Author's Note: I realize that this update was very quick. So, I would like to say that I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. I had to do some foreshadowing to show that problems are lurking on the horizon for our protagonist! I tried to make up for it by checking up on Ray with some action. I will try to make the next chapter longer :) I would also like to thank Mr. CJ of Blackwater for adding me and this story to his favorites and alerts, also for his review! As always, please review and enjoy the new chapter :D
Wasteland Survival Part 6
He sat in his stiff backed chair, his fedora riding low over his dark sunglasses. His face was, as usual, devoid of any emotion whatsoever as he rose the thick cigar to take a heavy hit. The smoke slowly danced around his face, creating a small fog about him.
Heavy combat boots made gentle thuds against the shiny floors of the luxurious building. Lights that continued to shine after all these years reflected off of the brightly polished black combat armor. Guards dressed in gold painted combat armor led him straight to the room that had been thinly covered with cigar smoke.
The door slowly opened allowing the shining combat armor to step in. He approached the stiff backed chair, exchanging no pleasantries with the man who sat there.
"How nice of you to finally join me. I see you took your time as usual," The man in the chair said in his velvet smooth voice that hadn't even been coarsened by the thick cigar smoke.
"Well, its not a pleasure to work with you either, Burke. Now, why the hell did you call me all the way out here?" The man in shiny black combat armor said gruffly, adjusting the unique combat helmet that sat on his head.
"So nice to see that you can be civil while I allow you to bathe in my caps," Burke spat, his voice losing its pleasant tone as he roughly stubbed out the cigar, "And all I can do is shower you in more. I have a task for you. There is a man who I believe cost me the most important, well-paying job of my career, and I want you to find out if it was him."
"I'm not a damn detective. I kill people, not conduct investigations," He roughly snarled at Burke.
"I'm well aware of that. Either way, you get paid, so what does it matter? If it was him, report back to me to inform me of this, collect some payment, have him killed, be fully paid. If it wasn't him, find out who it was, tell me, kill him, and get paid. You will receive partial payment if you can find who it was, and full payment when you bring me his head," Burke said.
"How much are you giving me?"
"10,000 for the information, another 10,000 for the death," Burke said calmly, taking a sip at whatever was in his glass.
His eyes nearly popped out of his skull. "Why so much? What was this contract that he cost you?"
Burke quickly leaned forward and slammed the glass on the table, the clear liquid inside splashing onto the shiny, clean table. "That's none of your business! I told you how important the contract he cost me was! Its details are of no concern to you!" He boomed.
"Jesus! No need to get your panties in a twist! I'll do it!" He quickly responded, never having seen Burke so angry.
"Good," Burke said with a devilish grin as he leaned back in the chair and raised the glass to his thin lips.
"Where to?"
"Megaton. Ask around, apparently the man that disarmed the bomb is quite the hero there. It shouldn't be hard to learn his identity. Here is who I believe did it," Burke said, pushing a detailed sketch at the man in combat armor.
He picked up the drawing, not even glancing at it yet. "What does that bomb in Megaton being disarmed have to do with your hefty job that this guy cost you?"
Burke's eyes narrowed. His tone low and dangerous, "If you ask about that job again, I will hang you from my balcony by your own entrails and watch you strangle."
He swallowed hard. Surely Burke wouldn't kill his best mercenary, but he was slimier and more dangerous than making out with a Deathclaw. Finally, he pulled his eyes away from Burke's glare and looked at the drawing. The drawing was amazingly done; it looked like a photograph. The man's portrait stared blankly ahead. His dark hair was cut short and his 5o'clock shadow bordered a strong jawline, matched by sharp cheekbones. His lips were neither smiling nor frowning. Still, his face looked tired and thin, as though he were recovering from emaciation. A thin scar hovered near his right eye. Four parallel scratches went from the bottom of his jaw and disappeared with the end of the paper. "I didn't know you were an artist, Burke," He said, a smirk playing around the edges of his lips.
Burke responded with a glare. "Well, I had to learn to draw. You're too stupid to listen to my descriptions."
He narrowed his eyes slightly at Burke. "He'll be dead soon. Don't you worry."
