THE ONLY WAY IT EVER ENDS. BY DESERT RANGER CARACAL.
LOCATION: Slaver's Hideout right on the edge of the Utah/Nevada border.
DATE: OCTOBER 19TH 2273.
TIME: 2:55 PM
TEMPERATURE: 81°F OR 27°C.
Joseph stood a good few meters out of sight from the derelict house he was observing, the ranger's eyes peeled cleanly as they scanned the place over. He'd been scouting the place out for a few solid days, the caracal having spotted the place during a job with Happy Trails Caravans. He'd spotted the signs of an active slaver's den, and wanted to clean out the old house. Luckily for him, the crew inside hadn't seemed to be making any sales. They might know about him, and wanted him to just fuck off, could be paranoia about NCR Rangers, or they might be preparing themselves for a mass sale.
Whatever the case, the caracal wasn't going to leave this place alone. He was keen to make things right, and he just needed the right opportunity to strike while they weren't expecting the wrath of a Desert Ranger. Another minute later, and he found himself with a golden opening. The guy guarding the door walked back inside and closed it behind him. He probably locked it but that didn't matter to the caracal. The ranger acted fast as he got up and made a bee line to the main door from the rocks he was hidden behind. He moved like a small deathclaw charging at a fat brahmin, his only focus being the door of the slaver's den ahead of him.
Joseph didn't waste time, as he kicked down the door with relative ease, the caracal raising his shotgun up and waiting for slavers to try and fell him. Sounds of terror and immediate understanding of what was to come steeled him for the bloodshed that was about to come. Two of them came at him right away, trying to raise their 9MM SMG's up before he shot them square in the chest quickly, killing them on the spot. Their bodies fell to the ground right as another slaver came through a nearby door, making a grab for the caracal's shotgun. Joseph pulled the Mossberg back and slammed the buttstock square into his face, breaking the slaver's nose.
The man stumbled in pain, spinning around as she desperately searched for the man who did it, before the barrel of the shotgun got in his face. His head was blown apart into a gory mess that splattered the walls, drenching them in blood, skull particulate and fatty grey matter.
A few shells were shoved into the Mossberg's tube magazine, as Joseph began to make his way into the house proper. A pair of slavers tried to rush him from the living room, but weren't fast enough to stop Joseph from disposing of them. They dropped to the floor as buckshot shoved their bodies to the ground and forced them into premature deaths, blood trickling out of their wounds slowly.
Two shells were jammed back into the shotgun, as the ranger reached the kitchen. Three slavers were in there waiting as one shot at him with a burst of 10MM. Dodging the spray, Joseph ducked back into the hallway as he let one of them try and gank him.
Kicking the slaver into a wall, a blast of buckshot to the stomach sealed his fate, before the ranger dispatched the pair in the kitchen with three shots of buckshot. They died quickly, from a mixture of lead in their necks and chests as Joseph's shots made their marks. Reloading quickly, Joseph heard a door open near him. Turning to it and shouldering the shotgun, he saw a slaver pulling his pants back up while beginning to walk to the kitchen. He was shocked to see the towering ranger standing right by the entrance.
The slaver looked to the kitchen's counter, where his sawn off shotgun rested in wait. He tried to rush to the side entrance, but got shot in the head by Joseph, falling dead like the others. Taking a quick breath, Joseph darted his head around to see where the victims were. The ranger kicked in doors and checked around corners to see where the slaves were. There wasn't a basement in the place, so he walked up the stairs as he topped off his Mossberg once more. His ears were perked up as he listened around for signs of the slaves being held, as an ear caught a little sob coming from a nearby bedroom. Joseph walked to the door slowly, before kicking it open like the one downstairs to see who/what was waiting behind it.
"Don't you move another inch you freak!"
Shouted the nearly petrified head slaver, who was surrounded by scared human slaves, with a few anthro ones in the mix. The slaver was right in the center of things, holding a pair of weapons. In his right hand was a 9MM pistol, worn from years of use. He had black hair, scuffled from a lack of grooming, and was clean shaven too. Relatively tall, yet nowhere near Joseph's towering height.
He wore a set of worn leather armor, his name firmly embossed on his right breastplate. "Greg Gale" it read, telling the caracal his name. In his left hand was a detonator for the collars of the slaves packed in the room. Both hands shook in fear as he saw the terrifying sight of a ranger who knew how to properly treat a slaver and his chattel.
"I had a feeling you were gonna try this utter nonsense. I'd tell you to be a man, but slavers don't even have the dignity of deathclaw shit."
