Fallout: Slogtown Blues
"-Wasteland woman,
Why you gotta be so cruel.
You took my money,
And your after my soul too~"
The sorrowful, haunting twang of a guitar filled the wasteland winds. A raspy, ragged voice moaned the blues under the blistering sun.
"Left me with nothing,
But scars of my own.
I got nothing left to give.
Wasteland woman,
Got me singing the blues~"
An old ghoul sit slumped against the wall in the shade. A cowboy hat masked his face. He strummed rigorously at an antique guitar across his lap. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, half burned to ash as he hummed away.
He sat at the entrance to Slogtown. Six other guards where gathered around listening to him perform. All of them mulling about the gate expecting another boring long hot day.
"Wasteland woman~!
Got me-"
The roar of a vertibird drown out the ghoul's lonesome song. It circled several times overhead like a scavenger bird over a carcass. Finally it whirled down to a gentle landing on the road just outside of town.
"I ain't seen one of them things since before the bombs fell," One of the guards gave a long, low whistle. He cupped a hand over his eyes to get a closer look. "Uh-oh, what do we have here..."
Five soldiers exited the vertibird. They formed up and cautiously advanced towards the gate. Three where suited up like walking tanks, two of which held miniguns at the ready.
"Power armor, and not no tin cans the raiders scrap together." The old ghoul was standing now, his guitar left leaning against the wall. Instead his hand rested on the 44 magnum in his hip holster. He took one last puff from his cigarette then flicked away the butt. "All of you get to your positions, don't start shooting, unless they shoot first."
The guards scrambled to their stations. The old ghoul fixed his overcoat before glancing down to adjust the star shaped tin badge pinned to his chest. 'Sheriff Creek' was etched across it in crude writing.
He stood atop a platform over the main gate so he could look down on the squadron. The bulky soldiers came to a stop just before the gate. A blonde woman, dressed in a lighter military fatigues, stepped from between the soldiers. She waved up to the sheriff in a friendly manner.
"A resident of the Slog, I presume?" She called out in greeting. "I'm Field Scribe Hailey, we represent the Brotherhood of Steel."
"Most people call it Slogtown nowadays," Sheriff Creek eyed the soldiers with dread, his men would be hard pressed to take them down. One by one he stared gaged them. Finally, cold brown eyes rested on the woman, Scribe Hailey, apparently. "I've heard rumors about the Brotherhood," Sheriff Creek admitted. "Some good, some bad. What brings you to my town?"
"Elder Maxson, our leader, requests that the farming residents of the Commonwealth provide a quarter of their stock to aide Brotherhood efforts in the region." Scribe Hailey stood tall and delivered her demands firmly to the ghoul. She continued after a short breath. "The Brotherhood's primary goal is to rid the Synth menace from the Commonwealth."
Sheriff Creek stood perplexed for a moment, he merely stared at the woman dumbfounded.
"So, you're out here ghost hunting and you want us to pay you?" Where the only words that came to mind, and they crossed the sheriff's lips before he could reel them in.
A few of the other guards sniggered at the comment.
"No." Scribe Hailey grimaced at his response, she bit back her anger as she addressed him. "My people are preventing the immoral use of dangerous advanced technology! We hoped that you would offer assistance in this daunting task. We only ask for a quarter of your annual stock."
"Right, and my people are hammering out a life in this God forsaken hellscape," Sheriff Creek responded to her firmly. "We don't have the food or the resources to be giving out hand outs to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that rides by. No hard feelings, lady, but Slogtown declines."
"Do you speak for everyone?" Scribe Hailey asked as she took note of the other guards peeking out from their positions. "I would suggest you discuss this subject with your peers before arriving to a hasty decision. You may find that some among you sympathize with our view of the 'Synth,' they are inhuman monstrosities."
"I'd like to think I do speak for them, smooth skin." Sheriff Creek quipped as he ruminated on the woman's suggestion. He figured a vote was fair, though the outcome was predictable. In the end it may buy them more time to gear up the defenses. "But, since you asked politely we'll take it to vote with the townsfolk. Can you give us a few days to get together and make a decision?"
"Then we've found compromise, Sheriff!" Chirped Scribe Hailey delighted that he would at least consider her demands. "We will return within a week to hear your decisions. See you then, sheriff." Scribe Hailey slipped back into rank between the soldiers. As a squadron they retreated back to the vertibird.
"Inhuman monstrosities," Sheriff Creek muttered as he fished a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. He took a long drag as he watched the vertibird take flight into a cloudless sky. The old sheriff gave a disapproving grunt as he exhaled a plum of smoke. "I ain't been human myself in 200 years, kid..."
"Nobody gonna want to give up food or chase legends, boss. They're pretty well armed too, odds ain't in our favor." One of the guards said as he came to stand beside the sheriff. "Sounds like losses all around on our end."
"Damn sure does," Sheriff Creek took another puff as he contemplated his options. "I'll gather everybody up, you radio the Minutemen. Let'em know we're gonna need help with this one."
Together they watched as the vertibird disappeared over the horizon.
...
"General!" Preston Garvey stood outside banging on the front door. "General Wright! Its urgent! We've got a settlement that needs our help!"
"It's unlocked, Preston!" General Warren Wright called to him. Followed by a roll of his eyes. He muttered to himself, "it's always unlocked."
Preston shuffled into the main room to find Warren entangled in cords. A larger computer terminal lay in pieces before him with tools scattered all around. Various other terminals and monitors littered the room around them.
"Sorry to intrude, General, but we got word from Slogtown that a group called the Brotherhood of Steel demanded tribute from them." Preston explained with a haste that left him breathless.
Warren glanced up from his organized chaos with two screws dangling from his lips. He flexed the screws up and down as he ruminated over that name.
"I got it," Warren mumbled around the screws, he spit them on the floor and climbed to his feet. "The Brotherhood, they rolled in a couple weeks back on that zeppelin. All shock and awe with their loudspeaker and vertibird fleet!"
"The very same one," Preston nodded in agreement. "The sheriff at Slogtown said they asked for a quarter of their food supply to support the Brotherhood's 'efforts'."
"Well, that's not happening." Warren stated flatly as he maneuvered around the junk in his living room turned workshop. He circled around the bar and whipped out two mismatched glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
"Slogtown contributes to the majority of our food supply across the northern Commonwealth." Warren poured each of them a glass and sit the bottle aside. "It bothered me when I saw them fly in, I was hoping they'd be distracted with the coast for a while."
"Yeah, me too." Preston made his way to the bar and took his glass. "We've been seeing more and more vertibirds flying around up here. It's only a matter of time before they try to take root somewhere."
"Then we need to take this opportunity to parley." Warren drained his glass then placed it upside down on the bar. "If they're demanding tribute then they'll most likely be back. So, we round up the boys, circle the wagons, you could say, and establish the Minutemen's boundaries."
"That's makes sense, General." Preston agreed as he drained his own glass and plopped it beside Warrens. "But if we move most of our forces up to Slogtown, it's going to leave the surrounding settlements defenseless."
"I think that may be a chance we have to take," Warren paused for a moment. He glanced down at his Pip-boy before scrolling over to the map section. With a map of the Commonwealth in front of him, Warren ruminated over their choices. "We can't afford to fight a war on two fronts, we already have our hands full with the Gunners. That leaves us with two options the way I see things: A, we give them tribute or B, we establish that we won't be pushed around now and try to work things out diplomatically."
