Hey, all, thanks for the reviews! This chapter kind of gets the ball rolling since the last chapter was more of an introduction, so I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 2: Hope and Threats
Good morning, Capital Wasteland, it's ya favorite disc jockey, Three Dog! And I'm here to interrupt you with some good ol' news. Okay. It's been six months since those wild antics over at Project Purity, and it looks like the work put in by our favorite Vault Dweller, Jimmy Jr., has paid off. Hats off to the legendary Wanderer. You will be missed, and every day we are thankful for your sacrifice.
Now get this, children. Looks like we ain't completely outta the shadows just yet. There have been reports of increasing Talon Company members causin' trouble out in the wasteland. Looks like they're into makin' an army or some shit, don't it? On top of that, there's been a deathfest out there. Sonora Cruz, leader of the Regulators, and Daniel Littlehorn, the head of Littlehorn & Associates, have been found dead hanging from an old tree just outside of the ruins. And now, the local mobster mister Colin Moriarty of Megaton is dead, too. Looks like someone's on the hunt, and he or she doesn't care who dies. Reminds you of yesterday, doesn't it, folks? That's it for this session of the news, children. Now, for some music.
--
Did she actually smell grass for the first time? Sarah Lyons stretched and yawned as she stared over the balcony over the Citadel courtyard, where already Brotherhood initiates were training frantically. Today, she wouldn't have much to do other than help her father prepare for the speech he was going to give at Rivet City this weekend. Sarah noticed patches of grass all over the courtyard, and for a moment she was somewhat thrilled. However, the sound of gunfire by the initiates brought her back down to reality. The world was not rebuilt yet. There are still many out there who would try to bring down the bit of peace that had come along. She had to stay vigilant.
Sarah put on her Sentinel's uniform, which consisted of an exclusively tailored pants, shirt, and coat outfit, because she hated wearing those ridiculous robes. The last thing she did after putting on her boots was pinning the sentinel badge on her coat. When she was ready, she stood in front of the mirror next to the door and took a look at herself, scanning for anything that would make her appearance less pleasant than it should be.
After awhile, she rolled her eyes and scoffed, cursing herself for taking so much accountability into appearance—especially since she was a soldier. She blamed it on her femininity, and was even surprised by the fact that her face remained young and beautiful after all those hard-fought battles. She knew her appearance posed as a weakness. It was why she trembled at the sight of the Lone Wanderer's sacrifice. Ever since that day, she realized that this young man had done more for the wasteland than the Brotherhood had done in decades. Her father even admitted it. Since then, she swore to be even more active in not only securing her part in the wasteland, but extending peace and order throughout. Right now, there could be a woman and her child being murdered behind some irradiated rock just south of Old Olney. The thought of something so brutal, to die at the hands of a stranger in the middle of nowhere sent chills up her spine for some reason.
Ugh! She cursed herself again, this time opening the door and heading out, slamming it behind her. She could not be weak. Any bit of weakness could become the roots for failure, and to have made it this far she considered herself lucky. Leaving the thoughts of weakness behind, Sarah walked down the halls, looking forward to meeting her father for breakfast.
--
11:00 PM – Last Night
"Is he dead?" asked the gravelly voice of Ahzrukhal.
"Yes."
"Hmm, good," the ghoul replied, leaning over the counter of The Ninth Circle. The place was closed since it was late, and the only people present were him, Garrick, and Charon, Ahzrukhal's personal slave and bodyguard. "So, what did he tell you?"
Garrick sat on the barstool and lit another cigarette. "Brotherhood. Lyons."
"So, the big bad Brotherhood is taking over this hellhole at last, eh?"
The ghoul let out a wheezing spout of laughter and turned around towards the bar, snatching two shot glasses and some whiskey.
"You done good, boyo," he nodded, pouring the whiskey. "Charon! Go get the caps!"
"Yes, Ahzrukhal."
The ghoul in the white suit lifted his shot glass to Garrick. "To the wasteland."
Garrick held his glass and nodded in return, then took the entire shot of whiskey. They waited a few more seconds to the sound of Charon shuffling through Ahzrukhal's desk, where he had kept the contract earnings earlier. After a few minutes, Charon returned and handed the earnings to Ahzrukhal, who then handed them to Garrick.
"Mr. Ahzrukhal," Garrick then spoke. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
"You ain't stayin' for more drinks?"
