Welcome to Chapter 6. Quick note, I am still new to this website, please be patient with me when it comes to your comments and reviews. I am trying to figure out where they are, and how best to respond to them. That aside, things are about to go crazy in the story with a lot of character history revelations. Enjoy!

Chapter 6

Here I am again, Tyler thinks somberly, standing outside the gates of Paradise, wondering about the hell that awaits inside. Already his hands are shaking from the memory of all the chems that came out of this place. He can almost feel the rush in his veins, even without having taken anything recently. His palms are sweaty, and he can't shake the sensation that he is only here to get a fix, just like the old days. He grits his teeth and growls softly. He is here for the kid, nothing else. Beside him he can almost see Luther taking in every detail of the place as they approach. He knows that his partner is aware of his past, and thus is likely worried about him, but he will be strong. He doesn't need help from anyone. He will deal with this on his own.

Grouse sees them coming, he already has a sneer on his face, and Tyler already wants to kill him. Just like the old days. "Unless you are here to buy or sell, piss off!" the guard shouts before they are close. "You are lucky you aren't up there on the auction block with the others, after what you pulled! Paradise Falls is home to slavers, and you aren't a slaver any more! Sides, I heard you've make a clean sweep, making the wasteland a better place of some shit like that. You don't belong here!"

Tyler opens his mouth to shout back, but Luther beats him to it. "Grouse right?" Luther's voice is low and cold, almost emotionless. Grouse turns to him, a surprised look on his face, as if he hadn't noticed Luther was even there. The surprise quickly vanishes however when he recognizes who is speaking. "Last time I had the pleasure," Luther continues in his emotionless tone, "you were down on your knees begging for me to just kill you. Too make it quick. I do hope we don't have to have a repeat of the lesson learned that day."

Grouse swallows hard and waves them through without a word. He does give Tyler one last sneer as they pass though. Tyler is interested, he never realized Grouse and Luther had history. "He a friend of yours? I thought you didn't associate with degenerate slavers."

"I work with you don't I." Is his quick response.

Tyler growls in the back of this throat. "I am not a slaver."

Luther looks at him out of the corner of his eye without expression on his face. "And I don't drink."

Tyler is about to ask just what the fucking hell that is supposed to mean, but just then there is a scream followed by a small explosion. The two of them look ahead of them to see a headless corpse lying in the dirt. There is another guard standing at the entrance to Paradise with a Chinese made assault rifle in his hands. They don't stop walking and step over the corpse as though it isn't there, though Tyler has to work to keep from flying off the hook. This place is bringing up way to many memories.

The man standing at the entrance waves to them. "Damn stupid slaves. They know going too far will make em pop. Yet they still go for it every now and then. Waste of good flesh. Nice to see you again Tyler, how has life been treating you?"

Tyler nods at the man, trying to remember his name. "Fine, Forty right, been a while."

Forty nods, "Too long. Think it was that job having to do with that asshole snipe right, did we even get the guy alive?"

Tyler shakes his head. "You went to get him, I was there just to clear out the mines. If you did or didn't get him, not my business."

Forty laughs, "That always was your style, pretend you aren't a slaver, what a fucked up life you have." He looks over at Luther, "Who is your friend?" he asks suspiciously.

Tyler steps forward and slams a fist into Forty's jaw, knocking him to the ground. The raider splutters and raises his rifle, only to have it kicked out of his hands by Luther who proceeds to grab him, hoist him up, and slam him into the metal wall. "Listen you low down son of a whore," Luther growls in a low menacing tone, "you use that tone of voice when speaking to me ever again and I will feed you your own tongue, got it?" Forty growls defiantly.

"I would listen to him, Forty," Tyler suggests, "I'm sure you didn't realize you were speaking to the infamous Black Sheep." Forty's face pales and his jaw drops. Luther releases him and strides into Paradise. "Don't worry," Tyler says as he steps by the terrified slaver, "I think he is in a good mood today."

As He catches up with Luther he can't help but smirk. Luther notices and growls, "The Black Sheep, really? You just had to go and revive that old alias? You couldn't have used something new, or at least something more recent? I thought we already decided that the Black Sheep was dead."

Tyler's smile grows. He is feeling much more confident now. Pissing off Luther always puts him in a better state of mind. "I figured he would have heard of him, and thus would be more affected by the mention of his name. Despite what you may want to think, the Back Sheep is still a legend around Slavers." The two of them have established multiple aliases they can use to influence others in the wasteland. From paragons of goodness, to complete psychopaths who kill just for fun. The Black Sheep is one of the later.

According to the rumors they started spreading about him, the Black Sheep has been responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocents, the destruction of multiple rival raider gangs, and is the butcher responsible for the destruction of an entire group of wandering ghouls. They started the story, but then then Three Dog, the DJ for one of the only two radio stations left, took hold of the story and made it into a legend. According to Three Dog, the Black Sheep has had a hand in just about everything bad that has ever happened.

