Motley Mutants: Post-Apocalyptia

by Jem Cottage

"Gather round, oh tired and disillusioned waste-folk! I implore you to tune in those antennas, I welcome you to pop open those cans of Potato Crisps, and I require you to huddle up next to those beautiful beaus and honeys of yours; for I, MC 'Anonymous' Valley Chey, have come to regale you! I bring detailed word of just how everyone's favorite wasteland vigilante crew came to be."

5. Chapter 5 - Montecrief House

Motley Mutants: Post-Apocalyptia Ch. 5 - Montecrief House

+ To have been an unarmed traveling merchant in Post-Apocalyptia is to have been a dead merchant - and all of the opportunistic raiders of the wasteland knew it. Admittedly, such pacifism is made considerably less erroneous when the same unarmed merchant has hired a couple of guards strapped with 5.56 caliber assault rifles; but what happens to the merchant when one of her hired guards, standing just a few feet away from the other, lays foot on a bottle-cap mine? That's the question Stimgee the brigand and his companions of the same ilk were wondering just as they saw the scene unfold from their hiding place on the side of the road whereon the mine lay. They sat still watching from the inside of an old world bus as the mine detonated, completely relieving the guards of both their duty, and their lower limbs. The brigand trio took in the spectacle with mouths agape and with eyes firmly squinted from cheeky smirks, as blood painted the road and what was left of the guards flew up high into the air. The concussive force knocked over the pack Brahmin, and with an enormous load of valuable tradables tied to its back, the dual-headed beast found it impossible to get back to its hooves. The merchant, slowly realizing the treacherous situation she had unknowingly walked into, awoke from her shock induced stupor and darted back down the road from where she came. Compelled by a euphoric state that could only follow such a successful trap, two of the raiders began the victory parade out of the bus and onto the street where they danced around the pack Brahmin whilst screaming a litany of profanities. The third raider, a man whose face was shrouded by a tattered and hooded cape, peeled away from the others. He walked further down the road, and took aim in the direction where the merchant had ran.

"She's getting awayyy." Stimgee taunted, after noticing the sniper take aim.

"Trust me, Stimgee. I've got her." The hunter promised, whilst fiddling with the scope of his Syringer rifle.

"I would have just tossed a grenade and been done with it. But that's just me, Sweety."

"Ha-ha! Sweety!" Laughed the third.

"Yes that is just you, and you would have blown her Pip-Boy to bits." Stimgee put his hands above his head and backed away from 'Sweety' letting him focus. He placed his palms behind his head and waited for- there it was. Stimgee and his stout friend looked from behind either side of the sniper to see where his shot had landed. The raider named Sweety had let loose a perfect shot into the merchants back, just between her shoulder blades.

"Good one Sweety! Ha-ha-ha!"

"Fuck off Westman… I'll go get the Pip-Boy." Said the raider, whose real-fake name was Sweetheart.

"Don't be too long, Sweety!" Stimgee prodded. Sweetheart offered a common pre-war gesture to them, which was unsurprisingly just as commonly used in the days that came post-war. As he drew near to the crawling merchant, he noted the bulky device attached to her left forearm. In order to get a better look at it, he knelt down beside her and pulled off his hood, revealing a completely bald head. With sweat dripping down his hairless brows, he rolled the merchant over, pulled her arm close to his face, and began yanking on the device.

"What-(Cough)-are you doing?" She whispered.

"Looking for a latch or something… How do you even get this damn thing off?" The merchant smiled and spit a dark loogie onto the ground. "Oh, this is funny then, huh? Look I need to get this thing off of you before those assholes come looking for me." Sweetheart explained.

"That sounds like a-(cough)-personal problem to me." The merchant decided with a strained chuckle.

"Look. I'm not going to hurt you. At least, not any more than I already have. My moronic companions however…well they're liable to do just about anything to get this thing off of you."

"Fuck you… I'm fucking dead. I'm fucking dying you ass. All for some shitty scrap metal." The merchant tugged her arm out of Sweetheart's hand. He grabbed her arm again and continued toying with the device, searching for a way to remove it.

"Would you relax already? You're not dying. I only hit you with a modest dose of lock-joint syringe. You're going to be paralyzed for a few minutes, and your back will probably hurt like hell for the next few days, but besides that, you're gonna be fine. It's just so that you look dead until those guys leave." Sweetheart explained to the merchant. "But before any of that happens, I need you to tell me how to get this fuckin' thing off!"

"It won't…come off. Not until I…" The merchant's words evaporated into a sigh, and her body remained completely still. Suddenly the device decompressed, loosening its grip on the merchants arm.

"Woah, never mind. I think I've got it." He forced the device open and removed it from the frozen woman's arm. The raider rolled up his jacket sleeve, and placed the device on top of his arm but was disheartened to realize he was just as clueless on how to attach it as he was removing it. "Damnit, I'm terrible with these things… Hey, how do I -" Sweetheart noticed the woman's eyes staring blankly into the young sky. "Fuck. You better not be faking lady." He kicked her leg - no response. "Fuck." He concluded. He pressed her eyes shut to protect them from the sun and wind, then he cursed at her motionless body for not being more cooperative. He struggled with the wearable device for a couple minutes, until he heard two sets of footsteps approaching from up the road. "Any luck, Sweety?" Asked Westman, now standing a few yards behind Sweetheart.

"The brahmin had nothing but goddamn scrap metal!" Shouted Stimgee.

"Did she have it?" Asked Westman.

"What's that there?" Stimgee pointed a twitchy finger at Sweethearts arm.

"What's what where?" Asked Sweetheart, still trying to attach the device to his arm.

"Don't get cute, Sweetheart. What do you have on your arm? Is that the Pip-thingy Alabaster wanted?" Stimgee pressed.

"I think so, yeah." Sweetheart admitted.

"Lemme try it on. I'm sure I can get it to work." Stimgee began walking towards Sweetheart.

"No. No I don't think so Stim, I know you too well. If I let you 'try it on' I'll never get the damn thing back. Not unless I kill you, of course."

"Would you two shut the fuck up? The Pip-Boy isn't for either of you. Alabaster says it's for a client. Some collector's paying him a whole lotta caps for that thing."

"Yeah, exactly Westman. They're paying him. And what do we get for our trouble? Some scrap metal? Forget that shit. Consider this my resignation." Sweetheart declared.

"I bet you think you could too. Don't you, Sweet."

"Bet I could what? What the fuck are you talking about Stimgee?" Sweetheart still hadn't looked up from the device.

"You think that if I took that thingy away from you, that you could kill me and take it right on back, don't you?" Stimgee's eyes grew darker than Sweetheart had ever seen them. There was silence for a few beats, as Stimgee awaited a response from Sweetheart, who was far too preoccupied with his new toy to care at the moment. Finally, Sweetheart removed the device and twisted it around to its intended position. He clamped the 'C' shaped device together forming an 'O' around his arm, after which a loud locking mechanism performed its job with an audible *shink* sound. At last, Sweetheart looked up to address his furious former partner.

"Yeah, Stim. Yes I do." It wasn't hard for him to match Stimgee's intensity. Despite his light hearted demeanor, Sweetheart always looked as if he had either just been in a fight, or was about to start one.

"Man I told Alabaster this shit wouldn't work with him! I knew he was too green. I knew it man, I knew it!" Westman remembered.

"What do you think Alabaster'll do when I tell him what happened here, Sweet. About how you took such an interesting bit of technology for yourself? You think this shit'll fly? We'll send as many as we need to till we get you, and when we got you it won't be quick. Do you hear me!?"