Garrick was already halfway out the door. The assassin turned around and only shook his head to the ghoul, and then gave him a gesture of goodbye. The door shut behind him and he began heading towards the exit to Underworld.
Gerald put his earnings into a small pouch hanging on his belt. "That's what's wrong with people like them."
"What is?" Garrick asked.
The mecenary ran a hand through his short, dirty blond hair. "Simple pleasures. He's too stupid to see the big picture."
"Enlighten me."
"Men like him, they can kill, or order other men to do so," Gerald began explaining. "But they don't think. They just do things. They're not like you. You think for yourself."
Garrick shrugged. "Comes with freelancing."
"Of course," Gerald said, "but you're different. You've got something murderous within you. You always have. There's something there that just doesn't come with everyone."
"It's the wasteland. Everyone's murderous."
"You're different. You can do anything."
The killer raised an eyebrow. "Only if the pay is good."
"And even then, what are you going to do with all your money? After you've murdered everyone you can, what will you do? How will you spend the money? Are you sure it's the only reason you do this?"
He walked down the Mall, which had scattered wastelanders walking throughout, trading and conversing. The Super Mutants that once occupied this area were wiped out by the Brotherhood of Steel, and a new town was established here. The rubble removal was still being carried out, the hums of machinery echoing from a distance. Even at this time, there were still a few civilians out. He had never seen so many people in one place before.
An upside to this movement towards civilization was that there was more housing for travelers. A few of the buildings had been cleared out and were re-decorated as hotel services or stores. It was only six months, but the progress was extraordinary. Brotherhood Paladins also patrolled the streets, waiting to pounce on anyone here to disturb the peace. In a way, Garrick could see the future evolve towards totalitarianism, though he never wanted to make assumptions. He made a turn into one of the buildings, which is where his hotel room was located.
"I'll spend it on guns, whores, and whiskey," Garrick remarked. "And maybe a spot in Tenpenny Tower."
"You ain't that kind of guy. And quit being such a smartass right now. I'm trying to level with you."
"What the hell are you suggesting, then?"
Gerald suddenly stopped at the bottom of the steps they had just descended and pointed a finger at Garrick. The contract killer sighed.
"You're the best I know, and you can be more than what you do," Gerald said. "You can be more than what you are. I mean, don't you hate spending time with these lowlifes? Don't you hate them? You kill people for these insufferable idiots who aren't even worth what they pay."
Gerald was a morally inclined mercenary. Instead of doing what they had to do and spending the money on useless things, Gerald instead felt that he had to fight in the name of nobleness, which Garrick laughed upon at times. But now, the lectures had become nearly intolerable.
He walked inside the building and greeted the person upfront before heading to his room. Before he left, though, the woman at the front counter stopped him.
"Um, sir?" she smiled nervously, as if she were shy to talk to him. "There were a few men looking for you earlier. Or, at least I think they were looking for you. The way they described…well, it matched your appearance so I—"
"When?" Garrick interrupted, ceasing her mouthful delivery.
"I-It was awhile ago, before you decided to go out into town."
Suspicion seized him for a moment. Nothing was safe. Assume the worst.
"Anything happen after that?" he asked.
"Uh, well…no, but—"
He gave her a deep stare. "Anything at all?"
She giggled anxiously. "Um…the elevator stopped working for awhile. But, I-I think that was just a power problem. It's working again."
Garrick raised an eyebrow and looked around, but nodded in the end. "Okay."
He headed up to his level, which was four floors up, but decided to take the stairs; he couldn't take any chances. She looked like she was trying to catch her breath after talking to him. Maybe he'd come back down later and try to use her for more information.
"I mean, look at us, man," Gerald shook his head. "We look like Talon Company here."
"Gerald," Garrick then said, his light mood suddenly turning heavier. "I'll draw the line. I'm not a regulator. Nor am I one of Littlehorn's bitches. I don't feed off of murdering the innocent or the evil. You might give assistance when the world asks for help, but I give a price."
"That's meaningless."
"No, it is not. You say that I'm the best you know. You know why I'm the best? Because I don't bind myself to useless rules. Ideals were the reason why they dropped the nuke in 2077. Conflicting ideologies. If the world needs help from the best, then it will have to pay for its own faults. Otherwise, I will only help those who can afford me."
Gerald shook his head. "But that's wrong."
He slowly opened the door to his room, at first taking only a peek to make sure no one rigged the hinges or the knob. If someone was hunting him, then he'd have to find out who it was. One could never be too sure.