"There's been a lull in the fighting with the Gunners ever since the Brotherhood flew in," Preston rested his chin on his clasped hands as he stared down at the icons on the map. "So, we may be safe to spare a few of the militia in that area. I agree with that. Do you think they'll actually be open to diplomacy though?"
"They didn't burn Slogtown down immediately, so possibly." Warren knew it was a wager, but if a new organization set up shop in the Commonwealth the Minutemen needed to be on top of it. The Gunners already proved a significant fighting force to compete with. A third party may very well end the blossoming nation Warren envisioned.
"Radio McCready and have him gather a 100 men from the surrounding settlements and set up camp at Slogtown. We'll bring a regiment of our own to join them and wait for the Brotherhood to return." Warren commanded as he pushed himself off the bar. "Hm... Hire mercenaries if he needs too, we want to display a strong front."
"Yes, sir, General!" Preston snapped a salute then turned on his heels and made his exit.
With that handled for now Warren stepped around his most recent project to the hallway. Down which lay the entrance to his bedroom. On the wall beside it was a crude keypad.
Warren paused for a moment as he stared at it. He pushed away intrusive thoughts as he quickly tapped in his late wife's birthday. The door gave a long mechanical whine as a several locks disengaged.
Pushing it open Warren stepped into his dark, secluded room. With a flick of the switch the lights buzzed to life. The inside was relatively clean compared to the rest of the home. It was sparsely furnished: a bed, a desk complete with a glowing terminal, and two large Vault-Tec chests lay in the corner.
Warren set about readying his travel pack. He tossed a knapsack on the bed and began rummaging through the chests. Withdrawing the equipment he needed Warren arranged them out on the bed. Next he pulled aside the closet curtain to reveal the neat rows of ammunition boxes on the shelves.
Once finished he scanned over his packs contents haphazardly thrown across the bed. Multiple magazines alongside his combat rifle, a revolver next to four extra cylinders, and finally his revolutionary saber. Which he secured around his waist.
Warren slipped his general's overcoat on then fashioned the battered tricorn hat atop his head. Then pulled the backpack over his shoulders. He paused for a brief moment infront of a cracked mirror on the wall to admire his attire. Tired brown eyes stared back over his dark red scraggly survivalist beard.
"Wish me luck," He tipped his hat to the reflection and took his leave. The door gave a low hiss as it's locks engaged.
Outside the Minutemen militia formed up in rank in the Sanctuary culdesac. Preston strutted through rows of men, stopping to address each personally before continuing to the next. Twenty soldiers in total were assembled for the mission. Each of them a veteran from the heavy fighting with the Gunners over the last several months.
Preston spots the general approaching and orders the men to attention. He made his way to stand in front of them, then snapped General Wright a firm salute. The soldiers behind him followed suit, followed by a chorus of "Good morning, General Wright."
Warren came to a halt before them. For a moment he stood there merely admiring the brave souls he and Preston had forged into a true fighting force. Finally, Warren returned their salute.
"Soldiers of the Minutemen," Warren addressed them all. "We have worked relentlessly across the Commonwealth to secure a brighter future for its people. Now we have to step up to defend our vision for this land. I'm sure many of you have heard of the Brotherhood of Steel," Warren paused briefly as the soldiers begin to murmur amongst themselves.
"Yesterday members of the Brotherhood demanded a tribute of rations from Slogtown."
Anger rippled through the soldiers at the mention of this. Many booed in response.
"There will be no tributes in the Commonwealth!" Warren raised his voice as emotion spilled into his speech. Other citizens of Sanctuary Hills gathered around the culdesac to listen. "Every single one of us have struggled side by side to build the Minutemen and begin the path of reconstructing a provisional government! A government that will protect it's settlements from outsiders demanding tribute! Today we set out for Slogtown, we will be stationed there until the Brotherhood returns. Then we are going to renegotiate their demands!"
The gathering crowd roared at his conclusions. Clapping and cheers filled the culdesac.
Warren and Preston readied the soldiers to march out within the hour. Both knew it would be gruelling two and a half day march across the desolate roads. As a group they set off over the recently repaired Sanctuary bridge and off into the greater Commonwealth.
...3 Days Later...
Dozens of makeshift tents were scattered around the outskirts of Slogtown. Campfires littered the hillside, dotted between the tents like stars in the darkness. The moon hung low behind the clouds over the Minutemen soldiers gathered together under a single flag to defend Slogtown.
"A hundred and one in total. Counting me," McCready waved his hand out over the tents. He and Warren stood side by side atop the Slog's main building staring off over the gathered forces. "Every Minutemen and merc I could muster between Hangman's Alley and Slogtown. I think we'll send a damn good message."
"It is impressive," Warren whispered to himself in awe as he stared out over the makeshift camp. "Sometimes I doubted we would make it this far, but here we are. Finally bringing everyone together for a united Commonwealth."
"Doubted? Not exactly something I want to hear from the general," McCready chuckled as he sparked a cigarette. His gaze drifted to the soft glow of the old steel mill on the distant horizon. A stubborn look passed over his face as he puffed on the cigarette. Finally he exhaled into the night air and spoke his mind. "Don't take this the wrong way, Warren, but I ain't so certain we should pick a fight with the Brotherhood... They ain't bad people. Armed to the teeth, but reasonable. Did a hell of a lot of good in the Capital Wastes back when I was kicking around it."
"I'm not here to pick a fight," Warren assured McCready as he leaned on the railing beside him. "I want to establish boundaries. Assert to them that the Minutemen is an independent nation. You know as well as I do that every settlement's food production is vital to the Minutemen's development. Particularly the tar berries grown here."
"A hundred and twenty men is a pretty big welcoming party," McCready sighed as he flicked the remainder of his cigarette over the edge. "All I'm trying to say is that the Brotherhood did a lot of good for my home. Sheriff Creek mentioned that their hunting the Institute, so it sounds like their trying fight the good fight up here too."
"That's the point, it presents the Commonwealth's united front. I understand you sympathize with them because of your past. However, the Minutemen can't afford to divert it's resources." Warren's gaze drifted back to the scattered campfires. He paused for a long moment, lost in his own thoughts. "Although to be brutally honest with you I sympathize with the goal of hunting the Institute too." Warren's finger nails dug into the wooden railing as he spoke. "Which is why we're going to settle this diplomatically. And if things go well we can use our combined resources to track down the Institute together and I... Can finally get closure with Shawn."
"Don't let that cloud your mind, Warren. We've all been fighting battles, but this one could cost all of us if we fuck it up." McCready sighed as he turned towards the stairs with a wave. "We got a long couple of days ahead of us, I'm going to sleep."
Warren shook his head in disapproval. His gaze settled on the full moon, shining through parted clouds, illuminating a purple night sky. His mind wandered over how he could persuade the Brotherhood to play ball on his terms.
...Days Later...
Three vertibirds approached fast from the southern horizon. Within moments the winds were whipping all around Slogtown as they flew in overhead. The constant, overwhelming buzz radiating from the twirling rotors drowned out all sound. Clouds of dust whirled up all around the vertibirds as they landed in the parking lot just beyond Slogtown's gate.
