Reunion Day

Word spreads fast in New Reno, and most people on Virgin Street saw the owner of the car when they entered town. It only takes one person to notice three suspicious people carting away the only restored car in the whole wasteland and act on it… Even if that person was a child. One of the universal laws in New Reno was "Don't Snitch" not that anyone really gave a shit about laws whether they were written or not. Everyone in town had something to hide, and people knew that loose lips would always turn around to bite them in the ass.

The Chop Shop was a discreet operation that usually wasn't given any notice by the typical Reno tourists. The only real word about the place was spread to roving scavenger groups, but the arrival of that working car, and our stealing operation gave the place some very inconvenient advertisement. So, the crowd grew on the fringe of Wright territory, mostly people wondering what went on at the little out of the way scrap business, but people nonetheless. Nobody from the east side onlookers approached the place since it was obviously under family protection, except one… or five.

The sun was just starting to set, and the shadows were getting longer. The group of scavers already at the Chop Shop when we arrived was gearing up to leave. They had more than a few questions about the restored car, but Tom and I remained silent while Vince finished up with T-Ray. Vincent walked out of the office and approached us. Vincent handed us each a sack with $80 inside as our cut for the little job. I personally felt that pushing a restored vehicle through the midday heat was worth more than $80 but knew the cut would be larger when Mr. Bishop found a buyer (maybe the car's owner). Vince told me to head back to the Shark Club while he and Tom had a plan to help T-Ray with something. So, I walked back to town following the departing crowd of scavers.

I walked with the scavers $80 richer and satisfied the day was almost over. As we approached the East Side Wrights territory, I saw the crowds of people wondering what went on at the Chop Shop but not daring to get too close. Emerging from the crowds, I saw him, "The Owner." Nobody told me it was the car's owner, but nobody had to say it either. I don't know how the car's owner found out where we took it, but the owner walked forward determined. Maybe that street kid talked, or maybe Jules was beaten into spilling the beans. Or maybe the car's owner just followed the faint tire marks from the lot caused by the locked-up wheel. So, the only person walking towards the Chop Shop from the east side was accompanied by a strange group of people and a… Super Mutant?

The man looked like he was of tribal descent, wearing steel plates and leather road gear patched across his body. I thought I caught a glimpse of a tight blue suit under the armor, so I wondered, "The Chosen One?" Had that guy who'd been doing weird shit across town and laid out Mike the Masticator been the car's owner? My thoughts were interrupted by the hulking green monster to his left.

I remember hearing stories about super mutants from my late guard friends but never seen one until then. Everyone always said that super mutants were hostile creatures and the concern was ever present in the faces of the scavengers I walked with. The giant green mutant had a calm face eight feet above the ground and was coated in armor made from bent car parts, tires, and heavy chains. The green beast carried a minigun in a sling across its chest but simply waved at us as we got closer in a friendly manner. I kept my hand on my sidearm confused on what to do when I noticed the other three followers.

To the stranger's right was a grizzly looking no nonsense kind of guy, old man, and a tribal. I took a look at the bald man in leather road gear who seemed to permanently have a scowl. I figured he was just a hired gun or something, but he carried a couple flasks in his belt, and I thought I saw a marking on his arm guard that said, "Vault C-" something.

I looked over the party, but aside from the giant mutant, the old man caught my attention. I studied the old man's face and it looked familiar. Time seemed to stop as I wondered why the elderly man was familiar when it hit me. Vic? Vic the Trader? The old man in ragged wastelander clothes and a frayed tool belt was the same guy I met in Klamath back in January! I was just about to pass the man on the opposite side of the road to the Chop Shop and thought about asking what he was doing in New Reno. However, my thoughts overwhelmed me, and I didn't do anything. Last time I saw the guy, he was leaving Big Nose Sally's Bathhouse and the last thing I heard about him were rumors that he hit the road to The Den having narrowly avoided getting kidnapped by Fat Jimbo's men.

Then there was the tribal looking man to the right of Vic, and he too was familiar. The man was muscular and shirtless with tattoos all over his body, but his legs were wrapped in tribal leathers with pouches around his belt. I had seen tribals before and thought he was just another nameless savage, but then I noticed his face. There was a giant bone going through his nose and I recalled the same face in Klamath. There was a tribal of almost an exact description doing housekeeping work at the Buckner House in Klamath. I did some trading with the proprietor one day and returned to my room only to be greeted by the same tribal cleaning up the place. It was in that town that Vic himself told me how a "Boneheaded tribal" was forced to work in Buckner house after he broke a bunch of stuff looking for Vic. There, I heard the only thing the tribal said to me in those moments of recollection, "Sulik Come Back Later!"

I broke from my memories to notice I was standing there on the road all alone. The scavers went on ahead, and the posse of misfits was entering the confines of the Chop Shop. I looked towards New Reno, and then back at the Chop Shop. This was the weirdest day I had in a long time. There were far too many coincidences and my mind was baffled as to what to make of everything. So, I walked off the road and sat on a nearby rock just to organize my thoughts as the sun got even lower. I thought about heading back to the Chop Shop to warn Vincent and Tom about the New Reno Prize Fighter and his misfit band. I stood up to run back there, but as soon as I did; gunfire ensued.

A quarter mile down the road at the Chop Shop, I saw the distant band shooting up the place! There were bursts of gunfire coming from the buildings, but the commotion was too far to make out any details. I panicked in that moment listening to the constant rattle from that mutant's minigun. Bullets from the buildings and Chop Shop crew whizzed past me, aimed at the attacking entourage, and I felt the force behind the stray high-powered projectiles. I scrambled towards the town, still hearing the sounds of combat behind me. The crowds on the east side tripped over each other trying to get away and avoid being collateral damage. Tourists tried to help others hit by stray bullets and junkies seized the moment to loot bodies amidst the carnage. I jumped over injured people praying to not get hit while the gunfire continued, and people panicked.

I scrambled through the chaotic mess, wondering if my friend Vincent was ok, and whipped around a corner safe from the stray bullets. I looked back at the people still fleeing, but when I turned to see where I was aimlessly running, I smashed into someone. I looked at the man I smashed into on the ground and extended a helping hand. The guy took my hand, wiping away the blood with his other.

I said, "Sorry about that I… Uhh?…" I recognized this person as well. Under the tattered fedora, and when he removed his blood smeared hand, I saw my rescuer; Detective Paul.

He gave a grin, dusted himself off, and felt his now crooked nose. He took a look at me and said, "Sean Combs?... Good to see you."

I was baffled once again; this whole day was like a strange reunion of sorts. I couldn't find any words to say, so I just stood there stupidly.

Not sure of what to do or say, the Detective silently gave a motion for me to follow him and I did, still trying to wrap my head around the entire afternoon.