"I can make it quick for you two now, if you'd like. Just say when." Sweetheart withdrew his switchblade from his pocket, and flicked its blade open. Stimgee, who never could handle an implicit threat let alone an explicit one, reached for his knife as well. He pulled it out of his pants and stabbed it towards Sweetheart's throat. Sweetheart leaned away from the sudden attack. He thrusted his switch blade violently into the air aiming at Stimgee's extending hand, when a red light flashed between them. Sweetheart's blade thrust was true, but he only managed to pierce the air between himself and Stimgee. The two raiders looked with stunned eyes at where Stimgee's blade used to be. The blade itself was completely disintegrated…along with Stimgee's entire hand. The raider screamed and began flailing his arm around wildly, cursing the hills around him for concealing the laser sniper's position. Sweetheart took a laser to the backside, and fell prone immediately; he was hoping to avoid being turned into a steaming pile of dust next. A second later more red streaks zoomed across the sky, landing at the feet of Westman and Stimgee. Westman traced the lasers back to a group of armored shooters in the hills.

"Fuck! It's an ambush!" Westman cried, helping Stimgee to his feet.

"They shot my fucking hand, West!"

"They're gonna shoot our fucking heads if we don't get the hell outta here, Stim!" The two raiders hightailed it up the road narrowly avoiding the bolts of red heat that scorched the pavement behind their steps. As soon as they were out of sight, the shooting stopped. Sweetheart waited for his heartbeat to return to close to normal, and once it did he began rising slowly. On either side of the road, in the barren hills, he saw nothing. No soldiers, no lasers, no nothing. He stumbled to his feet, grimacing and grunting as he did. The unnatural hole left in his gluteus maximus had seared its way a half an inch deep inside of him. Luckily, the self-cauterizing nature of a laser bolt prevented the wound from bleeding profusely.

"Don't worry waster, we don't want your life. For now all we want is what you have on your arm." An augmented voice declared from behind him. Sweetheart pocketed his blade, raised his hands, and whispered:

"Shit…my ass hurts."

+ For the super mutants living in the Warrenton mutant camp, every meal was a feast. Had any of them besides Boston known the definition of the word 'Glutton', they would have surely considered it a compliment. As a result, feeding a large clan of such massive creatures could be considered a daunting task - but not for Girder. Girder was the Chef of the Warrenton mutant camp and as such was respected and loved by all of the super mutants, garnering only slightly less respect than Boston himself, in fact. 'He can take rotten radstag genitals and make them taste like Brahmin steak.' - Boston once said of Girder, who wore nothing but a half burnt apron, a chef's hat, and a pair of boxers with little rubber duckies swimming across baby blue cloth. Chop, being the camps most veracious eater, frequented Girders outdoor kitchen, always wondering what was next on the menu.

"What you cook today Girder? Mirelurk? Human?" Asked Chop.

"Radroaches, and Blood Bugs." Replied the Chef, who was turning a rotisserie of bug meat over an open fire.

"What? Not again, Girder! Why no real meat? Why no humans meat?!"

"New meat man are no good. Blame Roc and Brand for dying."

"No more humans? Nooo! I need more meat, Girder!" Chop whined. Girder continued spinning what little meat he did have while trying to ignore Chops complaints. Suddenly there was a thunderous rumble coming from the earth. The intermittent vibrations were so violent that the stones around the fire were displaced, and a blood bug fell into the fire. Girder looked at Chop.

"Stompey?" They said simultaneously. Chop ran to the gates and clambered up the side of the front watchtower. He shoved the smaller guard mutant out of his way, and looked out into the wastes. The waning sunlight was impairing his vision, so he held his giant green hands over his eyes, and looked as far as he could. The light began to dull as a dark shadow appeared below it. It grew and grew until a gigantic figure formed from the shadow, partially obscuring the sunset. "Stompey!" Chop leaped from the guard tower, stuck the landing, and sprinted up the steep hill to his master's tent. He didn't bother announcing his presence before entering.

"Boston! He's back!" Chop said with what little breath he had left.

"Who Chop? Who's back?" Asked Boston, standing up from his desk chair.

"Stompey! Stompey's back! Heard stomps, so look from high place and seen him coming!" Chop led Boston out of the tent, down the steep hill, and to the front gates where Stompey had already begun to make his presence known. Over the 30 foot tall camp gates, Chop and Boston saw Stompey chewing the limbs off of a much smaller super mutant. After he finished most of his snack, he discarded the carcass at Boston's feet.

"Stompey want in."

"Yes Chop. Stompey wants in. You -" Boston pointed at a random mutant. "-replace this one at the guard tower. Let Stompey in."

"Boston, me don't think -"

"Yes I know. You don't think. I do your thinking for you remember? Now go." The mutant was hesitant; listening to Boston's orders meant dealing with Stompey, and disobeying them meant dealing with Chop. Before Chop could ask to 'chop him up' however, he obeyed reluctantly and with help from the other gate keeper he lifted the gate for Stompey. Stompey ducked beneath the gate, which was clearly built for normal-sized giant mutants. After which he ran into the camp and roared at the surrounding mutants, who aimed their weapons at him in response.

"Stompey! Do you remember me? Do you remember your clan? We who saved you when you were still just Mobb?" The Behemoth leaned in close, his torso-sized head bumping Boston back slightly. The clan leader stood unflinching however, meeting the gargantuan mutant's eyes and trusting in his memory of their history to prevail. The mutant inhaled deeply near Boston's clothes, vacuuming in his black t-shirt into his ogre-like nostrils.

Stompey extended himself back to his impressive height. He reached behind his back and lifted his makeshift backpack into the air. With a labored grunt he threw the old world camping trailer down, landing it on an unoccupied patch of dirt between himself and Boston. "What's this? Search it through Chop." Chop ran over to the camp trailer, tore open its metal doors, and dragged out several gore bags from it. He ripped open one and sniffed its contents.

"Meat!" He called to the gathered clan, who responded with cheers for the Behemoth dubbed Stompey. The Behemoth trudged over to the steep, twisting hill and laid down upon it, nearly covering it completely. His snores began, but the rumbles didn't bother any of the mutants, who were busy munching away at the heaps of raw multifarious meats the giant had gifted them. Girder demanded the mutants let him cook the raw meat at first, before eventually succumbing to his own hunger and joining in the impromptu buffet himself. The meat showed that Stompey still remained loyal to Boston, yet his aggression showed that he may have grown even duller since his last visit. Boston ordered all of the watchers to return to their beds and get some rest. There was no need to worry about the camp being attacked by anyone, anymore.

+ "Hello friendly waste cretins! It's Anonymous Valley Chey here, coming to you LIVE via invisible magic waves, from my clandestine studio! Probably not magic, but like... Look, I don't even know how any of this shit works, it just kinda does. I mean right now, as I speak, I'm leaning into this weird metal device that's taking my face noises and funneling them somehow through all of these wires on the floor - holy shit I need to clean up by the way - and like through the magic of science, it's being projected through whatever pre-war radio you happen to be using, and into your biological sound receptors. Like what the hell dude! Ha-ha, that shit's weird man, that's all I'm saying. Like if I was just a teensy bit less high right now, maybe I'd look into finding out how it does what it does, but fuck it, you know? Ha-ha-ha! Butt-Fuck it! Geez… Yeah so I don't really know what I even wanted to say anymore, but uhh…howsa bout some Otis, Otis Redding. Not Otis-Otis Redding, just, I mean, it's just one Otis…Otis Redding. "These arms of mine". I'm gonna play it now. Just for you. M'kay bye."

Sergeant Shipley smiled. In all her days traveling the wasteland for the Brotherhood, she'd heard every kind of radio personality. They all had their quirks and little charming idiosyncrasies she thought, but none of them were as entertaining to listen to as Valley Chey, and her nonsensical drug-enhanced rants. Dutch and she had been ordered by Elder Cyrus to report to the Steel Chapel before dawn, contradicting orders from Richmond HQ which stated they were to return immediately after delivering the cargo. Regardless, Dutch had decided that as no one in Richmond held the rank of Elder, Cyrus' orders took precedence. Dutch gestured for Shipley to cut the radio off just as they entered the Steel Chapel. At the end of the deep-blue carpeted walkway, they could see the Elder speaking to an orange haired scribe, the Paladin named Reese, and the non-hostile super mutant from the day before.