Armored soldiers scrambled out of them and moved to secure the area. Another squadron of knights climbed out of the central vertibird, alongside two smaller silhouettes. They formed up around the two figures as a squad and slowly advanced towards the gates.
"Everyone, get to your positions!" Warren gave a sharp whistle to his his troops. Preston, McCready, and several other officers echoed the order through the ranks.
Warren, Preston, McCready, and Sheriff Creek stood atop the platform that overlooked the gates. All throughout Slogtown Minutemen moved into their defensive position. Eyes peaked out of every crevice watching the power armor unit inch towards them.
Finally, they stopped just before the concrete foundation that supported the main entrance. A lone woman in red soldier fatigues slipped from between their bulky frames and raised her hand in greeting.
"It's good to see you again, Sheriff," Scribe Hailey called up to the four of them. Her eyes scanned the towns perimeter noting all the extra individuals who now occupied the shanty town. "You seem to have invited some friends."
"Well you weren't to compliant with "no" last time," Sheriff Creek gave her a shrug as he leaned on the railing to stare over at them. "So, General Wright of the Minutemen here wants to have a word."
Warren stepped forward and offered the group a smile, he gave a stiff wave as his eyes scanned over the Brotherhood soldiers. He counted twelve scattered around the parking lot taking up various defensive positions.
"I came here to renegotiate the terms you laid out for Sheriff Creek on your first stop," Warren stated loud enough for everyone to hear. "Slogtown can not afford to provide tribute of any kind to you people. The food produced here is vital to our operation. However, we are interested in discussing trade negotiation between our organizations. Are you willing to parley and speak face to face?"
"My name is Scribe Hailey, while I can not speak for the Brotherhood as a whole I will hear out your terms and thoroughly state our own." Scribe Hailey called up to them. "I propose the diner in the lot as our meeting spot. Allow us to sweep the area and we can parley there. Also I only agree to meet with two of you for security concerns."
"Fair enough," Warren agreed. "We'll regroup there in thirty minutes."
"Excellent, General," Scribe Hailey fell back into rank. The Brotherhood knights retreated up the road to their vertibirds.
The four of them stepped off the platform and back into the shade of small shack.
"If only two of us can go I think it should be General Wright and Sheriff Creek," Preston said as they stepped out of the sun. "Warren represents the Minutemen and Creek for Slogtown."
"That sounds fair to me," McCready sparked a cigarette as he stared out a crevice in the wall. His gaze locked on the three vertibirds in the distance. Though his mind entertained memories of the Capital.
"I'm willing too. It would show her that we're locked in this together," Sheriff Creek asserted as he looked to Warren. "I've dealt with her before. And I know the details on Slogtown's stock."
Warren was silent for a moment as he stroked his beard. He stared at the floor going over their options. What Creek said was true, and his position as sheriff were good reason for him to discuss their terms... However, neither of them had any prior knowledge of this foreign group. That reason alone urged him to break McCready. The man had grew up under the Brotherhood's reign.
"Me and McCready should go." Warren said after a sustained pause. "I don't want to offend you, Sheriff, but McCready has prior knowledge of the Brotherhood and how they do things. I believe that could be crucial in whatever decision we come too."
Sheriff Creek frowned as he fished out a cigarette. It felt as if Slogtown and the ghoul's that inhabiting it we're being silenced on their own affair. He lit the cigarette and took a deep pull from it. However, the Minutemen had been good to them all this time.
"That decision better have Slogtown's been interests in mind." Sheriff Creek snapped as jutted his cigarette at Warren. "I call you here to help and you sideline me in the process. What exactly do you plan to get from them?"
"Guns and ammunition to support the Minutemen's operations and medical supplies for the Slogtown and the surrounding settlements." Warren explained calmly to the old ghoul. He hoped the man would see reason, but he also understood his annoyance. "If they want food, they'll need to trade resources for it. I assure you that."
"I damn sure hope so, Warren."
Sheriff Creek stated bluntly as he pushed pass them out the door and down the stairs.
"It'll have everyone's best interest in mind, Sheriff," Warren assured his companions. He nodded towards the door. "Preston, see if you can smooth things over with the Sheriff. McCready and I will make things work out on our end."
"Understood, General," Preston snapped a salute and made his way out to find the Sheriff.
"I don't know how much help I'll be be, boss" McCready spoke up after the other two were out of earshot. "It ain't like I knew anybody directly in the Brotherhood command."
"I understand that, but I still think the information you have will be valuable here." Warren stood in the doorway, staring out at the opposing force. "Let's go, we have a meeting to attend."
...
"The area is clear and all contingency precautions have been met, ma'am." The hulking knight snapped her a salute as they stepped into the quaint, run down diner. Most of the furniture was stripped out, however the soldiers had positioned a single table and three chairs under the central skylight. All the windows were sealed with steel shutters bolted shut.
"Perfect, Knight-Captain," Scribe Hailey circled around the table and took her seat at the chair. "Send them in when they arrive, should anything go wrong I'm putting my trust in you men, captain."
"Understood, ma'am." The Knight Captain showed himself out, shutting the door behind. Now seemingly alone in the diner Hailey relaxed as she awaited their arrival.
Five minutes eased by before there was a staunch knock on the door. It swung open on squealing hinges as General Wright and one of his apparent officers entered.
"Welcome, gentlemen," Scribe Hailey greeted them and nodded to the seats.
They exchanged pleasantries and introductions as the two men took a seat across from her.
"Warren Wright, General of the Minutemen Militia. This is my companion Robert McCready, he will act as Slogtown's witness to the negotiation." Warren stated clearly as he offered the scribe his hand. McCready grunted in agreement.
"Scribe Hailey Wales, representative of the Brotherhood of Steel. It is good to finally meet some of the renowned Minutemen face to face." Scribe Hailey broke the ice with politeness as she sit back in her chair. She took a deep breath and began her speech.
"I want to begin by stating that we do not seek hostilities and by laying out my organizations mission goal in the Commonwealth, perhaps it will help you come to a decision." Scribe Hailey spread her hands wide across the dingy table as she began. "Almost ten years ago we came across the existence of androids, or literal synthetic humans, in the Capital Wasteland. Over time we tracked the source of the monstrosities to the Commonwealth. Now we just have to narrow down that source to a specific area and eliminate it. However, we seek aid from the Commonwealth's residents in our endeavor. Through you and your people's assistance we can root out and destroy this malignant misuse of technology."
"You're primarily hunting the Institute then," Warren stated as he locked eyes with the scribe, she gave a sharp nod of approval. "Lot of people think you're here to conquer and pillage. Though you've been above that so far. What exactly do you know about the synths?"
"We know that they can be exact replications of Humanity created through abominable mad science gone unrestrained." Scribe Hailey clenched her fist as she spoke. "Our scouts have collected numerous reports across the Commonwealth of artificial doppelgangers replacing friends and family in the night. Or more disturbingly the stories of a massacre of local settlement leaders a few years back. Many dismiss these as myths, however we know for a fact that synths can be identical to us. And that the Institute creates these abominations from their staging ground somewhere in the Commonwealth."
"Then we share a common goal in hunting the Institute, one that we could possibly assist in but we're not handing over food for free. However, we are willing to trade food for arms, ammunition and medical supplies. The Minutemen have our own fight everyday in the wastes trying to grind out a life. These are the tools we need to do just that."