Garrick sighed with relief, realizing that his room was safe. He should have asked if someone had requested the number to his room earlier. Entering the room, he took off his coat and tossed it on his bed, revealing the various magazines of ammunition on his belt. He admired having his Customized 1911 handgun, lifting it from its waist holster and placing it on the drawer next to the bed. It was a rare weapon out in the wasteland nowadays. Everyone only carried either 10mm pistols or .32 pistols. He couldn't go anywhere without it.
Taking off his clothes, he stepped into the shower, letting the clean water wash away the stress of the day. The journey back from Megaton took most of the day since the highway systems weren't quite ready yet. There were only a few functioning vehicles in the city area, but all of them were road patrol.
When Garrick stepped out of the shower and threw some fresh clothes on, he walked over to the built-in terminal and powered it up, pulling up a chair to sit on. As it powered up, he found himself unwilling to sit and stood up, walking over to the windows and opening the one he had tied a sturdy rope onto, in case he had to escape.
"You have a call waiting for you on line one," said the machine. "From a Fisher, Naomi."
Garrick scowled at the name. "Bring it up."
The terminal buzzed for a few seconds before a voice could be heard on the screen.
"Garrick, are you there?"
He turned towards the terminal, which had a screen showing the caller's name. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"You've been compromised," she stated, her half-worried voice taking heavier breaths. "They rigged the elevator with explosives. Your computer just activated it. Go. Now. Meet me at the diner down the street. I'm waiting for you there."
He shot a look towards his door, hearing the elevator, which was nearby, sound off with a ding.
"Fuck."
Having no time to snatch his shirt and coat, Garrick, still dressed in his undershirt and pants, rushed to grab his pistol on the drawer and his shoes. Hastily, he zipped to the window with the rope tied to it and kicked open the window, tossing out the rope and sliding down after he dropped his belongings first. Landing on the bottom floor, he scanned and spotted several nearby wastelanders who came to settle in the area. No one saw him, thankfully, and he tied the holster onto his belt and put on his shoes and walked away inconspicuously. It only took a few steps before the entire top floor exploded into flames and sent splinters and glass and rubble hundreds of feet out into the Mall, causing a thick black smoke to sail off into the night.
A pause ensued between the two, but it was only broken up by Garrick's chuckling. It was like talking to a child. He sighed and continued walking towards the exit, though before he left, he turned around to face the mercenary.
"So, this is it, huh?" Gerald said. "You and I are through? After everything?"
"It was nice seeing you again. We had a good run," Garrick stated. "But, you're not cut out for this business."
"You know, the thing about never joining either side is that you're still on a side anyway," Gerald replied before Garrick left. "And every side has an enemy."
--
"Please, father," Sarah said. "Sit."
Her father was reluctant to do so, but nodded to her daughter's request. Owyn Lyons sat at the breakfast table, leaning his cane against his chair. They sat outside on a high balcony in the Citadel, which extended their view far into the distance, across the Potomac River and into the city ruins. She walked in the kitchen to the smell of iguana sausage, Brahmin patties, and some fresh vegetables and fruits grown from inside the courtyard. Her father had gotten tremendously weaker within the past few months, and she had to constantly assist him, even when he didn't need it. Owyn was always in her mind somewhere.
"Nice morning, isn't it, dad?" she said, sitting down at the table.
"Yes. Yes, it is."
The plates were served to them immediately and Sarah began to eat. She tried eating with a better etiquette, elegantly slicing up her meat before chewing it—with her mouth closed, too. Her father took notice of this and gave a wrinkled smile.
"You're beginning to look like your mother."
She stopped, looked up at him, and set her fork down, neatly grabbing the napkin and wiping her lips with it.
"You know, you always seemed to grow up and act like the boys. You weren't much into the feminine things since your mother was not around. But, I must say you're looking very beautiful today."
"Uh…thank you. But it doesn't mean I'm getting soft, father."
"When are you going to get a husband?"
Sarah gulped and cleared her throat, growing uncomfortable. "You shouldn't worry about that."
"I do think I should, because I don't want to be dead before you decide to settle down."
She worriedly chuckled, playing with the vegetables with her fork. "You're a stubborn man, father. Too stubborn to die anytime soon."
"I'm afraid," her father began, standing up to look into the distance, "that reality grabs hold of us eventually. You know, I have fought for this land for more than two decades. I have led these men through death and victory, in the pursuit of honor and hope. And what had changed in that time, Sarah? Nothing. Nothing big at all. All of that effort…when the Outcasts had left, we were back at square one. No. We were always at square one."