"That thing freaks me out Dutch. I can't trust a mutant. How are we supposed to go on a mission with that thing?" Shipley's concern was understandable, Dutch thought. Honestly it freaked him out as well, but being a Knight loyal to the Brotherhood meant you didn't get to question an Elder's orders.

"It'll be fine, Jenni. I've heard stories about things like this. About mutants who abandon their brothers in order to lead peaceful lives."

"Yeah, we all have. About that one from vault 81, who helped the Lone Wanderer purify the water and defeat the Enclave. I also heard that if you step on a live bottlecap mine just right, you have the slightest chance to disarm it. Do you want to be the one to test out that theory Dutch?" Dutch chuckled at Shipley, but the Sergeant refused to join him. To her, there was nothing funny about super mutants. They made their way to the Elder's quarters where they joined the others who'd already gathered.

"Captain Dutch, Sergeant Shipley, good morning. I don't think you've been properly introduced to our guest yet. This is Rocky. He's not naturally violent I assure you, at least, no more so than any human. He's the product of Miss Fiona's LEO procedure."

"Of course, Fiona was my mother's name, Elder. I'm Senior Scribe Liona Daughtry, hello Knights." Liona corrected.

"Right. Right… It's a long story so for the sake of brevity let's just say, he's been scientifically rehabilitated. However, this is his first mission as a new mutant, and as a soldier of the Brotherhood. Which is why I need your help. Along with Paladin James Reese here, you will be assigned with aiding Rocky in peace talks with the slaver known as Montecrief. Should he need help involving bullets and lasers, you'll help him there as well. Furthermore, should he regress back to his older, less civilized ways, it will be your duty to eliminate him."

"Understood sir. This is quite unusual, as I'm sure you understand, but Sergeant Shipley and I are willing to fulfill our duty to the Brotherhood without -"

"Very good, Captain. That will be all. Paladin Reese will escort you to the vertibird."

"Ad-Victoriam Elder." Shipley and Dutch chest saluted the Elder before following Reese.

"Now as for you Rocky… Where is the prisoner, Liona?"

"She's already loaded on the vertibird, Elder. Just as you asked." Answered the Scribe.

"Oh, of course. Well, regardless. What you need to know is that she is going to, just like you recommended, lead you to Montecrief, who is apparently located at the heart of Old Oakwood. He has repurposed an old world mansion to act as a fortress and slave compound, and has garnered a relatively large fighting force of ghouls as well. So don't start shooting unless you absolutely must. Besides that, I leave the rest to you. If you are successful, I'll name you a Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel; perhaps we'll make a new ranking just for your kind! It'll take some time for the folks here to warm up to you, but I reckon for a charmer like you it won't be too long."

"The knighting will be enough for now." Rocky admitted.

"I sure hope you are able to talk some sense to Montecrief, because if he doesn't surrender, I'll be forced to send a lot more men, and risk many more lives…from both of our sides. You can tell Montecrief as much." The Elder returned to his quarters.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Rocky?" Asked Liona.

"I've dealt with ghouls before, Liona. I'll be fine, I promise." Rocky looked the petite scribe dead in her eyes as he spoke, in the hopes of alleviating her fears.

"I have no doubt you've fought ghouls before, but have you ever talked to one?" Rocky answered her question with a long silence. "Right. Well then you should know that ghouls are very stubborn, and more than a little reluctant to deal with humans. Convincing Montecrief to stand down won't be an easy task, that's all I'm saying." Liona waited for a response from Rocky, who simply nodded and smiled at her. "Look, as far as the thing with Reese goes, don't bring it up on the mission. I'm worried how he'll react. We'll talk to him when you get back, and we'll see what he knows. Good luck, Rocky." She pressed her face deep into his abdomen and wrapped her arms around his waist: a goodbye hug.

+ Lancer Captain Kellard wasn't so ecstatic to let his prize vertibird, Big-Bird, be sent back into the skies on another mission so soon after getting her back. He had only just finished patching her up, cleaning her interior, and repainting the letters 'B.B.' on her sides, when Elder Cyrus ordered him to prep her for another takeoff. Its abnormally large cabin would be required to hold Rocky, three Knights in power armor, and their prisoner Agrippina. Dutch and Shipley sat on one side of the bench furthest from the cockpit, while Rocky was seated on the other end. Across from them, seated nearest to the cockpit, sat Agrippina and Reese so that she could give directions to the Lancer when need be, and so that Reese could keep her quiet the rest of the time. At one point during the flight, Agrippina leaned over her seat to ask the Lancer if he had a license to fly the vertibird. Before she could hear the answer Reese grabbed her and sat her back down on the bench. After that, she was obedient for a while. She twiddled her thumbs and occasionally glanced out of the window to be sure that they were headed the right way, but didn't say a word. Until Reese fell asleep, leaving her some time to ask a question that had been bothering her ever since the day before when she had been brought before the Elder in the Steel Chapel.

"Sooo Rocky, is it? I've been wondering. Why aren't you mean?" The brown skinned woman asked. "I mean, it's just that I've never met a super mutant who didn't want to eat me is all, and you saved me. So I guess my real question is: why'd you do that?" The members of Intrepid squad leaned in to listen as well, curiosity compelling them.

"I just pointed out an alternative option. He could have let you sit in a cell for a few weeks, or we could have you take us to the man that ordered you to steal that cargo."

"If you say so… You speak well, you know that?"

"What you mean to say is that I don't sound like a homicidal idiot, right? That seems to surprise most humans, I've found."

"And how couldn't it? It's bloody odd! Most of you green fellas aren't fit to express yourselves with anything more than grunts, fisticuffs, or monosyllabic words like, 'Eat' or 'Die'." The woman proceeded to chuckle heartily at her own jest.

"I'm not like other mutants - not anymore. I don't enjoy hurting people, and I don't like to fight. Not as a first resort."

"Me neither, honestly. But in a world like this, you can't exactly sell cookies door to door, y'know? I suppose that's why I got into thieving. Its somewhere in the middle I reckon, between a travelling pastry salesman and something more nefarious. Not to mention I've simply got a knack for taking stuff that isn't mine without getting caught."

"You sure about that last part?" Rocky smiled at the captive, practically pointing out her chains as he chuckled softly.

"Laugh it up, Greeny. I'll have you know that I only got caught because the plan was utter rubbish. How was I supposed to convince four Brotherhood Knights that I'm a Lancer from a base that I have never even been to before? I mean, sure I could have hid my accent a bit better, but I try not to live my life in constant retrospect, y'know? I just wish Marci, and Cliff could've made it." She said while playing with a strand of her long black hair. Agrippina was a beautiful woman, Rocky noticed. She was tall, slender, and her face was nearly scientific in its perfection; almost as if it had been hand crafted in a lab somewhere.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" Agrippina asked, wiping her cheeks.

"No, sorry. It's err… You mentioned a woman named Marci, and a man named Cliff. Were they your partners?"

"Sure, you could call it that. Although, I don't think we ever specifically defined our relationship in such a way. I met the two of them in a place up north called the Commonwealth. They sort of got me out of a tight jam up there, and I've been traveling with them ever since. We weren't family. Well…they were, I guess. We did good work together."

"What kind of 'tight jam'? Was it similar to the one you're in now? Rocky asked.

"Hardly. Let's just say I'm not like everyone else either."

"That's right, you're not like everyone else. See 'cuz most everyone else is free. And you're my prisoner, miss. And didn't I already tell you to keep your mouth shut?" The aging yet vigilant Knight hadn't stirred once in his apparent sleep, and so his voice spooked the woman.