"If you insist on helping, citizen, the best way to assist is donating food to the cause. The Brotherhood will not distribute weaponry to the populace to sew further conflict in the area. We have enough on our hands with the synths and super mutants causing chaos."
"That's rather condescending. The Minutemen work relentlessly to assure safety throughout our territory. That is nearly all of the Northwestern Commonwealth that my men patrol and guard around the clock. We refuse to deliver aid or food for nothing in return."
"In return you'll receive a future without fear of manmade horrors beyond comprehension!" Scribe Hailey snapped. "This is ridiculous, General, surely you understand I don't have the jurisdiction to trade weaponry or equipment freely. The best I can guarantee is Aqua Pura water shipment in return for food. Even then I am pushing my orders to their limit. Either way I am under direct order to return with ration supplies within the week."
"What's ridiculous is that you people expect us to hand over food for nothing. Eight towns depend on the food produced here. Do you intend my people to starve while you stuff your face in that damn blimp? We need guns and ammo to push the Gunners out of the Commonwealth. We need medical supplies to treat the ill. And we need... help routing out the Institute. Just like you guys need food to sustain your delusions. Certainly we can find trade somewhere in between."
"I simply can not offer you anymore, General. I don't have the authority to do so, I will run your complaints through the chain of command. But I will be leaving with my supplies today if you hope to make any kind of positive impression on Elder Maxson."
"Then we're done here," Warren stood and dusted off his hands. "If you're not willing to negotiate, then we won't hand over supplies without a fight."
Scribe Hailey stood as well she stared at him in disbelief. Finally she gave a long sigh. She had not wanted to resort to violence.
"If you're going to be hostile then I'm afraid I can't let you leave, General." The scribe warned as she looked from one to the other. "You will either hand over the supplies requested or be detained under Brotherhood jurisdiction. Any resistance will be met with superior aggression."
"So much for a parlee," McCready scoffed. "Now we're hostages, Mrs Scribe? I was under the impression the Brotherhood helped the people of the wastes. At least that's how it was when I was a kid in D.C. Aren't Capital citizens guaranteed a fair trial under the Lyons Codes?"
"I'm afraid I can't do that. Even if you are a 'citizen', an unlikely story, you are now considered a foreign threat." Hailey stood her ground. "Anything else you say will be perceived as a threat, I would suggest you tread cautiously."
McCready began to speak, but Warren cleared his throat first. Warren pulled his colonial coat aside and rested his hand on the revolver in it's holster.
"It is a threat, scribe." Warren clarified in a cold tone. "The Minutemen will not deal in tributes. Now, we'll be leaving."
Warren stopped mid-step as he heard the telltale click of a firearm's safety being released. For a brief moment he looked to Hailey. She stood confidently with her arms crossed, tired eyes staring him down.
"Take a seat, General." Came a level voice through a filtration device.
Warren risked a glance over his shoulder. He saw only a hint of his own reflection in an orange tinted dome. It crossed his mind to go for his gun... Slowly he raised his hands in the air instead. Better to talk this out then risk angering the barrel nestled against his skull.
The masked man held Warren and McCready at gunpoint. A 10 mm pistol in each hand leveled at both of their heads. He nodded towards the discarded chairs.
"Alright, alright. We'll play along," Warren sit back down at the table. He caught McCready's eye and gestured for him to follow suit. The young man cautiously took a seat beside the general. "An invisible guard, very classy. Well, do I have the honor of seeing your face, mysterious stranger?"
"That's not necessary. Any further negotiations will continue through me-" Scribe Hailey began as she took her seat once more.
"You sound real familiar, kid." The masked figure ignored Warren entirely, instead his attention focused on the young McCready. "You claim to be a citizen of from the Capital Wastes, which town are you from?"
"Big Town, but I got my citizenship in Megaton." McCready stated bluntly his gaze lingering on the man's weapons. "I've been all over the Capital Wastes. But I've never seen the Brotherhood strong arming good people."
The masked man lowered the pistol he had leveled at McCready. He stared at the man for a long moment. "Your voice reminds me of an angry little bastard I helped out down in Lamplight a long time ago."
McCready's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly before his eyes went wide at the mention of Lamplight. McCready went to speak, but he stayed silent as he studied the figure. Warren watched intensely as the young man pieced some puzzle together in his head.
"There's no way in hell..." McCready finally breathed as he relaxed back in his chair. "Nobody has heard from the Lone Wanderer in years. He went off the deep end after his wife passed and no one has heard from him since."
"The Lone Wanderer?" Warren asked aloud, but the three of them ignored him. Each of the Capital Wastelanders were focused on the exchange. McCready glared at the man before them, disbelief written across his anger.
"Hailey," Levi tossed his 10mm pistol to Hailey as he addressed her then holstered his other. She caught it mid-air and leveled it back at Warren. "Shoot the General if he tries anything stupid." With that he reached behind his head to undo the helmet. There was a long, low hiss as it's seals broke.
"Funny thing is, RJ," The supposed Wanderer addressed McCready as he pulled the helmet free letting black hair fall loose around his wooly face. "Everybody said something similar about you when I came back. Yet here we are, far from home, wandering the Commonwealth."
McCready sit silently, his fist over his mouth as he stared in sheer disbelief. But he knew that face all too well. It was a face he hadn't seen in many years. Yet the day that it had wandered battered and bleeding into Lamplight caverns all those years ago was etched in McCready's was no denying that this man is the Lone Wanderer. McCready found himself at a loss for words as they stared each other over.
"What are you even doing this far north, Levi?" Those were the only words that came to McCready as he looked at what may as well be a ghost.
"He's operating on the Brotherhood's behalf and that is all we are at liberty to say." Scribe Hailey quickly interjected she smacked her palm on the table to gather their attention.
"Right," Levi rolled his eyes at the remark. "I'm still fighting the good fight, just found a new battlefield. What dragged you this far?"
"I'm looking for a vaccine, or a cure. My son... He's bad off, some type of disease. The doctors back home are at a loss over it, but I know there's gotta be one out here." McCready closed his eyes for a moment as memories of his family haunted him. Shaky hands plucked a cigarette from his pocket. He gave a long sigh as he lit it. "Me and Warren have been chasing dead ends all over the Commonwealth. Other than that I've threw my lot in with the Minutemen. We're trying to make this world a better place."
Warren slouched back in his chair. He was content to listen. If McCready knew this man personally then perhaps he would be able to broker a deal. His gaze shifted to Scribe Hailey. She steamed with anger at being brushed aside, yet she made no remarks. Warren surmised the man before them, the 'Lone Wanderer', was her superior.
"A cure for your son? Give the details to Scribe Hailey when we're done here. I'll follow up on whatever I can find and get back to you. You have my word." Levi offered McCready his hand to seal the agreement. McCready eyed it with weary as he took a long drag. At last he took it in a firm handshake.
"I appreciate that, Levi... I really do." McCready glanced to Warren then. He still had a job to uphold.
"Very sentimental, gentlemen, but we have an agreement to arrange here," Warren spoke up as he locked gazes with McCready. "I stand firm on my position, 'wanderer,' and unless you're the proper authority to give us what we need your gun isn't changing my opinion." He sneered at Scribe Hailey as he slouched back in the chair.