"Dad, don't say that."
"I have failed my entire life to bring this wild land to justice," he said, snatching his cane and stepping forward a few more strides. He did not sound so disappointed though, and merely reflected. "But just look at that young man, James. Just like his father, that one. He came in and in just a few months, he turned this place around. The waters are fresh now, and that's a bigger achievement than anything I've ever done, and in much shorter time. It's such a shame he's gone. I guess it's true that a candle that burns twice as bright lasts only half as long—or even shorter."
Sarah ate another slice of food. "So, what are you saying?"
"How will I be remembered?" he asked, turning around. "Will I be remembered as Lyons the Great? Lyons the Powerful? Lyons the Fascist?"
"You will be rightfully remembered," she said, "as Owyn Lyons. A strong, persistent leader who led the Brotherhood through its darkest times, and of course, a wonderful, loving father."
"But will his name hold a candle to those who follow?"
"What do you mean, exactly?"
"I'm dying, Sarah," he said gloomily, walking back to the table and sitting down. "I am getting to the end of my journey in this world, and preparing for my journey into the next. You are strong. Much stronger than your mother could ever be. You have your mother's beauty, and you have my strength and patience. But are you ready to lead? Are you ready to risk the lives of the entire Brotherhood to save this land?
Sarah's appetite began to slip away, each following word from her father filling up her stomach. "I…I will be ready when the time comes."
"Then I suppose I don't have to worry about a thing," he said, picking up his fork and finally beginning to eat. "It's just that I'm afraid. It is so easy to make up a truth or an ideal, but so difficult to live up to it. In this world, I am a hypocrite. I preach honor and victory, but I myself have not attained those things. This is my hypocrisy."
"Stop it," she said. Her patience had shortened. "I don't want to hear this anymore. You are just deluding yourself. Our honor is always true. We are the Brotherhood of Steel, and we will be the first to bring order to the wasteland. The brothers in the Outcasts have not seen the big picture. They search for small things that do not matter. In the end, it will be the Brotherhood of Steel who will be remembered as the savior of the wasteland; who led these people out of this chapter of darkness."
Her father shrugged. "Perhaps it will turn out that way, but one can never be too sure. No good deed goes unpunished. And there's always an opposition."
"Which is?"
"Indifference," he smirked while eating a slice of meat. Her father washed down the meat with some fresh water. "Meaning: the world. This world is not cruel, I've noticed. It's just indifferent. There's always some unstoppable force out there. As long as there's a light as bright as hope, there's a shadow that can never be erased. Like a ghost.
"But," he then said, "let us speak of more important matters. I am holding a speech at Rivet City in a few days. I want you to be there, at my side, so we can address the wasteland about its future."
--
Garrick turned around before heading out and confronted Gerald again.
"What are you insinuating?"
"Everyone has an enemy."
"So if I don't have an enemy, will you be my first?" the killer asked.
His friend sighed and looked down to the ground. "You're the reason why she's gone. Damn you, Garrick. Damn you forever. And now you're out here, killing everyone you can, taking what you can get."
The younger Garrick took a breath and his eyes widened. "No. You will not mention Elena in front of me again. Not this time. It's not my fault she hates us now. Don't blame this shit on me."
Gerald's eyes began to water, and he looked up. "You just don't understand, you fucking freak. You never will. I will never forgive you for what you did, and I always thought I would. I thought you could change."
A rush of emotions built up inside of Garrick, and he didn't understand why. It was a storm of rage, frustration, and guilt that had suddenly came. Of everything that had happened, he never comprehended why his friend kept bringing up Elena. Every time he did, Garrick would become guilty. He pointed a finger at Gerald and nearly lost himself to his emotions. Gerald had tears running down his face, willing to accept things now.
"You did it. It was you."
Garrick shook his head. He lowered his hand and turned around.
And ending his connection with Gerald, he departed his friend in the Underworld. He opened the door, stepped out, and shut it tightly, closing off all the commotion coming from the inside. All the shouts and sounds of worry were now behind him, and he proceeded to continue with his life. Hopefully, he wouldn't have friends ever again.
He clearly remembered that day. It was before the Mall was reestablished as a civilized district, when he and Gerald would sneak by the Super Mutants to get contracts from various people living in the ruins. He'd hang around at Carol's, then drop by at Dukov's to have a good time, and other things. But now, things were different. He left Gerald nearly six or seven years ago.