"We were just making small talk, is all… I thought you were asleep." Agrippina insisted.

"I never sleep on missions. And I especially don't, when I'm in charge of a prisoner." The Paladin growled.

"We've arrived in Old Oakwood, Paladin." Spoke the Lancer.

"You heard him, Agri-whatever-the-fuck-your-name-is." Reese pulled Agrippina to the pilot's side. While the three of them were occupied with the directions, the two leaders of Intrepid squad decided to have their turn with the elephant-sized mutant in the room.

"Hey Rocky. We only half met back at the fort. My name's Ryan Dutch. I'm the leader of Intrepid Squad. This is my second in command, Jennifer Shipley." Jenni removed her helmet in order to get a good look at Rocky. Her golden hair was shaved on the sides and what was left on top she had tied into a small, tight bun. Dutch then removed his helmet as well. He looked much how Rocky imagined most male Knights did under their thick exoskeletons. His entire scalp was buzzed, but his face made up for the hair deficiency as he had a dark, full beard with only some parts on his cheeks and chin left bald from deep scarring.

"Hello Knights." Rocky extended his hand as he had seen humans do in greeting before. Dutch accepted it with a smile.

"If what I understand is correct, you want to be a Knight. I've been all over, and I've seen everything that the Brotherhood's east coast presence has to offer. But honestly, I've never heard of such a thing."

"It's true, there's never been a super mutant in the Brotherhood. East or west coast. We've been wondering: Why the hell would a mutant even want to become a Knight?" Jenni added.

"I guess it is pretty odd, but I try to look at it this way: All super mutants are infertile, and so some seek to procreate by kidnapping humans and submerging them in vats filled with FEV. This means that all of us, no matter how horrendously mutated, are still, at our core, human. From what I can tell, the Brotherhood fights for humanity. That's what I want to do as well. The only difference between our philosophies, is that I seek to fight for humanity regardless of the mutated form I find it in."

"What about the mutants that you were just talking about? About the ones who kidnap innocent people and forever ruin their lives by turning them into more mutants? You want to fight for them too?" Asked Shipley, wildly gesturing with her armored hands.

"Liona Daughtry - she's the Senior Scribe you saw in the Steel Chapel - I once heard her say to another human that the mutants of the wasteland are their own enemies, well before they become ours. By 'ours' I believe she was not only referring to the Brotherhood of Steel, but humanity at large. Many of my former brothers, they do not remember their lives as humans, not any more than the occasional fleeting recollection will allow. But I do, at least a little bit, thanks to Liona and her LEO procedure. In its immediate aftermath I regained my true personality, and my humanlike disposition, and I even remembered things like how to read and write. And now I am slowly remembering my old life, one piece at a time. If I can be changed, then why can't they? Why can't this Montecrief change? I need to try to help them, as best I can. That has to be the point of all this."

"Well shit, Rocky. I don't know about Jenni, but that's all I needed to hear. I've gotta say, it does make me wonder if all of these years of fighting mutants could have been better spent trying to help them."

"They're murderers, Dutch. I'd kill any kind of being that would kill so many others without reason."

"You don't need to feel guilty for your past ignorance, Dutch. It's a difficult situation. How do you help someone who's trying to kill you? It is a question I seek to answer in my new life." Suddenly the vertibird jerked downward.

"We're here soldiers. Prepare for landing." Dutch and Jenni put their helmets on, stood, and grabbed the metal handles on the ceiling. Rocky, having no prior training in vertibird landing protocol, was flung into the vertibird's sliding metal door with a thump. Reese helped him to his feet.

"You're lucky we aren't here for an attack; with those doors open, your big ass woulda learned to fly real quick." Rocky saw Dutch and Jenni laughing, but before the embarrassment could set in, the bird began taking shots.

"What the fuck is that?" Asked Shipley.

"They don't know we're here to talk. Let's just hope Rocky's budding diplomatic career doesn't get us all killed." Answered Reese. The Lancer perched the oversized bird in a natural depression about a hundred yards away from the objective.

"All right, here we are everyone. The two of you are going with Rocky here, and you're gonna help him as previously instructed, copy?" Asked Reese. The two soldiers of Intrepid Squad responded together. "Copy."

"As for you -" Reese looked at Agrippina who cut him off.

"I'll be going with Rocky. He needs me, right Greeny?"

"Not a fucking chance in hell, thief. You served your purpose already. You're staying right here with me."

"I think she's right, Paladin. I don't know this place; none of us do. She should come with me." Rocky challenged Reese.

"Is that what you think, Mutey? And who is gonna be held accountable if the schemey little thief finds a way to escape? She stays here."

"I'm in charge of -"

"You're not in charge of shit, mutant. This here is a suicide mission. And Elder Cyrus knows it. Sending such a small team out here into uncharted territory to face an army of entrenched ghouls, - he knows you won't make it back. And I'm not going to risk any more lives than I have to on this shit. That's including hers and it's including mine. Lancer, when they unload, take us into the sky and look for a safer spot to land. You have one hour Rocky. If I don't hear from any of you by then, then we're leaving." Rocky stepped out of the bird, followed by Dutch and Shipley. He took a couple of steps onto the soaked landscape, looked down at his boots and watched as they sunk into the mud.

"Darion didn't die, Reese." Rocky declared seemingly to his boots. Reese signaled for the Lancer to stop, and he returned to the door of the vertibird.

"What the hell did you just say, mutey?"

"Sentinel Darion Rockwell didn't die that night. Not entirely."

"How the… Who…" The proverbial cat must have finally had its day with Reese's tongue. For the first time that the 43 year old soldier could remember, he was speechless. His words were halted by the sudden and inescapable truth. Rocky turned to the stunned Knight.

"I need her if I'm going to do this, James. Help an old friend out here, will you?" Reese climbed down from the bird and stood right in front of his former C.O.

"Is it… Is it really you, Sentinel?" Reese's tones usual sharp edge had been noticeably dulled by the new information.

"Not completely. Not yet. The LEO is a slow cure I'm afraid. But I remember you, 1st Cavalier." Rocky's eyes swelled. In truth, the man who despised Rocky most, had been Darion's dearest friend, and Rocky had been reminded of their former bond. Reese held his fist firmly to his heart.

"I am so sorry, Darion. I didn't know. I…I…" Rocky placed a hand on the contrite Paladin's left pauldron.

"I need her help, James." Rocky reminded him. Reese entered the Vertibird for a moment, spoke to the Lancer, and returned with Agrippina.

"Yay! We're all friends now! I'm not entirely sure what just happened but…still, how exiting!" The thief smiled brightly with glee. Her smile sought to persuade even the most staunchly devoted cynic.

"You're comin' with us but I still don't trust you, woman." Reece said.

"'Us' is it, Paladin?" Asked Rocky.

"Never again, will I let you go to battle alone, Sentinel. I won't make that mistake twice in one life." With a slap on the rear, Big-Bird began chopping air. Once it was out of sight the crew of four followed Agrippina through the mucky overgrowth. As they walked in single file, Rocky wondered what his friend Liona was doing.