"I'm not a fan of authority." Levi stated flatly. "You claim you need guns and ammo? There's an iron factory up the road from here. I propose securing it as a counter offer. I'll aide in your efforts. You can keep the factory and material, in exchange we get food shipments."
"Outrageous. There's thirty or so Forged psychopaths held up in that place. I see your perspective but it's not worth the bloodshed." Even as Warren countered Levi's proposal he contemplated over the ironworks. If they could get it back to some standard of operations it would give the Minutemen an innate advantage. It would be a ferocious firefight to clear the place out, but he knew that it could be well worth it. "Even with our numbers it would take a hell of a toll on our forces."
"But it would allow us to set up a production center... Somewhere we could produce our own weapons and tools." McCready said more to himself as he stroked his chin. "It's not a horrible solution."
"No, it's not." Warren relented as he looked to each of them. One question nagged at his mind though. His gaze fell on the Wanderer. "How do you expect to aide us? A couple dozen of these hulking bastards could probably clear the place out."
"Out of the question," Levi shot down the suggestion immediately. "My men won't fight for you. I'll personally assist you, but I will not offer them up."
"One man? What difference could you possibly make?" Warren slammed his hand on the table with a loud smack! "If you want to get somewhere with the Minutemen you people are going to have to put out too."
The other three fell silent. Scribe Hailey noted the brief spasm of anger that rippled over Levi's features. Her gaze shifted to McCready, who only stared at Warren and shook his head.
"He's the Lone Wanderer, boss..." McCready finally sighed as he flicked away the butt of his cigarette. "He's practically the goddamn grim reaper where I come from. One man? That one man left at least thirty corpses at Paradise Falls. God knows how many more at Raven's Rock when it went up in smoke. When I was thirteen he killed every super mutant in the local vault near my home. Hell, he even managed to filter the entire Potomac River a few years back... I don't even know how he pulled that one off. I have faith in him, is all I'm saying."
Warren gave a long, sharp whistle as McCready listed off the strangers accomplishments.
"That's quite the list of credentials," He finally spoke as he eyed the Lone Wanderer with a newfound respect. McCready was a lot of things, but never a liar. If he vouched for someone then Warren was interested. "So, do you have a plan for this little operation or is this all spur of the moment?"
"Somewhat of a plan. I'll sneak in, kill as many as possible and whenever it gets chaotic you and your men should be able to force your way in." The Wanderer laid it as out as simple as he could for them.
"Do you even know who the Forged are?" Warren asked him slightly taken aback by his relaxed explanation. "They mutilate and execute their own for minor offences. And practically worship the equipment in that place."
"I don't care for horror stories. I can guarantee you the ironworks and water in return for food." The Wanderer stated as he secured his helmet. It gave a hiss as the seals locked in place. His voice came out robotic and disgruntled through the filtration systems. "That's all we can offer, General."
Warren stared at his own reflection in the sunset tinted dome. This man intended to walk into the Forged headquarters alone to act as a distraction. If things went south the Wanderer would be in left in a deathtrap. That suited Warren fine. If it provided a long enough distraction to turn the tide of battle in their favor it would be worth the risk.
If everything unfolded as planned then the Minutemen would have a ironworks at hand. They would have access to the coal bud of industrial revolution.
"We have a deal," Warren stood and offered the man his hand. "If you help us capture Saugus Ironworks then we'll supply you with food. I'll organize a force of men, you give us a signal and we'll launch out siege."
"I'll make my way to the factory around sundown. After I kick the nest a few times I'll fire a flare from the roof. That'll be the signal for your men to attack from the ground, we'll meet in the second wing of the factory at the roof entry. Sound Good?" The Wanderer explained before he took the man's hand in agreement.
"It sounds like a deal, Wanderer." Warren stated with a broad smile. He offered his hand to Scribe Hailey as well. She lowered the weapon and gave him a disarming smile of her as they shook on it. "I'll get the Minutemen prepared. Once the factory is ours, you'll have your supplies. We'll meet again soon at the ironworks."
"Good seeing you again, Levi," McCready shook the Wanderer's hand as he stood. He and Warren took their leave. The door slammed behind them leaving Levi and Hailey alone in the desolate diner.
"Not sure if that was the best call, Paladin." The Scribe spoke her mind now that they were alone. She began to pace before Levi. "Maxson won't approve of us handing out technology to the locals."
"Then perhaps Maxson should handle the field negotiations." Levi remarked, mildly annoyed. "We secured food, without trading our own supplies, and it'll take care of another raider gang. It's a win-win situation, in my opinion."
"As long as you take the heat for it," Scribe Hailey gave a huff. "You do realize we're not here to wipe out the warlords, don't you?"
"It's a method that works in my experience," Levi shrugged away her concerns. He glanced down at the clock on his Pip-boy. "We got roughly an hour of daylight left. I'll head out for the ironworks at sunset. If at any point I fire three flares in a row, send in a squad of knights. Otherwise hold this position until I return."
...
The blistering sun sank low over the horizon casting the evening sky in a dusky orange haze. Soon night would fall across the wasteland. A strong wind carried the sand and smoke with it through the desert.
Saugus Ironworks was an enormous concrete building with six smokestacks across it's roof. Black smoke bellowed pollution into a dying world from their peaks. Rigging pathways and faded color-coded pipelines entangled the exterior of the building like carefully placed vines.
A massive bonfire roared towards the clouds in the courtyard. The tires and corpses that fed it's blaze added to the ashy smog that lingered over the ironworks. Half a dozen Forged warriors tolled away feeding the bonfire and stirring it's embers to keep it ablaze. Others mulled away in the shifting shadows at the fires edge.
Warren counted at least seven more silhouettes ambling along the rooftop walkways. He scanned his binoculars once more over the courtyard muttering the count to himself once again. Forty Minutemen surrounded the ironworks' exterior in a loose circle. Each sit patiently in anticipation of the signal flare.
Night soon blanketed the Commonwealth. The plumes of black pollution blotted out the stars above, only the bonfire raged against the settling darkness.
An hour after sunset multiple shots of various calibers echoed in the night. Warren brought his binoculars up to scan the rooftop's edge. Through the shifting light cast by the flames he watched a man tumble over the edge of the roof. A shrill scream followed, though it ended abruptly.
Not a second later a red flare fired into the night sky. It's crimson glow bathed the entire building and courtyard in shimmering light. The clueless Forged on the ground rushed over to their dead comrade, the veteran raiders among them scrambled for cover.
"That's our cue, boys," Warren tossed his binoculars to one of his fellow Minutemen. He pulled his combat rifle free instead. "Minutemen with me! Charge!" He bellowed into the night.
Warren was the first to his feet, he sprinted forward ducking low to avoid any stray fire. He knew all to well that the soldiers were only as good as the man that led them. Therefore, he led by example.
Warren charged into battle with his rifle mounted to his shoulder. He heard several dozen feet rushing through the sands behind him. In the courtyard the distracted Forged raiders put two and two together rather quick when they heard the battle cries roar out of the surrounding darkness. The Forged scrambled to form a defensive parameter around the area.
Bullets whizzed overhead as Warren slid through the sand to land behind a rocky outcropping. Several rounds sparked across the opposite side, throwing up clouds of dust with each ping!