Joseph taunted in an attempt to get under the bastard's skin, as the slaver began to viciously shout in rage.
"YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING FREAK! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW PEOPLE HAVE TO LIVE IN THE WASTELAND BECAUSE YOU COME FROM SOME RICH TOWN WHERE YOU'RE TOLD DAY IN DAY OUT THAT JESUS LOVES YOU AND ALL THAT BULLSHIT!"
The slaver sputtered out, as the ranger ignored what he had to say, waiting for the right time to strike. The vapid screeches of a slaver meant nothing to the ranger, especially one who knew nothing about the man who stood before him.
"YOU'RE AN IDIOT WHO DOESN'T UNDERSTAND HOW THE REAL WORLD WORKS. THE WORLD IS SHIT, THE WORLD IS DARK, GORY AND EVIL. I'M JUST PLAYING BY THE RULES! YOU'RE A DELUDED FUCKING CHRISTIAN! JESUS ISN'T REAL AND EVEN IF HE IS, HE IS EVIL! THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR TRYING TO CHANGE HOW THINGS WORK!"
Greg screamed out, lifting up the detonator to use it when Joseph shot him right in the left arm, making him drop it on the spot. A nearby slave grabbed it and hid it underneath themselves to keep themselves, and their comrades alive while Joseph handled the bastard accordingly. He screamed in agony, raising his pistol and firing at Joseph, who raised his shotgun quickly and blocked the bullet. The hollow point hit the bolt, damaging the gun severely and pushing it out of the fight. At least conventionally.
Joseph acted quickly as he tossed the gun right into Greg's face, the buttstock hitting him in the nose as the slaver tumbled down in agony. He dropped his pistol too, holding his face while the throbbing sensation of pain coursed through his head like a hard hitting snare. The desperate slaves scrambled to take the handgun, with one eventually grabbing it and pointing it at Greg's writing body, their hand shaking slightly in fear, though determined enough to press on the trigger gently, waiting for him to try something. Joseph pulled out his combat knife, rushing into the bedroom, kicking Greg down onto the ground and pinning him down with a boot as he lightly growled out a retort.
"Fun leydike feser iz der lyarem greser. I'm no innocent little christian boy. I'm a Jewish Desert Ranger who's killed Legionaries, Raiders, and Slavers in fair numbers. I know how horrible things are, but unlike you, I don't embrace nihilism in any manner. Our choices determine what happens, and I've made the conscious choice to purge slavers from everywhere I can. This is the only way it ends for your parasitic kind."
He calmly stated, spitting down on Greg's face as he knelt down to make the final kill of the day.
"THIS DOESN'T CHANGE ANYTHING! YOU HAVE NO PURPOSE! ADMIT DEFEAT FOR ME, TELL ME THAT YOU HOLD NO VALUE!"
Greg shrieked desperately, as the ranger pressed the tip of the blade against his heart.
"Der glok klingt vayl er iz pust."
The caracal flatly said, silencing the slaver by plunging the knife into his heart, blood pouring out not even a second after the blade penetrated. Greg couldn't retort to the ranger as his life passed him by quickly, dying faster than he ever hoped he would. He tried coughing up some final words, but failed as Joseph took his life. The caracal got up after ending him, pulling the blade out and wiping it clean with a nearby scrap of cloth.
Joseph turned around the room as he looked to see the terrified slaves who had backed away from the killing that had happened before them. The detonator and handgun were quickly dropped by the dead slaver's body as a sign of respect to their savior and to prevent any fatal misunderstandings. Joseph sheathed his knife, smiling at the former slaves kindly.
"Don't y'all worry, the nearest town's probably gonna be happy to hear about all these dead slavers. That, and none of ya'll will have to worry about being slaves again."
The ranger promised, as he took the Desert Ranger grade collar breaking kit out of his pocket, and began to pick the collars accordingly. About an hour later, Joseph's work had panned out as he lead about twenty recently liberated slaves over to the nearest town, about a mile away. While they walked, one of the liberated, a young human boy walked to the ranger's side and pulled on his duster. Looking down at him, the ranger perked his ears gently out of curiosity. The boy wore the same rags his parents, and the other liberated wore, his body was dirty, but overall his spirit and curiosity seemed intact.
"Mister, what were those strange things you said to that bad man?"
"I told him in my native tongue that his words were meaningless, that's all."
The boy nodded gently, before running back off to his parents, as Joseph continued leading the path. The caracal had gotten himself quite the story to tell, one that the slaves would be able to corroborate as they embraced the freedom he helped provide. Never again would they be in chains, they knew that would be for certain.
