Palace don't trust adopted 'Round Eyes' regardless of color."

That never surprised me. All my friends were in the Shi, but they always referred to me as "Round Eyes" or "Black Dragon" in a way that assumed my status in San Fran, even though my friends called me those things good heartedly. The Shi were good and all, but they had some traditions that were unchangeable. So, I fished with my Pop, had no real future in the society I grew up in, but stayed the Heck away from those Hubologists whom everyone in San Fran said to avoid.

I was a little older than 16, and the year was 2274 when I got to meet the new man who my Pop and his crew sold to. I knew we sold our fish to the locals and shops, but the man who offered to haul our excess away from San Fran was a slim fella of similar tone, but more in age by the name of Jed Masterson. Jed worked for a little caravan company out of Sac Town in the north east. So, I had to help my Pop haul an excessive load of crates to the new trading gang in the market, and Pop called me up. Pop had some urgent business to take care of with a local, Mr. Fung, and told me to mark the account books, subtly implying that Mr. Masterson and I would better understand each other due to our shared physical characteristics. Turns out, Pop was right, but not for that particular reason.

Mr. Masterson and I took care of the business, loaded each other up, and spent the time to spare chatting away. Having never stepped outside of San Fran my whole life (At least that I can remember) I asked about the caravan business. I hardly even heard him, I just dreamed about the idea of going anywhere away from the salty air and overcast sky that seemed to permanently characterize the San Fran area. By the end of it, Mr. Masterson gave me his card and told me to sign on with the "Happy Trails Caravan" if I get my Pop's permission. I swore that I'd join the caravan the next time he was in town. All I had to do was convince my parents who lived for their strictness.

"Absolutely not" said Mama and Pop simultaneously.

"But I can make good money? See the world even?" Said I.

Pop sat silently while Mama said, "No, no, no, Fish is good money. Walking out there is too dangerous for you. Stay with us and help Shi."

I scoffed and replied, "As if San Fran is safe? My buddy, Li got jumped by some of those Hubologists last week, and Kuo got himself thrown off the tanker! Fool almost drowned in the bay!"

"You stop that language, Ed! You don't shout at your Mama!" Pop shot back.

I apologized for my use of the word "Fool" and tried to reason. I asked Pop, "You want me to help you fish forever? There's gotta be more out there than life here. Not even to mention that the Shi won't have me, and the Hubologists are too silly… I could try to get in with the vagrants if you think that'd be best?"

Mama said, "No. You are terrible with instruments."

I sat silently at that. I heard the Vagrants were looking for a bass player for a while, but I hadn't volunteered for their band, and Mama was correct. I finally looked to Pop who sat there thinking. He finally looked up and I asked, "Didn't you do some travelling back in the day?"

The old man glared at me for a moment and then caught eyes with Mama for a second before looking back at me and saying, "Yes… Long ago I did. But, I stopped when you were left on our doorstep because your mother said, 'The world is too dangerous for this boy' just before dying and leaving you with us."

"You're full of it." I said, and then continued, "That ain't what happened. You said you found me on the docks."

Pop ignored my curse. Then, he stared at me with a facial expression that said how I missed the point through the lie. He said in a stern tone, "The world is very dangerous, Ed. You are far too simple for it out there."

I knew my parents always considered me dumb, even when I did something smart. I am not some scholar, but as I said before, I learned everything I knew from my parents who were smart themselves. I speak proper enough English, and know manners and reading better than most Shi members my age. Still though, I learned long ago that nothing I did was ever good enough in the eyes of my parents, something that really ticked me off. That philosophy worked well regarding preparedness, and that helped Pop and myself time and time again during the storms that rocked the bay area or times of poor market sales. Although, I never thought my Pop would tell me that I was "Too Simple" for the world outside, especially considering how old I was at the time... That little statement during this talk atop a life of belittlement hit me a bit harder in that moment than it normally would have.