Warren scurried around the side of the rock. He squeezed off four rounds in rapid secession. Other Minutemen piled on beside Warren. By the time he pulled himself back behind the rock he had twelve men gathered around him covering behind anything that would stop a bullet. Each was sending lead and lasers hurling at the compound.
"Preston!" Warren shouted to his left as he spied his second in command ducked behind a desolate car. "Keep their heads down, we're gonna work our way up!"
"Understood!" Preston called back as he released a flurry of lasers over the cars hood. Several other Minutemen had pooled around him, others dashed off spread the message through the ranks. All around the building Minutemen took up concealed positions and joined in the volley.
Warren fell prone, he commanded the others around him to follow. Him and a dozen others inched forward beneath a hail of gun fire. As a team they gradually circled the building.
Just beyond the chain link fence the Forged occupied defensive positions all throughout the yard. Three were shored up behind two derelict cars just pass the entrance. The tallest of the bunch was clad in chain armor towering over his companions. He wielded a minigun like a toy as he sprayed hell Preston's way. The other two were taking pop shots with combat rifles at anything that moved in the darkness.
A shrill shriek cut through the gunfire. Moments later a missile exploded in the smoggy sky. Warren and his group had made it further down the road to circle around the factory. He was crawling up a rocky outcropping as his gaze trail's the missiles path from the blast to the roof. He cursed himself for leaving the binoculars.
Warren continued up until he reached the ridge overlooking the courtyard and it's raging fires. He leveled his rifle on the tall one's head and squeezed the trigger.
Another piercing shriek rang out and the car went up like a mini nuke. It's massive fireball incinerated the three unfortunate Forged. And ignited the ancient fusion coils in the car beside it releasing a second earth shaking blast followed by a small mushroom cloud.
The blast threw Warren rolling back down the hill. He took someone's legs out on the way down and slammed into chain link fence at the bottom. Only black smoke filled his hazy vision. He climbed his way up the fence to his feet. A dull ringing filled his ear, he ignored it. Memories of a war 200 years away flooded his mind as he grabbed his rifle out the dirt. Old discipline pushed those down. Again he made his way up the incline.
The courtyard was a field of fire. The shockwave had launched burning debris all across it, scattering the bonfire. Raiders lay dead and dying amidst the wreckage. Warren could hear their screams over the ringing. Te ticking of his giger counter intermingled with it.
Warren glanced back at his men. They were shellshocked, but alive huddling below the hill. A few started to make the climb towards him.
"Cover my six," Warren barely heard himself as he started down the outcropping into the courtyard. Distant gunfire filled the air.
He pushed through the smoky haze. Small fires dotted the entire area casting embers and ash into the mix. A scorched hand reached out of a pile of fire, someone gurgled out a hoarse groan. Warren shot it's owner out of mercy.
He continued forward, holding his shirt collar over his mouth as he made for the main door. In the thick of the smog Warren took to counting the bodies. There were at least nine still burning all around him.
The Forged worshiped fire. Now their God consumed them. He gave a grim smirk at the stray thought. The toxic smell of burning rubber and charred flesh filled the air. The gunfire was further away now. It no longer sang out into the sky. Instead sporadic burst echoes radiated from inside the factory.
Warren climbed the steps to the dual blue doors. He glanced over his shoulder and could barely make out the silhouettes of his men cautiously trekking into the yard. They came slowly in squad formations, unsure if any enemies awaited them in the yard.
Readying himself Warren threw the door open and rushed in. He smacked into a concrete pillar for cover, waiting for the shots to come.
They never did. Though the gunfire and shouts echoing from the upper stories was more clear on the inside.
Distant cries of "He's a goddamn ghost!", "Where did he go!?", and "It's invisibility, stay focused!"
The lower wing of the factory was empty. Warren made his way up the stairs slowly scanning for targets. He suspected many of them had gone to the roof to face their challenger. He followed the raging voices up into the second wing of the building. Warren hugged the wall as he snaked down a corridor.
Just beyond the mouth of the corridor lay a network of catwalks. He crept to the edge to peak around the concrete wall. The catwalks ran to a platform on the far side of the room. Half a dozen Forged gathered around it their firearms trained on the doorway.
Warren judged his options. He rested his rifle across the steel barrier and settled it's sights on a Forged. The Minutemen were still aways behind him, possibly still in the courtyard. It was stupid to go ahead, yet curiosity had dragged him here regardless. Though he knew if he fired now all six guns would turn on him.
The door slammed open on the platform. It was met by a hail of gunfire from the frightened raiders. One of them shouted over it, slowly the gunfire faded.
"Fucking hell! It's Grinder!" One of them yelled in disgust. "Hold your fire!"
The mangled corpse of a Forged raider lay at the base of the doorway. The blue doors, riddled with bullets holes were ajarred to reveal an empty stairwell. They had shot him dead in anticipation of the wanderer.
"Keep it together!" A gruff voice barked. "Eyes on the door! It's still up there!" It came from a burly man who was thrusting his barrel at the entrance as he issued orders. He beat his fist on his chest to rally them. "We are the Forged, most feared tribe of the Commonwealth!"
"That clever bastard..." Warren mumbled to himself as he spotted a shimmering silhouette amongst the figures for a brief second. It was gone as soon as he spotted it. As if merely a trick of the light.
"Merc, monster, or synth! I don't give a damn which, we'll bring his head to Slag and feed it to the fi-" The bulky Forged commander's words caught in his throat, a glistening blade emerged from between his lips. Blue electricity danced in the air all around the man as it's lethal current surged through his body.
The Lone Wanderer materialized behind the commander. He wretched the officer sword free from the man's skull. Before the corpse hit the floor he was on the next plunging the blade through another raider's chest. Levi lurched the dead raider in front of him as the other Forged opened fire.
Bullets riddled the man's body. Many tore through his corpse shield's softer layers and dinged against the Wanderer's armor. Levi returned a wave of fire with a 10 mm submachine gun.
The Forged dove for cover as the Wanderer let loose a wild spray of bullets. The Wanderer tossed the body and sword aside as he dove behind a column.
BAM! A bullet smacked the concrete above Warren's head. It sparked him back to reality as he drew a bead on a raider. From across the room he had a vantage point on two of cowering Forged. The two of them where distracted communicating with each other.
Warren killed the man with two shots through the back. The other sighted him immediately and returned fire. Warren ducked low as bullets zipped overhead.
"Cover me!" One of the Forged commanded. The man leapt over the concrete slab he was hiding behind and made a mad dash at the Wanderer's column. "I'll flush the bastard out!"
The raider rounded the column and fired his shotgun. It's continuous boom echoed like thunder through the iron works as he let loose round after round. A deafening boom that drown out the other two raiders small arms fire
"It's gone invisible!" The shotgun wielding Forged screamed in frustration. "Keep your eyes peeled! He's gotta be close-"
The Forged screamed like a wounded animal. It rapidly turned to blood curdling gargles.
Warren glanced around the edge of his barrier.
The Wanderer plunged a combat knife into the man's throat, ripped the shotgun from his hands, and kicked the corpse away. He crossed the room in a mad dash, blasting the shotgun every few feet at his opponents.
The Wanderer slid over the nearest concrete slab. He hit the Forged center mass with a shotgun blast midslide. Then ducked low behind the slab as he cleared the obstacle.