+ Whenever a child is born at Fort Duke, they are given the first 9 years of their lives to be children. To play tag and hide and seek, to play with toy guns and dolls, and to not worry about anything other than simple schooling. But when a child reaches the age of 10, everything changes. They are officially conscripted into a semi-military role as Squires where they stay for 3 or 4 years. After and based on a series of tests and evaluations, the young Squires will be placed in a position that best fits their abilities. The ones with talent on the range or for fighting are chosen to shadow Knights, while the ones who exhibit talent in math, history, and science are placed with the Scribes to learn from them, and the ones with an affinity and aptitude for aviation are placed with the Lancers. At the age of 18, if they've met all of the prerequisites, they can be officially titled 'Knight' or 'Scribe' or 'Lancer'. From there they can reach higher ranks by accomplishing missions, or by outperforming the expectations of their current rank. In the time since arriving at Fort Duke in 2287, no one had risen through the ranks of Scribe as fast as Liona Daughtry had. At the age of 12 she was promoted early to the rank of initiate for dramatically outperforming her fellow Squires in all core classes. At the age of 16, when she solved the T-60 power armor's issues with energy consumption allowing for 1 power core to last twice as long as it had before, she was promoted to Scribe. Finally when Liona was 18, an age when others her age were just surpassing the rank of initiate, she was granted the position of Senior Scribe by Elder Cyrus for developing the LEO procedure. As a Scribe in charge of an entire program, she was granted her own sect of the laboratory to perform her duties. For the last week she had been so preoccupied with Rocky that she was forced to quell her overwhelming control-freakiness and allow Theodore Wickett, a fellow Senior Scribe and unofficial number 2, to run the lab studies. She stepped into the brightly lit white lab and hung her study pack on a nearby coat hanger, which promptly fell over due to its unbalanced number of legs. Her pack hit the ground sending her journals and loose papers jetting across the blue tile floors. Shannon and Theodore, who were busy reviewing their notes and thus hadn't heard Liona enter, jumped up from their desks and rushed over to Liona to lend a hand. Shannon tracked down most of the scattered papers and stacked them neatly before presenting them to an annoyed Liona.

"Theodore, my dear friend and cherished colleague, how many times have I requested that this hanger be fixed?" Liona asked while repacking her bag and draping its strap back over her shoulder.

"Liona! It's…uhh…so nice to see you! We were just wondering when you'd return from your hiatus." Theodore's voice always raised by an octave or two when he was nervous or getting scolded. Usually Liona found his awkwardness endearing, but she was in no mood for it today.

"Just fix it, all right Theodore?" The male scribe leaned over to the raven haired Initiate Scribe. "And don't pass it off to Shannon again!" Liona snapped at him with an index finger raised like a saber.

"All right, all right, geez Liona. What has you so ornery this morning? Has Rocky departed already? We heard he was being sent on his first mission today - very exciting indeed." Liona glared at Theodore. 'What has you so ornery this morning' she thought, mockingly. He knew that she was worried about Rocky, but he brought it up anyway. 'Whatever' she continued internally as she walked over to the center lab station. Atop the table was a half human and half super mutant leg. She picked up and began reading the literature taped to it.

"Oh yes, Subject A's single most distinguishing feature. Shannon and I took most of the last week to accomplish a few minor yet essential lab-keeping duties, but we saved a few hours for this in particular. A few cross referenced DNA studies showed that the calf shares none with the thigh. We were able to deduce that in fact, the calf never was introduced to the FEV in the first place."

"So it didn't fight off the FEV like we initially suspected?" Liona asked.

"No, it didn't fight off the FEV like you initially suspected." Theodore passively countered. "Although, our Scribe-in-the-making here has developed some intriguing theories as to why it was the only part left unaltered." Shannon kept quiet for a moment. Then, after realizing that she had been prompted to speak, did so.

"Oh, me? Sorry. I guess that I just sort of thought…"

"Come now Shannon. You have to show confidence in your ideas, or no one else will." Theodore encouraged. Liona waited patiently for Shannon to speak.

"Super mutants dip their captives into batches of FEV in order to accelerate its effects on the victim."

"Yes, this much we know." Liona concurred.

"Well, if that's true, then maybe they weren't able to cover Subject A completely. Maybe they've finally run out of FEV, and are now looking for more." Shannon concluded as confidently as possible.

"It's a pretty interesting possibility, huh Liona? After she told me her theory, I asked around a bit. Several Knights can remember spotting super mutants with human limbs around the areas to the north. I mean, it would explain why they've traveled so far south. I doubt they were pursuing us over some sort of vendetta." Theodore speculated.

"Yes, it's very interesting Shannon. I'm proud of your work in my absence, both of you."

"Aren't you happy, Ms. Daughtry?" Shannon asked, noticing Liona's lack of excitement in her theory.

"Yes, I mean, I'm happy with your work, it's just that I'm a bit disappointed with the mutant leg results. If the leg had fought off the FEV, or repelled it somehow, we could have used it to develop something that not only fights the FEV's cognitive degeneration, but also its physical alterations."

"Yes, I'm sure Rocky would have benefited greatly from that. But alas, here we are. Standing in front of a useless, half mutated limb. That's science for you." Theodore said, resting his chin on his hand.

"Alright. I guess we can dispose of it then. At least it makes sense now why the LEO gene didn't take to his system; he hadn't fully transformed into a super mutant."

"Good morning everyone." No one had heard him enter, and so they all jumped to attention as he shut the laboratory door behind himself.

"Elder Cyrus, good morning. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Theodore asked.

"To this," the Elder dangled a note between his pinched fingers. "Sergeant Heyward requires the contents of this list A-S-A-P. He said that you would be able to acquire them for him Liona."

"And he got you to deliver it? An Elder playing courier? Do the duties of Elder bore you, sir?"

"Never mind my duties as Elder. I like taking walks every so often to visit the buildings farthest from the chapel, that's all. Smith Dalton told me what he needed and I offered to help." Liona strode over and grabbed the note. After faintly mouthing the list she turned to Shannon.

"Shannon here, take this." The Initiate did what she was told. "You can gather everything from the store room on the second floor. Do so and I'll meet you at the Foundry." Shannon took the note from Liona and hurried out of the lab. Liona nodded to Theodore, and left right behind her. Elder Cyrus folded his arms and walked closer to the table with the leg on it. He stared at the disembodied limb as if he meant to comment on it.

"Theodore."

"Y-yes Elder."

"Do you have the results?"

"Oh, oh yes Elder. Here, um. Take a seat." Theodore motioned towards a stool near the examination table. The Elder remained standing as if he had never heard Theodore, glaring at the frazzled scientist. "Okay. So. After several examinations and a bevy of neurological tests performed by our advanced Auto-Doc -"

"Theodore. What am I dealing with?"

"Sir…you have early onset Alzheimer's. The disease has spread throughout your cerebral cortex, shrinking it considerably."

"Time…how much do I have, Theodore?" Elder Cyrus, a man once known for his astounding strength and vitality, could almost feel his memories of those days of glory fleeing him, taking with them his spirit.

"Elder Cyrus, I'm loathe to tell you this, I am. And it's such a difficult disease to gauge -" Cyrus glared at Theodore impatiently. "You have less than one year before the effects overwhelm your mind. Maybe, with luck, we could extend -"

"Thank you Theodore. I would appreciate your continued protection of my privacy in these medical matters. There's a reason I came to you with this and not that bureaucrat, Rourke." The Elder turned to leave the lab when all of a sudden Theodore took hold of his arm tightly.

"I will do all I can to preserve your right to your privacy for as long as I can, Elder Cyrus. But soon will come a day when you will no longer be fit to operate your position effectively. It is by the Codex, and our very creed, that I must beg you to consider stepping down, and soon." Cyrus pulled the scientists scrawny arm away gently.

"Codex, creed - these mean little to a dying, forgetful man. As for me stepping down, I wouldn't worry about it Dr. Wickett. It will never come to that."

+ The squad of five made their arrival at 9 o'clock. They lay low in a patch of trees across the road from Montecrief house, discreetly monitoring the shadowy exterior. Paladin Reese had done most of the surveying thus far, quietly scanning with his laser rifle's thermal scope. The rest of the group had no such luxury however, and a moment's wait passed Agrippina's acceptable patience limit prompted her to speak first.

"Have you sufficiently indulged your voyeuristic nature, Paladin? Because I'm about ready to get on with it." The civilian prodded.

"How do you expect us to know if they're waiting for us to make a move so they can rain missiles down on us, if I don't check first? Oh, that's right, you wouldn't. Because you're a civvy."