An envelope was pushed across the table to him at Lucy's Diner, a restaurant established down the street from his hotel. Apparently, some people were still up fairly late, and people had to serve the incoming traders who delivered supplies on secure routes. Right now, Brotherhood patrols were investigating the commotion. Hopefully the entire building hadn't collapsed. Garrick sipped his coffee and opened the envelope.
"What's this?"
"This is your next contract," Naomi said to him. "You need to take out the newest Talon Company general, Harrison Moss."
Naomi was his contact for the agency that routinely hired him. He was more of a freelance agent, but found that working with this company was the best since they let him do the contracts at his set of pace and method; kind of like how a movie company allows the director creative freedom. She was dressed for business, though her beautiful figure was still apparent through her dressing style. He would have preferred that she didn't wear glasses, though it didn't make her any less attractive. Still, their relationship was almost strictly business.
He set his coffee down and gave her a surprised smirk. "Well, as you've noticed, I was just nearly killed in my room moments ago when a bomb went off on the top floor. It must have been fucking huge if they used the elevator. Someone doesn't like my work. And someone finally found out who I am and where I happened to stay."
"Um…" she bit her lip. "That was Talon Company."
"I'll take the contract, then."
"Just like that?"
Garrick lit up a cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke. "If anyone tries to hinder my business, I'll make them my business."
Naomi sighed. "It'll be more dangerous than your other jobs."
"Who's the client?"
"I am," she said, nervously playing with her black bangs. "And so is the agency."
"What?" he nearly choked on his coffee as he brought it up for another sip. "Why?"
"The Talon Company is becoming stronger with every coming day. They're planning to arm and dominate the wasteland, using scientists from the now-scattered Enclave to create weapons and better combat armor. If they become stronger, then there's no hope for the other organizations."
He chuckled as he eyed the cute waitress passing by, exchanging a subtle, predatory glance which aroused her interest. Then he turned back to Naomi. "It's a pleasant change of pace."
"You should be glad our contracts are private," she said. "Otherwise we'd be just like the Talons."
"So if they're already so strong, what's the use of fighting?" he asked. "Why fight a losing battle?"
"They don't have you."
"Charming," he blew another breath of smoke. "But, I guess if you're paying well, I'm at your service."
Naomi let out a breath and gave him a ridiculous smile, nearly disbelieved that he would take the job so easily for the sake of money. Was there any reason to this man? All these years, and she never cared to dissect his mind at all. Unlike the other killers that other contacts handled, their relationship was very "one-two punch". Garrick was the one who got the jobs done the quickest, and even the cleanest if he wanted to. It was almost an unnaturally natural part of him that let him work so easily—as if he were made for it from the start.
"And that's it?"
He dipped his cigarette into the ashtray and his eyes shot up at her. "What do you mean?"
"You…well…you never seem to have any other questions as to why you're going to kill someone. The only questions you ever ask are times, places, and people," she said, attempting to dig deepr. Other contractors did it, too, and even had a more personal level of relationship with their respective mercenaries. But she was never concerned with Garrick until now, since the Talon Company was actually hunting him personally.
"Don't ask me about how I do business," he then said.
"But don't you even care about what happens when you kill someone? The consequences?"
"The consequences aren't my responsibility, they're yours."
Garrick was now shutting her out. She felt more inclined to ask him further questions.
"The Talon Company is hunting you. Because of what you do."
"And now you're taking action by sending me to have one of their generals killed. Your responsibility."
"You mean if we never had a contract, you wouldn't hunt them yourself? You never take death threats personally?"
He finished his cigarette, and sipped the coffee again, shrugging. She imagined him growing more irritated with the questions. "It's just business. They're a distraction, so I'll have to shrug them off to work more efficiently in the future."
"Now you're being ridiculous."
"It's just a different perspective. I have no attachment to my work."
"Do you have an attachment to anything at all?" she asked.
"Sure I do, but it's none of your business."
"Wow. This conversation is really going somewhere."
"No. This conversation is over," he quickly asserted. "Now do you have any new gear for me?"
Naomi slightly scowled for a second and nodded, somewhat frustrated towards Garrick since he didn't want to talk about anything else.
"Fine," she then said, standing up. "I've got your new gear stored up at my place. I'll fill you in the rest of the details along the way."
"Good girl," he remarked.
I'll end the chapter right there. The next one should be more interesting, and I'll be using the Gerald narrative often. It's all part of the plan. Heh.