Warren clipped off four more shots. Three clamored off the raider's back plates. As he swung his pistol around to meet Warren the last bullet went through his skull. The raider slumped backwards over the slab.
Cautiously Warren climbed to his feet. He watched as the masked man yanked his blade free of the dead raider. It occurred to Warren how little he and the Minutemen contributed to the fight as he made his way across the catwalks. His gaze settled on the Wanderer. The lone man looked like a post-nuclear grim reaper standing in the smog, coated in grime and blood.
"I counted at least 12 on the roof. Lost count when they all started flooding up there," Levi said as he dragged the sword across his sleeve to clean it's bloody blade. He then pointed the blade towards another set of double doors across the platform. "One of them told me the leader is held up in the actual forge."
"Another dozen or so where outside. A missile set off two cars like nukes and scattered them," Warren said as he took it all in. Six dead men splayed across the floor, the Wanderer merely staring at him through a blood splattered visor. "Are you good to keep going? Looks like you took a few hits."
"Yeah... Sorry about the rocket, he got off two stray shots before I took him down," Levi started towards the double doors. He unslung his Chinese assault rifle as he took up a position beside the door. He nodded for Warren to take position on the opposite side.
"We would have been in the blast if we were a few yards closer," Warren clarified as he pressed against the wall.
"You go first, I'll shadow you." Levi dropped to one knee. A ripple of light coursed over his entire body then he faded to nothingness.
"Right, I'll play distraction this time." Warren quipped as he slung the door open and went into the hallway muzzle first.
A massive cauldron brimming with molten metal sit entangled in a network of catwalks at the center of the room. A smoggy haze hung low in the twilight chamber. The molten sludge radiated an intense heat that caused Warren to sweat as he faced down a hulking man atop the central catwalk.
The man was decked out in a well worn power armor frame. Scrap iron plates were welded all across the frame from head to toe. Barb wire wrapped the leggings and giant cogs were smelted onto the shoulders as impromptu pauldrons. He held a flaming sword high over his head in one hand. The other clasped the head of a young Forged man that kneeled before him. Pleading eyes stared at Warren in sheer horror.
"I am Slag! Leader of the Forged," Slag thrust his fiery sword at Warren. "Your combat prowess has impressed me, stranger. My own lieutenant here," he gave the man's skull a violent shake, but the prisoner did not dare make a sound. "Claims that you are a warrior. An invisible demon even! If you've killed my men, they were not skilled to begin with. This one even ran in here crying to me. So, I offer you an invitation to the Forged, stranger. Join our ranks, or otherwise your corpse will fuel my forge!"
"Sagaus Ironworks is now under control of the Minutemen! We have the entire factory surrounded, and all your men are dead. Drop your sword and disengage the armor!" Warren commanded, his voice booming in the chamber. Though a part of him knew the bastard wouldn't back down. "Or face execution under Minutemen doctrine!"
His demands were met with roaring laughter. Slag threw his head back as he wheezed, his fist tightened around the young raider's head drawing a bloodcurdling scream from the poor soul's lips. A slight that abruptly ended Slag's maniacal outburst. He effortlessly flung the man over the railing without hesitation.
The agonizing scream spiraled down and down. A brilliant splash of molten lead splattered out as the man landed atop the magma. Its unforgiving flames seared through his skull killing him and his scream within moments.
"Come and take my head if you are so brave, Minute Man!" Slag roared to challenge the general. A shimmering in the smog to his left caught his attention. Slag raised an armored arm to shield his face from the sudden spray of bullets.
Warren opened fire on the giant's back as Slag turned to face the Wanderer. Rounds pinged off his makeshift armor to no avail. Steel plates were bolted over the fusion core rigging to protect it. Warren cursed the raider as he rattled off a few more quick shots.
Levi stood, now fully visible, and unloaded his assault rifle into Slag's chest. The monstrous man barreled forward at the Wanderer waving the flaming sword over head, the rounds ricocheting off his plates. Levi's rifle clicked away as he emptied his clip, Slag's sword came down hard. He caught the red hot blade on the gun's receiver. Though the sheer strength offered by the power armor forced Levi to one knee.
A steel plated boot slammed into the Wanderer's chest. It launched him back tumbling across the catwalks, his rifle flew in the opposite direction. Slag turned to face Warren now, he fished an oily whiskey bottle from his belt and lingered the the flaming sword open it. The rag sprouting from its bottle neck took flame instantly, Slag hurled it down at Warren just as fast.
The General recognized the molotov cocktail at first glance and burst into an all out sprint for the concrete pillars framing the catwalk network. He dove the last couple feet and scrambled up the steps.
Fire splashed across the concrete floor slinging glass shards in every direction as the bottle shattered at the entrance.
"Pathetic runt, a warrior does not flinch from cleansing fire!" Slag ripped another Molotov from his belt as he turned back to Levi. The Wanderer had climbed to his feet. He drew the officer sword from his hip and readied himself to meet the giant.
Slag hurled the Molotov over his shoulder, it exploded atop the molten pool. Red hot liquefied metal erupted behind Slag, it threw searing droplets all across the catwalk.
Levi dashed forward, weaving his sword in a series of slashes. Electric blue arcs sizzled in the air trailing the blade. Slag met his attack in a wave of fiery fury. Their blades locked in an explosion of sparks then danced away in a swirl of crimson and azule arcs.
Warren threw his arm up to protect his face from the searing droplets. He bit back screams as they burn through the thin layers of his armor and bit into his flesh. Yet the General persisted up the stairs. As he climbed to the catwalk's platform Warren's gaze fell to the bandolier of Molotov cocktails at Slag's waist. Warren threw up his rifle and drew a bead on one of the explosives.
However, the two met in fast, sudden strikes that knocked his aim off. Sparks flew in a flurry from their blades as they locked together. Slag's armored hand lurched out to grip Levi by the neck. He hefted the Wanderer high with one hand, bellowed a battle cry, and made to run his sword through the man's stomach.
Levi, in desperation, plunged his own sword between the loose plates at the raider's elbow. It bit deep, tearing through leather, ballistic weave, and flesh with it's electric point to emerge out the other side. Blue sparks exploded around them as electricity surged through the power armor, both men screamed simultaneously as the sudden voltage locked up Slag's power armor. For a moment, both stood frozen solid in agony, arcs of electricity sizzling the air around them.
Warren quickly adjusted his aim and leveled the iron sights on Slag's skull. Warren felt the rifle's recoil but never heard it's report as he watched the raider's snap sideways from the impact. Levi gave a long growl mangled with a scream as he wretched his sword free from the frame. It was enough to break the raider's ironclad grip. He dropped to the floor and curled up as his body seized from the receding current.
Slag stumbled backwards, his flaming sword clattered to the floor. It's fire distinguishing to embers then smoke as Slag collapsed in a heap beside it.
"Wanderer!" Warren called out to his ally as he rushed to Levi's side. "Hey, can you hear me?"
"I'm good..." Levi choked out through his filtration systems, he rolled onto his back with a groan. "...only a flesh wound."
"I doubt that, it takes a hell of a shock to lock up power armor." Warren crouched beside the Wanderer, cautious of the electricity. "You're still breathing though, so that's a good sign."