"Excellent," Burke said, re-lighting his cigar and returning the cloud of smoke.
...
Ray dove behind the makeshift wall of the Raider camp, putting away his now empty hunting rifle and pulling out his 10mm. The last Raider slowly stalked towards Ray.
"Give up now and maybe I'll kill you fast," The Raider said sarcastically.
"No. You give up now and we can both walk away from this," Ray offered. These Raiders were tough. Ray had to shoot one of them five times before they finally went down. The next one had come at him with a baseball bat, but still put up an excellent fight. The last Raider was the one he was about to face off with. He wielded a 10mm sub machine gun. It was in rough shape, but it was still functioning.
The Raider burst out laughing. "Hell no! I'm doing this the fun way," He snarled, a sadistic grin appearing on his face.
Ray sighed. "Fine," he said without emotion. He pulled the slide back on his 10mm, a bullet clicking into the chamber. The Raider readied his machine gun, the barrel trained where Ray stood behind the wall. He pulled the trigger, letting forth a long burst of continuous fire. Ray flinched away from the wall a little as bullets began to slam into the wall again and again. The rotted wood began to splinter and Ray had to duck as a hole was pummeled through the wall, chips of wood raining down on him.
The shooting stopped and there was the sound of a spent clip being carelessly tossed on the ground while another was loaded. Ray dashed from behind the wall, firing wildly at the Raider. His legs flew over the concrete, bullet after bullet spinning from the end of his pistol. The Raider didn't make a sound as a few bullets hit their marks. Just as the Raider got another clip in the gun and loaded a round into its chamber, Ray jumped. He sailed through the air towards a metal table littered with various drugs and bottles. He grabbed the edge of the table, slamming it down onto its side and creating cover as he landed roughly on his own side, several bottles breaking and spilling various alcohols onto the hot concrete.
Ray grabbed his ribs, wincing with pain as he rammed another clip home into his pistol. "You still wanna do this?" He yelled to the Raider as he pulled back the slide.
In response, the Raider belted out a torrent of curses while bullets were spat into the table that Ray sat behind. "Of course," Ray muttered to himself as he flinched away from the bullets that were being slugged into the table. This time when the bullets stopped there was nothing. Ray cautiously peeked around the corner and was surprised to see the Raider running towards him, his bandage wrapped feet making no sound. The 10mm sub machine gun was gripped in his hand, his eyes bulging in murderous rage. Ray could see where a few bullets were imbedded in the Raider's torso and right leg. The bullets didn't slow him as he barreled towards Ray like a freight train, indicating that he was probably addicted to Med-X or Psycho. Ray let loose several more shots that struck the Raider, but didn't slow his advance in the slightest.
The Raider launched himself over the table with a battle cry, landing on top of Ray. Ray was knocked backwards, his head connecting with the ruined concrete. The Raider raised his machine gun and struck Ray in the face with it several times before tossing it aside and wrapping his hands around Ray's throat. Ray struggled to breathe, pulling at the Raider's hands, then clawing at his face. The Raider's lips pulled away from his gums in a snarl as he applied more pressure to Ray's throat. His vision was growing dark as he weakly punched the Raider in the face. His strength was slipping. He reached out grabbing for his pistol. Instead, he found the Raider's sub machine gun. He grabbed it and slammed it roughly into the side of the Raider's head. His hands released Ray's throat and he slid to the side, hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Ray hauled himself to his feet, quickly doubling over to hold his ribs as he gasped for breath. The Raider began to stir, rubbing his head and cursing as he did so. Blood flattened his tall Mohawk and stuck it to the side of his head. Ray quickly grabbed his 10mm pistol, spinning around and shooting the Raider in the back of the head. "Sorry," He said as he usually did when he was forced to kill someone. He collected his things and turned to loot the, now harmless, Raider camp.
Author's Note: Well, there it is. Am I good at foreshadowing and trying to create a sense of mystery with characters? BTW The man that Burke talks to is NOT an OC and he is a hostile NPC. And yes, if you can guess who it is, I realized that I messed up with what type of armor he usually wears D: Sorry, I promise he will change to his in-game armor in the future!