"I hate the Black Sheep," Luther mutters, "he is a dick."

Luther chuckles, "Suits you perfectly." He falls silent though as they approach Eulogy's Pad, the home of Paradise Fall's owner. He swallows hard. All the nerves from before suddenly come rushing back. Her face swims before his eyes. He wonders if she is still here. If she remembers what he tried doing for her. If she even gives a damn anymore.

They enter the dark building and make there way to the main room. The center of the room is taken up by a large heart shaped bed covered in red blankets. Lounging on the bed are two women wearing lacy nightgowns. Both are asleep and Tyler can only make out the face of one, but he knows the other is her, he can tell from the hair. He wants to go to her, to wake her gently, to see how she would react, but Eulogy steps into the room and greets them. "Hello my old associate, It has been far to long since you have graced this place with your presence."

"Eulogy," Tyler manages to say without conveying any of the hate he feels in his voice, "good to see you again."

Eulogy's face switches from friendly to business, "You are lying through your teeth. I must admit I am disappointed, when Grouse radioed up that you were here I was hoping you to be spitting a bit more fire than this. Time has only mellowed you. Now, I don't want to hear anything other than why you have waltzed in here like you own the place. I should have had you killed, but I was curious. Now speak!"

"Fine," Luther says promptly, "we are here looking for someone, someone who was brought to you recently. A kid, young, wearing a vault suit, had a pipboy on his arm. He was brought in by Talon Company mercs. We know he was here, if he still is we want him, if he isn't, we want to know where."

Eulogy's face darkens. "You are brave, to make demands of me. Just who do you think you are? Of course I know of the kid, someone with a pipboy that works is invaluable, and I assure you, he brought me quite the large sum." Tyler leaps forward suddenly and grabs the man by the throat.

"You fucking bastard!" he roars. "Where is the kid!"

"Tyler!" Luther shouts in alarm behind him. He turns his head, and feels a cut open on his cheek from where a blade is being held. Standing behind him is one of the women, the one with the iconic hair cut and the face he cannot forget.

His hold on Eulogy loosens and he drops the man. He turns to the woman, staring into her eyes, searching for any sign of recognition there. "Clover," he whispers, "Clover it is me, Tyler." She tilts her head to the side, as if trying to figure out just what the hell he is talking about. He reaches out, as if to touch her face. She grimaces and swipes her blade at him. He ducks and retreats back. "Easy Damn it!"

Eulogy gets to his feet and brushes himself off. He reaches into his fancy red suit and pulls out a .44 magnum as he moves to stand behind Clover. "There," he says as he raises the gun to the slaves head, "now we have an understanding. How about this, since you were so rude, and since I have an army here, and since I will kill her if you don't, what do you say to doing me a favor?"

"Fuck that!" Luther growls as he reaches for his rifle. Tyler grabs his wrist to stop him.

"What do you want?" He can Feel Luther's eyes glaring into his back, but ignores it. "Tell me, It will get done. I swear it." He grimaces as he realizes he has just repeated the same phrase he once used every time Eulogy used to send him on an errand.

Eulogy notices as well and a smile plays across his lips. "That is right my loyal dog, you will do exactly as I say, and you will go through with it this time. Or the results will be far worse than last time." Tyler already knows what is about to be asked of him. He knows that this time there will be no way for him to escape it. Already he is planning out the trip in his head, making a list of what they will need. "I want the kids from Little Lamplight"

The lock slides into place and he is once again at the mercy of the bastard he has come to know so well. "You got this all on your own scab," Krenshaw says behind him, "at least one of us enjoys this!" he shouts with a laugh. The air pops with the sound of the whip cracking against his back. The long wound it opens on his back crosses over top of one from a few days ago, reopening it. Two for one, he thinks to himself with a sick humor. The whip cracks again. This time the wound is lower, closer to the burns received his first day when he accidentally backed into one of the furnaces. He can only look down due to the position the stock forces him to stand in. Only two lashes and already blood is pooling on the ground at his feet.

One week. One week here, and yet it feels like an eternity. The locals hadn't waited to make him feel at home. They put him to work right away and didn't hesitate to give him the customary lashes all scabs get after their first fuck up. No chances here, fuck up once, fuck up forever. Another crack of the whip. This time he almost thinks he can feel it, but the moment passes and again there is nothing. Anything would be better than the nothing he feels right now. Even the pain he felt the first time he was lashed would be welcome. A fourth crack, and this time he hears someone suck in their breath. Damn, he had hoped no one would have to see this.

he hates the way the other scabs treat him. Like he his a hero. What is heroic about being locked into a stockade and lashed like a dog? The fifth lash lands and now he hears the muttering of a small crowd. Perfect, now he is on display, a freak show. He wouldn't be surprised if Krenshaw ordered some of the others to be taken from the jobs just to watch this. He is reminded of how small his part in the machine of industry is. Right now, this show, it is all for the sake of the other scabs. This is nothing more than a convenient way for Krenshaw to remind the others that he, and the others from Uptown, hold they leash. They are the masters, and the scabs are the dogs.