"Oh... Just barely," Levi choked out as he struggled into a sitting position. His visor's gaze landed on Slag's corpse. "The ironworks is yours, General..." His helmet gave a burst of static as he panted. "I expect our rations to be ready when we get back."
Warren offered the Wanderer a helping hand. Levi took it and allowed the General to pull him to his feet.
"They will be. I don't go back on my word," Warren assured him as he aided the limping Levi down the catwalk. "I... Uh... May have underestimated you, Wanderer. The Minutemen appreciate your help."
"Don't sweat it," Levi grunted in pain as they took the last few steps. "Just fulfill your end of the bargain so they can get me to an autodoc."
The fire at the entrance had smoldered away to scattered embers. The Wanderer began coughing, he sagged on Warren's shoulder as he reached for the wall. Realizing he wanted to rest for a moment Warren eased him against the wall. Warren sit silently as Levi powered through the coughing fit. The Wanderer finally retained himself.
"What's your story?" Warren asked out of genuine curiosity. The man had cleaved through far to many opponents to just be a run of the mill Brotherhood soldier. Something was very off about the Capital Wastelander.
"Nothing special," Levi leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Warren stared into his own reflection in the sunset orange visor. "Grew up in a vault, the allure of the wastes took my dad, and I've been carving my way through it ever since."
"A vault, huh?" Warren questioned his reflection as he took the man's arm over his shoulder for support once more. He had not expected the man to be a vault dweller. Dozens of questions sprang to mind at the revelation. Yet the General did not want the Wanderer to think him to curious, so he said "I've been in a few, some of them were sick experiments."
Levi gave a dry laugh followed by a pain groan.
"Yeah, most are. My own included." The Wanderer said as they staggered back out onto the platform.
Several Minutemen lead by Preston approached over the catwalks. They came slowly, scanning every inch of the building with their firearms. Warren threw up his hand in greeting and called out to them. Preston responded in kind.
"Good to see you alive, General." Preston clasped Warren's forearm in a firm grip. "We thought the worst when you ran in alone." His gaze shifted to the battered Wanderer. "We should get him back to his friends before he dies on us."
"I wouldn't worry to much, he's a tough son of a bitch," Warren gave the Wanderer a sharp pat on the back. "He took a near fatal shock in there to kill that psycho though."
"Thank me later, just have your men secure the factory and get the supplies together." Levi grunted at the smack. He reached up to click the com-link on his helmet. "Hailey, land a bird in the yard. All targets are neutralized."
"A deal is a deal." Warren agreed as he addressed Preston. "I want all the corpses stripped and burned, then get secure the parameter. We'll begin working on the renovations at first light tomorrow. I'll be heading back to Slogtown to assure everything transfers smoothly."
"Understood, General." Preston snapped a salute. He turned to Levi then "And thank you for your help, sir."
"Don't mention it," Levi waved him off as he and the General marched for the factory's exit.
...
Warren sit on the edge of the vertibird's doorway, watching as his men loaded crates into the three cargo holds. Scribe Hailey stood off to the side taking inventory of every box. Beside him slouched in one of the seats was Levi. They sit in silence as the men went about their tasks.
"What was your vault's experiment?" Warren broke the weary silence.
"It was designed to never open," Levi said nonchalantly. He shifted positions to look at the General now giving him a crooked smile. "You see how that turned out though."
Warren stared off into the night sky. He mentally debated if he should let this stranger in on his own origins. After a moment's pause he glanced back at the Wanderer. The man had proved himself extremely capable. He may even mean trouble in the long run.
"Not well for the raiders," Warren joked in response. He turned now to stare the Wanderer in the eye. "And hopefully worse for the Institute. Since you helped us, I figured it's fair if I pass along some information... I've been tracking a scientist, a former affiliate of the Institute."
"Have you?" Levi turned his attention fully to the General now. His eyes raised ever so slightly in curiosity. "Why exactly?"
Warren broke eye contact at the question. He turned to the midnight sky instead.
"The Institute... Murdered by wife and abducted my son." The General finally spoke after a long silence. He placed his hand over his eyes for a moment as he searched for the strength to speak. After a long inhale he continued. "To make a long story short, I hate them just as much as the Brotherhood seems too. I have an idea that this scientist may be able to pinpoint the Institute headquarters, or at least their physical location."
"That is a damn good reason," Levi professed and one that he sympathized with. "How do you know he's affiliated with them?"
"I killed one of their primary field agents," Warren sighed as he stood. "He gave me information on his last mission before he died. He was hunting a rogue scientist, had been for a while now... I have some friends who are going to help me route the man out."
"Well if you do find any legit information pass it along," Levi fished a small, lunchbox size contraption from his backpack. He tossed it to Warren, who caught it mid-air. "Long range transmitter, it'll send a signal to my Pip-Boy. I'll come and find you if you activate it."
"Right," Warren said to settle himself more than anything. He glanced the scribe approaching them and decided to make his leave. "Right. You take care of yourself, Wanderer. I have a factory to attend too."
"You too, General, hope that pans out for you," The Wanderer waved his goodbye as he shifted to a more comfortable position.
Warren gave a wave of his own as he stepped off into the night.
"We're all set, everything is inventoried and ready to go," Scribe Hailey said as she climbed into the vertibird. "Mission accomplished, Paladin. We'll get you back to the medbay and call it a day."
"The General passed on some information to me," Levi leaned over to speak privately with the scribe seated beside him. The other knights clamored aboard around them. "I'll fill you in on the way back."
A brilliant full moon loomed high above the smog bellowing from the factory smoke stacks. A new bonfire blazed in the courtyard. Minutemen worked throughout the yard by the light of the fire and torches to rid the area of dead Forged.
"We can't eat iron, General." Sheriff Creek grumbled around a cigarette. He wasn't exactly happy with their end of the deal. It suited the Minutemen's interest more than Slogtown's in his opinion.
"No, Sheriff." Warren responded as they walked through the catwalks over the ironworks. Men worked below them to clear the equipment and assembly lines. "But we can make plows and tools. As for food and medicine McCready will set up a caravan route between here and Bunker Hill. The Slog won't starve, Sheriff. Actually, I plan for you and the other ghouls here to lead the Commonwealth's new industry."
"We're putting a lot of faith in you, General Wright. Don't let us down, I do like the sound of Millwright Creek though," Sheriff Creek plucked the cigarette from his mouth as he leaned on the railing overlooking the workers. "We might be able to get the mill functioning, but I'll need Minutemen to fill out the guard posts."
"You'll have them," Warren guaranteed the ghoul. "Preston and a regiment of men will stay here to keep an eye on things. McCready will secure your people food and keep the roads clean."
"What about you, General?" The old ghoul drained his cigarette and flicked it's butt in a smoldering cauldron below. "What do you intend to do?"
"I'll be setting off for Diamond City in the morning. Nick Valentine has some leads on a man I'm hunting," Warren glanced at the watch on his Pip-boy. It was already well into the night. He gave a long yawn as they turned to walk back towards the exit. "I'll see you around, Sheriff."
Alone, Warren made his way back to Slogtown to find a hot meal and a warm bed. The small town was alive in victory. Fires bloomed and songs were drunkenly sung through the shanties. The General left them to their revelry as he slipped into bed. Warren had a long journey ahead of him in the coming weeks.