"Not so loud, yeah? It sort of defeats the whole purpose of spying when you shout like that. Or don't you know that already soldier boy?" Reese glared at Agrippina for a moment, before deciding to spare himself the wasted breath, and return to his scope. Another few long moments passed before the next person interrupted.

"Do you see anything, Paladin?" Whispered Dutch.

"Not a peep. The place doesn't even seem inhabited."

"Well you know some people believe in getting a full 8 hours every night, Paladin. Not everyone spends their nights crawling through the mud on furtive pursuits of diplomacy." Agrippina said.

"Hush, I think -" Yet before Reece could mention it, a wide, bright spotlight shone from atop the nearest guard post, highlighting the previously concealed group amongst the brush. Its operator spoke:

"Hello. Yes, you there. The ones attempting to hide in that bunch of trees over yonder. We see you just fine. My name's Char. Mr. Montecrief has asked me to grant you access to his home. I'm here to make sure he doesn't regret it." The gruff voice emanating from a hidden intercom paused while the fence gate was pulled open, and a wooden bridge was let down. "You can come on in, with your weapons holstered, and your manners about yourselves."

"Should have just knocked huh, Cap." Shipley whispered to Dutch. The group stood, holstered their weapons, and marched slowly over to the wooden bridge. Below their boots lay a deep moat, stretching around the perimeter of the property, full of bubbling radioactive waste. Dutch's armor began ticking in response to the deadly amounts of nuclear goop.

"Shit that's a lot of rads." Dutch whispered to no one in particular while assessing the frailty of the bridge and the odds of surviving a swim in the poisonous liquid below it. "Hey, Agrippina. You're the only one here without armor, or…mutations. Maybe you should hang back." Dutch offered after reading his Geiger counter.

"You're sweet for the courtesy Captain, but I feel fine. Rads haven't really ever bothered me none, to be honest." Agrippina replied, while balancing on the low wooden guardrail of the bridge. Dutch gawked at the slender woman for as long as he could without drawing her attention. He had half a mind to insist, or even to force her to stay back, but honestly, he decided, she didn't seem fazed the slightest bit by the copious amounts of rads in the air. They quickly made it across the brief bridge, only to be greeted by ghoul slavers from all sides pointing various automatic weapons at them. The entire group except for Paladin Reese forfeited their hands.

"Now I would have sworn just a moment ago I told you idiots, not to walk in here with your weapons drawn. If you can't follow my rules, then I'll have to let my boys and girls here end this chat before it's even begun." From behind the crowds of peeling faces a blackened one spoke, with the same grizzled voice previously heard on the intercom.

"What are you talking about? Our hands are up, ghoul. Are your eyes as shitty as they look?" Shipley taunted. The ghoul named Char opened his jaw allowing his mostly-finished hand rolled cigarette to drop to the floor. He spit after it, before reaching into his tattered shirt's pocket to withdraw a new one. Keeping his eyes fixed on the group, he laid it onto his tongue and took a struck match to the other end, speaking all the while.

"You know what? They may just be. Because it would make more sense then what I'm seeing right now. Steel boy, why don't you follow suit and put your metal away like the rest of your crew?"

"I'm not putting my weapon away. Not when I'm surrounded by a bunch of low-life slavers who're aimin' theirs at me. You drop yours and I will too, not a second before."

"Who the fuck do you think you are? This is Montecrief House! Here, Mr. Montecrief makes the rules! If you want to see him then you've got one choice: holster your weapon."

"Yeah, that would normally make sense, except, you're the one tellin me the rules. So howsa bout I wait for your master to tell me. Where is he anyway?"

"We don't have masters here. Mr. Montecrief is the owner of this establishment. Making him our employer, nothing more."

"Whatever you say. All I know is you guard where he wants you to, you shoot who he tells you to- for all I know you shit when he allows you to. Considerin' how we haven't been shot yet, I can only assume that means Mr. Montecrief doesn't want us dead just yet, and if he doesn't want us dead, then that means that you aint gonna do shit to us. So let's just wait for your master to come on out and give us a warm welcome, what do you say?" The ghoul's face was made even darker by his hateful expression. He ripped his sawn off shotgun from its hip holster and raised it to the group of five.

"That's it, asshole. You lose!" In unison, the ghouls racked their rifles and released their safeties. They took aim.

"CHAR, STOP!" The ghouls turned around to face the upper balcony of Montecrief house, where the silhouette of the man after whom the building was named stood, leaning over the railing. His face obscured by a spotlight which shone directly at the group.

"Mr. Montecrief? He's asking for it! We can't let some smoothskins come in here and disrespect us! Isn't that what this was all about?"

"You're failing to see that you've already disrespected them by greeting them with so many raised firearms, Char." His voice sounded distorted to the group, as if he spoke through a mechanism made to amplify his voices' natural resonance. "Let them through. I'll speak with all of them inside." The ghoulish leader vanished back into his home.

"Howsa' bout it Char old boy?" Reese teased. Without a word Char turned and walked into the fortified mansion, and the group led by Reese followed. Inside the walls were decorated with half torn pictures in ornate frames. Old world hunting weapons along with pre and post war hunting victims filled any open spaces left by the pictures. In the main room there was a long curved staircase with a twisting ivory handrail, and at the top of it stood a faintly glowing, green ghoul, of equally impressive height and dress. He wore a perfect-condition prewar navy blue tuxedo, accented with chocolate brown shoes, a mud colored tie and a golden wrist watch. He walked halfway down the steps and addressed the room.

"Good morning everyone. It's not often that we get so many visitors, or, intruders as the case may be. Which sort are you?" His voice sounded electronic. It lacked the more common gravely tone that humans had come to expect from ghouls. He echoed like several people speaking in unison in an empty room.

"The impatient sort, Montecrief. We came to talk." Reese replied.

"Yes, I can hear that much. But what about, exactly?" The towering ghoul removed his circular spectacles and wiped them on a shred of cloth which he had previously produced from his jacket.

"Mr. Montecrief." Rocky stepped forward. "We came to talk about -"

"Oh my god. That is absolutely remarkable! The Brotherhood sent an intelligent mutant to speak for them! I apologize for interrupting, green fellow. What is your name?"

"Rocky."

"As in Road?"

"What?"

"Err, nothing… An old joke, that's all… excuse me. Please continue."

"We came here as ordered by Elder Cyrus of the Brotherhood of Steel to discuss terms of peace." Rocky explained.

"And yet you elected to bring so many weapons, Rocky. Did you truly hope to convince me or was your true aim to intimidate me? Either way your luck will be the same, I think." The slaver replaced his glasses upon his withered head before pausing for a few beats to analyze the entire group of visitors scrupulously. A moment before his glare grew to be uncomfortable, he reset his posture and spoke conclusively. "Nevertheless, it seems my curiosity has once again dashed my better wisdom." The dapper ghoul paused a moment, squinted, subtly refitted his glasses and focused his gaze on the dark skinned, armor-less figure to the back of the group. "And you've even brought her back. Hello, Agrippina. It's nice to see you again. The job didn't go as planned, I presume?" Montecrief patronized.

"It bloody well didn't!"

"Well. Thank you for showing the Brotherhood right to my doorstep, Agrippina."

"I didn't have a choice Monte! I'm not exactly operating under my own volition here!" Agrippina said, jingling her wrist chains.

"There is always a choice, Agrippina. You've made yours. Well since you're all here, I suppose it would be beneficial to talk, before I decide what to do with you all. I'll speak to one of you, and no more. I don't want you all tracking boot grime throughout my house. Not to mention whatever rad-beast scat you've managed to step on out there."

"Me." Rocky decided.

"The mutant? Truly? And none of you object?"

"I was sent here to talk with you. The others are only here to ensure that I do so."

"Very well, very well. Follow me. The rest of you can wait in the dining room."