Too exhausted from the day, I finally gave up and said, "Fine, I give up. I'll just fish for the rest of my life and die an old man here under your roof."

Too which Mama replied, "No you won't! Your Pop didn't pull a little orphan off the docks to raise a quitter!"

Startled by the sudden 180 in positions, and return to the truth of my origin, I just sat there at the table. Pop then slammed his fist on the wood top and said, "I've had it with your constant moping and complaining, 'Poor me! Poor me!' When Mr. Masterson comes back to town in two weeks, you are getting on that caravan or so help me!"

...?

I was just as confused as you are. Not sure if this was a trick, I let out a subtle, "You can't make me" under my breath.

Pop then slammed his fist on the table harder and said, "We're done! Go to your room! Look what you did to your mother, making her cry like this!" Mama sat there stone faced and glaring at me without hint of a single tear surfacing.

I was certain I won the argument, but somehow they made me feel like I lost it as I ran down the hall of the shack and slammed the door to my room. I was going to work the caravans, apparently?

Days later, and nothing changed life-wise. I still fished with my Pop and his crew on the San Fran docks and on his vessel in the bay. I wanted to ask Mama and Pop why they changed their minds and let me do what I wanted, while berating me at the same time. The thought that stopped me was the idea that they'd 180 again if I did that. As the two weeks before the Sac Town caravan arrived came to an end, I was questioned by both my parents about what I was doing to prepare for my caravan trip. I wasn't sure I needed to prepare. I was wrong when Pop told me how I was going to be worthless if I didn't do so. I then made up things I'd do, and counted out the money I saved for supplies at the dinner table.

The last night before the Sac Town caravan came, and Mama and Pop sat across from me at the little wooden dinner table like every other night. This time was different only in that they sat without their evening meal and they laid a piece of paper before me. The paper given to me by my parents was a literal contract. Before I could read the single paragraph, the front door opened, and Mr. Fung the shop owner came in.

I greeted Mr. Fung, and asked the man from the table, "What you doing here, Mr. Fung?"

The elderly man didn't answer, he just silently took his place behind my chair and Mama said, "Mr. Fung came to bear witness."

Before I could say anything, my eye caught the bottom line directly below a signature line that said plainly, "Witnessed by: Mr. Fung"

On the left side of the paper next to the signature line was the official seal of the Shi, as well as a blank circle to the right side that I wasn't sure about.

I was about to read the "Contract" but the official Shi stamp stood out to me and I asked Pop, "Got all the bells and whistles for this, huh Pop? Ha!"

"No joking" said Pop sternly, and then added, "Read the contract and sign."

I read it, and I won't bore with the details, but it essentially said that I promise to hand over all wages I acquired with the caravan over to Mama and Pop. Then there was something that said I wasn't supposed to go to any other caravan spot aside from Sac Town. The last detail said how I was to head back from Sac Town immediately with the Happy Trails accompanying Shi observer named, "Xiang" an aging mercenary type.

No time to think as the elderly Mr. Fung leaned on my chair for balance. I only caught the eyes of Mama and Pop, and when I did, Mama slid me a pen. I signed, leaned back, and said, "So, I'm looking forward to it."

"Not so fast, Quitter!" said Pop. "You didn't sign the circle."

I saw the round circle on the right side of the signature line and Pop was way ahead of me. Pop gave Mr. Fung a nod, and the old man fumbled for a long blade in his coat that he removed with shaky old hands. Mr. Fung grabbed my hand, sliced open the index finger rather roughly, and I dotted the paper with my blood.

I got to do what I wanted now, only at the benefit of my parents. Still though, I was grateful and intended to keep the word of everything I signed for. Since I signed an official Shi document, I knew that breaking the contract wouldn't be good and would likely be pretty painful, but I wasn't worried. The next day arrived, I did my work with Pop, gathered my bag of goodies for the road, and after hauling our excess to the caravans, I met with Mr. Masterson to depart.