The sixth lands, followed quickly by the seventh. Now he can feel it. The lashes have broken through the tough scabs on his back and exposed the still soft and healing flesh beneath. Still, it is not as intense as it should be. He will feel it later, when he wakes up for his shift and all the new scabs that will have hardened during the night crack and start bleeding as he stands. Of course the others will try and console him. They will say he is powerful, that he must be strong to endure such punishment and not cry out. They don't understand, how could they?

He wants nothing more than to cry out. To show the masters that he is indeed below them, that they have won, that he submits and will not cause trouble, that he is no longer worth their time or thought. Yet he cannot. Not matter how low he sinks, he simply can no longer feel the pain. He cannot cry out. Some force that works against him keeps him from doing so. Thus the scabs think he is standing up for them, and the masters think he is defying them. Above him the lock slides open and the stockade is lifted off of his shoulders. Strange, the last three lashes must have landed without him noticing. Hands attempt to lift him, to help him stand, but he angrily shakes them off and stands on his own.

He straightens his back and turns to where Krenshaw stands a few feet away holding the bloody lash with a furious sneer on his face. Something inside of him changes, something hardens even more than it was already, and all the pain he should be feeling manifests itself as rage. He looks Krenshaw in the eye. Despite the seething look of anger on the mans face, he can see fear buried deep beneath that. He smiles, and Krenshaw's face contorts in rage. He turns on his heel and makes his way to the the scabs quarters. He pulls open the door and steps into the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

As soon as he does he roars and slams a fist into the wall, cracking the plaster. Several bones in his hand break, he knows because he hears them crack, like the whip, but he does not feel it. "Nick," a concerned female voice says from across the room, "are you okay?" He looks to see Midea, the scabs matron. She hurries across the room. She takes his shoulder and gently turns him so she can inspect his wounds. He wants to resist, to push her aside and leave, but she is too kind. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "What did you do?"

What did he do? What did he do? He can't recall, it must not have been very important. "Nothing," he growls as he allows her to move him over to a cot and sit him down, "nothing important." She clicks her tongue again but does not push it. She moves over to her cot and retrieves a dirty lunchbox from beneath it. She returns to him and takes out a small bottle of liquid. She takes the top off and is about to dab some of it onto a cloth. He stops her by reaching out and clasping her hands in his. "No." he says simply. She opens her mouth to argue, but he gives her a stern look that shuts her up. "Someone else will need it more."

He stands up and makes his way over to the straw mat in the corner of the room. He lies down slowly, trying not to aggravate the wounds on his body any more than they already are. He closes his eyes and attempts to sleep, but again it alludes him. Instead he does what he has done every night for the past week, he remembers. His name is Nick. He is from vault 101. He was forced to leave. He was forced because of his father. He has to find his father and find out why he left. He has been traveling with two mercs to make enough caps to fund the trip. Their names are Tyler and Luther. They are both dead. He is in the Pitt. A hell where slaves are used until they drop dead or become monsters. His name is Nick.

"Hey get up," someone whispers, "it is out shift." They needn't have bothered, he knew, he hadn't been asleep. It is amazing how quickly time can pass when ones thoughts are elsewhere. He stands and joins the crowd shuffling out the door for a shift at the mill. He is surprised when he gets outside to see that the people coming off of a shift are all gathered in the courtyard instead of heading inside for sleep. The new shift mingles with the crowd, trying to figure out what is going on. Whispers about, Ashur is going to speak to them today. As soon as Nick hears this, the man himself appears on the balcony of Uptown above them.

Midea appears at his side with a grim look on her face. "He wants people for the fights." Nick looks at her, but then tilts his head up as Ashur starts talking. The man gives a long speech about how they, the scabs, are the backbone of the Pitt. How without them the glorious future being built here would be nothing more than a dream. Then he asks if there are any among them who wish to fight in the hole for a place among his army. An idea forms in the back of Nick's head. He looks over at one of the masters standing guard at the stairs leading to Uptown. He notices the flimsy rifle in the mans hands. That will not do. He needs real weapons if he is going to pull off this plan taking root in his mind. He has heard rumors that scabs who do well with finding steel ingots in the steelyard often get special benefits. He pushes his way through the crowd towards the mill. He looks up at Ashur. Enjoy your high place now, he thinks to himself, for soon I will cast you down from it.

BANG! Do I hear a revolution starting? Maybe. Or maybe it is selfish revenge. Find out by reading the next chapters.