"Good luck, Sentinel. We'll be waiting down here." Reese said, giving Rocky a nod, who then scaled the stairs behind Montecrief. The two walked into Montecrief's office and sat on opposing armchairs near a large wooden engraved desk covered with books of various sizes. Montecrief poured a shallow drink of bourbon for himself, and quickly downed it.

"It's a prewar vintage. Ordinarily I'd offer a guest some, but…well I've never seen an intoxicated mutant before, and frankly I do not want to find out what that looks like."

"To be honest I don't quite know what that would look like either. You've been very hospitable already, especially given the circumstances. I've got to ask though: why are you so…"

"Pleasant? Sorry, was that too presumptuous? Was it the word, 'reasonable', that you were struggling to find?" Montecrief sipped his drink.

"Yes. Pleasant and reasonable. Those aren't words that I would expect to find myself describing a slaver with."

"Of course not. And do you know why that is?" Rocky shook his head. "It's because I'm not a slaver. Now you're wondering, 'well, if you're not a slaver, then why does everyone say that you are, Montecrief?' The answer is simple: I used to be.

"You used to be?" Rocky asked.

"Have you ever been in love, Rocky?"

"No, I haven't." Rocky answered.

"That's very fortunate, indeed. A long time ago, I happened upon the ghoulette of my dreams. She was the daughter of a then prominent Brahmin rancher, and she was as sweet as a Candy Drop. I met her one day while I was wondering along a road to nowhere, my stomach aching from neglect, and my feet from too much use. Eventually I spotted a farmhouse atop a roadside hill. I stumbled up to the front door, and I knocked as hard as I could muster before fainting from exhaustion and dehydration. I woke up hours later, laying on a bed inside the farmhouse. A voice says to me, 'Hello, are you awake yet? I brought you some stew, and some water.' Once I had finally regained my vision, I saw the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen sitting on the bed next to me, offering me stew from a wooden spoon. She nursed me back to health, and when I was strong enough her father allowed me to repay him by working on his farm. I did so for many years, and somewhere along the way, the rancher's daughter and I fell in love. We were together for 30 years, and yet even now as I recall those memories, it still doesn't seem like it could have been any more than a dozen. We lived far from the city of Old Oakwood back then, and so it took us awhile to learn of what was happening here. All of the ghouls in the city had been hunted down, tortured, and killed by a human group known as the Oakwood Hunter's Guild. The Guild had labeled ghouls of all kind - feral or civil - as beasts to be hunted down and killed. To them we were no better than deathclaws or radscorpians. I was away from the ranch for a couple of days, taking the herd up to new pastures to feed. Upon my return I…I found the charred remains of our farmhouse. The Guild had burned it down to the ground with…with my wife and her father inside." The ghoul paused to sip his drink again.

"I'm sorry, Montecrief. I can't imagine your pain." Rocky sympathized.

"No, you can't. But don't be sorry, Rocky. I made sure those responsible paid for what they had done. After burying my old life, I traveled across the Northern Carolines in search of any ghouls who hadn't yet been slaughtered by the Hunter's Guild. I found many of the surviving ghouls from Old Oakwood scattered about, homeless, scared, and searching for meaning. I gave them one: vengeance. Sadly, in other towns and cities, I found that our story was not unique. Many other ghouls had suffered the same tragedy by the hands of humans, and so I enlisted them for my cause as well. Eventually we grew strong enough to challenge the Hunter's Guild, and so we returned here, to Old Oakwood. On a moonless night, I came for the Hunters in their homes. We beat them bloody in their beds until they grew tired of screaming for mercy, then I ordered them dragged outside, and gathered in the streets. After all that time, I had finally realized my goal. There in front of me knelt the entirety of infamous Oakwood Hunter's Guild, begging me for their lives, and sobbing like babies with shit stained underwear and all. It wasn't their cries that shook me though. No, it was the cries of their families. Daughters and sons, wives and parents, all of them looking at me…like I was no better than a deathclaw or a radscorpian. I saw that I was about to ruin their lives, the way these men did mine. I remembered the pain I had endured for so many years because of what they did to me. I couldn't let that happen again, - not by my hands - and yet I also couldn't let these men live unpunished. So I brought them to Mortdecai house, a historic landmark from before the war which I then renamed Montecrief house. I enslaved the lot of them, and I forced them to work producing food and whatever else we needed for 30 years or so. What we could spare, we gave to the humans of Old Oakwood- to their families. Eventually the hunters grew old and were unable to work, and so I allowed them to leave as sad, tired men. That was a very long time ago, and all of the participants in that story who weren't ghouls, have long since passed away. Ever still Rocky, the name endures. Montecrief the Slaver. Even ghouls it would seem have trouble outliving their past." There was a prolonged moment then, as the two mutants sat across from one another, lost in thought and reflection. Finally, as Montecrief downed the last of his drink, Rocky spoke up.

"I understand now. That's quite a sad story, Montecrief… I'm sorry, I guess I just don't know what to say to all of that." Rocky admitted.

"Then don't. We don't have time to dwell on such distant past, anyway. Let's talk about you. Where do you come from, Rocky?"

"I come from Fort Duke, a Brotherhood base. Before that, I came from a mutant camp in Warrenton."

"Oh yes I've heard of such a camp, many of my men who travel that far north don't come back. The ones that have, give word of an organized force of mutants that easily doubles our own. Is that true, Rocky?"

"Yes…well, I don't know how many ghouls you have here, but there were at least a hundred mutants there when I left."

"And why did you leave?"

"Leave?"

"Yes. You must have left in order to end up here. Why?"

"Well, I was ordered to leave. To follow a map."

"Ordered by whom?"

"My former leader. A mutant named Boston."

"And to where did this map lead you?"

"It was supposed to lead me to the Brotherhood base. But…"

"But it didn't, and you were captured instead."

"Yes, how-?"

"Just an educated guess. The whole story seems rather linear all of a sudden. You see Rocky, just like any other successful wasteland leader, I have many ears throughout the area. Some of them told me that there was some sort of peace agreement between the Warrenton mutants and the Brotherhood of Steel. They also told me that the Brotherhood had been seen on several occasions, collecting deceased super mutants and lifting them away on vertibirds. I assumed this was most likely for testing. I had little to no idea however what they were testing for, until I heard from some of my more distant ears a few days ago. They told me about a super mutant who had been living amongst the Brotherhood over at Fort Duke - a civilized mutant. Now the Brotherhood wants to negotiate with me as well. The way I see it, either the Brotherhood has finally run out of micro fusion cells, or they're scheming at something."

"Sounds to me like you're partial to conspiracies. Scheming at what?"

"Well Rocky, I don't think they want a truce. I think they want all of their enemies to stop attacking them and to stay put long enough for them to do something stupid. Like for instance, and I'm just spit-balling here, open that two century old vault beneath their feet."

"Vault? Like a bomb shelter?"

"Yes, like one of the multi-billion dollar ones Vault-Tec developed before the war. There's one under that old chapel. Just sitting there, filled with untold secrets, waiting to be cracked open. It's very alluring, as you can imagine."

"What's in this vault, and why would Elder Cyrus want to open it?"

"Oh I'm sure he's just curious is all... He simply wants to crack open its door just enough to see what may lie within it, and then he wants to close it right back up forever, having satisfied himself completely. Of course, you'd be a fool to believe that Rocky. Most vaults were made to protect humans, to keep them sheltered from the nuclear fallout for enough time so that they could leave them some day and repopulate the earth, thus ensuring humanities survival… At least, that's the narrative Vault-Tec tried to spin. In truth, most, if not all of them, were made to gather data on their inhabitants while they performed heinous lab rat-esque experiments on them. But this vault, vault 52, was made to store the most repulsive of old word secrets. A secret that you are quite familiar with Rocky. It has barrels upon barrels of FEV locked away within its dark interior. What for? Well, I'm sure I don't know. But it's in there."

"But if it's never been opened, then how do you even know what's inside of it?"

"Simple. Because my father and I tried to apply for entry within it. I'm what you might call a 'pre-war' ghoul."

"You were alive before the bombs dropped?"

"For 34 years I was, yes. It's a rather uncommon happening as far as I can tell, but there are a few ghouls out there like me. My father was a business man, an investor. He and his colleagues had made a lot of money over the years by predicting the unpredictable ebbs and flows of American capitalism. That is, until there final prognostication. They decided that the nuclear apocalypse had become an inevitability, and that they needed to take action to preserve themselves and their loved ones. Most of his colleagues tried to use their money and influence in order to gain entry into a vault, but Vault-Tec was only commissioned by the government to make 122 vaults - not quite enough for the 400 million US citizens at the time. It wasn't even enough for 1% of them. And the closest vault, vault 52, was said to be at full capacity, but despite my father's best efforts, he couldn't find anybody to buy out who had signed up for a place within its cozy metal walls. He did some asking around, and one of his friends at Vault-Tec divulged to him that a large amount FEV was being shipped out to the vault by the barrel. So my father used his connections in the military to locate another option. He learned of a man named Desmond Lockheart who had voluntarily underwent a process to ghoulify himself. My father knew of course that it was a risky option, and not everyone survives the process, but that if they did, they would be able to live through the coming centuries. My father used his remaining wealth to build a machine capable of performing such a procedure inside of a permanent shelter. But he was a sickly man, and as such would pass before seeing his project through to fruition. So in his absence I finished it, and bought my ticket for perpetual life. He neglected to tell me the side effects however. I mean, who would have known that it would make me so damn pretty?" What was left of the ghoul's skin, creased and folded around his surprisingly bright teeth to form a smile.

"But what would the Brotherhood want with FEV? They can't use it for anything, unless…" Rocky looked at his hands.

"Unless what?"

"Unless he is planning on using the LEO gene."

"The Leo who?"

"When I was created, I was just like every other super mutant. Dumb. Aggressive. Dangerous. But when the Brotherhood captured me, they used a process known as the LEO procedure to restore my humanity, and my memories of my former life."

"My word, how sci-fi of them! I assumed you were just one of the few mutants who took to the virus better than most. But wait, if he has the ability to restore a super mutant's mind back to the way it was, then he's… By god. Surely he wouldn't do that."

From the door there came a loud bang. Montecrief stood from his chair, as did Rocky. He walked to one of the windows and parted the curtain.

"What in the…" A storm of bullets could now be heard coming from the lower floor.

"Montecrief, what's happening?"

"Raiders, that's what." From behind Rocky the office door split in half and a group of raiders dressed in scrap metal suits came flooding through. They swung their sharpened and rusty tools at Rocky connecting with every blow, as he struggled to fend them off. The mutant grabbed the tallest one first, and tore his right arm clean off. Rocky used the disembodied limb as a fleshy bat and punished another two with vicious blows to their scrap helmets, shattering them and sending iron shrapnel surging into their brains. Montecrief turned to the window behind him. Below, his men were locked in battle with the swarming raider parties, trading flurries of bullets between each other. He saw a small escape route, however. If he scaled the roof to its furthest edge, he could leap clean over the wall and make a dash to freedom. He smashed open the window, grimacing at his hand as the glass shards sliced it through to the bone. Licking his lips in anticipation, he brought one leg through the broken window and rested his foot on the protruding wall siding. Over his shoulder he could hear Rocky roaring like a cornered silverback, fighting for its life. For every one he slew another two ran into the room, adding their blades to the fight. With his cleaver withdrawn, he managed to even the odds a bit, tearing through the small men with wide swings, until at last one ran through with a shotgun aimed at what where a normal man's waist would be. The scattershot blasted through his thighs' thick flesh forcing him to kneel. The raiders chanted 'kill, kill, kill' and raved as the leather masked shotgunner stood before Rocky and slowly reloaded his gun. He slammed the conjoined barrels of his smoking shotgun shut, he took aim at Rocky's head, but it was his own head that was suddenly and entirely removed. All of the drugged out raiders stopped shouting and turned to the window where they saw Montecrief for the first time, standing behind his desk squeezing a subtly smoking revolver. As he spoke he inflected upon certain words, emphasizing his ire while he fired the remaining rounds.

"Do you imbeciles have any inclination as to how expensive this carpeting was?" 1, 2, 3, 4, 5- Each of his bullets made contact with a raiders head shortly before his words could enter their ears to be processed. Breathing heavily, and reloading his silver revolver, Montecrief continued speaking as if unaware he had just murdered his entire audience.

"Of course you don't! Because raiders don't pay for anything! You bastards just walk around, killing, stealing, and pillaging everything! Senseless morons!" Shortly after Montecrief's raider-rant concluded, the rest of Rocky's crew ran into the office, bloodied and with their weapons raised.

"Sentinel!" Paladin Reese dropped to the floor and started lifting Rocky to his feet.

"I'm fine James." Rocky mumbled.

"Did he do this?" Using his free arm, Reese raised his laser rifle to Montecrief.

"You walk in here, you see all of these dead raiders, and you think that Ihurt your mutant friend? As if it isn't enough that my house is now full of bullets and painted with STD and chem riddled raider blood! Now I have to suffer your interrogations in what's left of my own home?"

"Calm down, Monte. We get it. It wasn't Mr. Montecrief in the office with the revolver." Said Agrippina, who giggled and looked around the room to see if anyone had gotten it. Aside from Montecrief, who was far too furious to even contemplate laughter, no one did.

"Rocky, can you walk?" Asked Reese.

"Yeah, I think. Just give me a shot of stimpack and some med-x and I think I'll be fine." Dutch walked over and applied both the stimpack and the med-x to Rocky, who suddenly was able to manage his full weight by himself.

"We need to leave. There's something terrible happening, and we are the only ones who can stop it."

"Yeah, no shit there's something bad happening. Some huge group of raiders has a personal vendetta against Montecrief here, and we just so happened to get caught in the middle of it." Replied Sergeant Shipley.

"Not this. I'll explain later, but right now we need to move." Rocky reasserted.

"What about him?" Dutch asked nodding to Montecrief who now sat hunched behind his wooden desk with his back turned to the group, seemingly sulking.

"Montecrief, come with us. This place is destroyed. There's no use staying here now." Rocky said.

"Did you know Rocky, that I rebuilt this house, after the Great War, with my own two mangled hands? We've only just begun to get to know one another, and so ill forgive you your ignorance this once. But should we continue our relationship, there is one thing that you should know about me: I don't like losing, and I especially don't like doing so to raiders."

"Montecrief, this has nothin to do with winning and losing. This isn't a game or a sport. You need to come with us."

"Sentinel, if he wants to die in the name of pride, then I say we let him. He's no better than any one of these raiders as far as I'm concerned. Dress 'em in suits or rags, men who do evil - they're all the same." Reese said.

"Worse even. He's a slaver." Shipley agreed.

"Both pale in comparison to the butcher I once was. Have you even seen any slaves since we got here? These ghouls once enslaved men - a long time ago - because men harmed them, and because in this world it was a way to ensure their self-preservation. Most raiders kill and loot for reasons much the same. After my…my transformation, I was lost. The mind of an infant trapped inside the body of a hulking monstrosity. I killed and consumed because I enjoyed it - nothing more." Rocky looked at the group of Brotherhood soldiers as he gestured towards Montecrief. "If it wasn't for this former slaver, I would have been overwhelmed and killed by those raiders. Montecrief, this is final, will you come with us?" After a few short moments the group heard a metal latch turn and a door of the same material open and shut from behind the ghoul's desk. Montecrief stood, walked over to the group and presented to Rocky a small black and taped device with a red button center-placed.

"If it's not a game Rocky, then why do we insist on playing?"