Colt felt there was hope again. This ghoul would probably be his only way of finding Cass. The information he kept locked away inside his cranium will be Colt and Cass' salvation… but, the only problem was getting the information out of him; he seemed reluctant to remember his past and admit that he more than likely ran in the Stallions and that he knew where they were… Colt knew he knew where they were. So, he would have to force the information out of the tight lipped ghoul… one way or another…
The next day, or Colt thought it was the next day, as he was sitting on the cold steel floor rubbing his hands together, trying to warm them, the ghoul reentered the cell. In his hands was the silver serving tray bearing a paltry gift of three dishes of scrambled Mantis eggs, which wasn't the best breakfast, believe it or not, and three dirty glasses of milk. The ghoul strode to Veronica, leaving the vicinity of the door's sensors and allowed the heavy steel door to hiss shut and, with a loud clang, lock. At the door's locking, Colt stood and began to stretch, limbering up for what he was to do.
The ghoul glanced at Colt as he stood, but shrugged it off and continued to hand out the breakfast. Veronica took her dish, thanked him, and began to force herself to down the mediocre food. The ghoul was lulled into a false sense of security as he went on to the next person, handing Boone his plate and glass, just as he normally would've done. Then, the ghoul approached Colt, who was still standing and watching the ghoul.
The ghoul stopped in front of the man, the top of his head barely overmatching Colt's, and handed the man the white glass dish and dirty glass he was to use to drink with. Colt looked at gritty glass, dirt encrusting the outside surface and the edge where he was supposed to put his mouth. His face cringed at the glass and he set it off to the side, keeping it out of the way so as not to spill it and cause a bigger problem. Then, just as the ghoul was just a foot away, Colt tilted the plate forwards, allowing the eggs to slide off the edge of the dish and fall to the ground, landing with a sick, wet and very pronounced plop. The ghoul stopped in mid-stride and turned around, looking down at the eggs and then to Colt.
"Whoops," Colt said, shrugging innocently and letting a fake smile spread his face.
The ghoul began to chuckle at Colt's apparent clumsiness and Colt laughed as well, sending the ghoul into a deeper false sense of security. But he was quickly pulled out of the wonderful little world as Colt quickly walked towards him, not laughing anymore and the smile completely gone, and raised the heavy glass plate above his head. The ghoul's smile faded as he tried to raise his hands to protect himself, but it was too late; Colt brought the plate down and smashed it across his forehead, shattering the plate into thousands of pieces and slicing open the flesh of the impact area, creating a bright red cut the ran the length of the ghoul's forehead and allowed blood to seep out of his veins and capillaries and drip down his face in a light crimson waterfall.
The ghoul dropped the serving tray, letting it fall to the ground and land with a loud clatter on the steel floor, and, holding his cut and bruised head, staggered backwards. He held up a hand to stop Colt from hurting him even more, but Colt just pushed aside the arm, extinguishing the injured ghoul's only defense, and strode forward, landing a blow with his tightened, enclosed fist against his target's right cheek.
The ghoul, his jawbone rocked and his head now wobbling about like a bobble head, staggered backwards even more, causing Veronica to jump out of the way as he slammed his back into the wall she was just leaning against. Colt followed him, gearing his fists for more of the brutal assault. The ghoul, seeing Colt coming through the crimson mask on his face, held up his hands to defend his face. Unfortunately, in his futile attempt to defend himself, the ghoul left his torso wide open, allowing Colt to target it in the violent attack. Colt landed blow after blow with his enclosed fists into the ghoul's stomach, causing him to jump and grunt with every buckling strike. After the tenth or so rocking blow to the stomach, the injured ghoul slid down to the ground and laid on the floor, curling up into the fetal position and clutching his bruised stomach. Colt looked at the man on the floor for a moment, breathing heavily from the labored and measured strikes to the ghoul. He lifted his right fist, the one he used to deal the first punch, with a small splatter of the ghoul's blood that streaked across his knuckles. Shaking the blood off his hand, Colt knelt down next to the injured ghoul, pushing him over on his back and grasping hold of the collar of his armor. Using the collar of the armor, Colt held up the ghoul's head, landing two more blows to his cheek before he finally spoke out, stopping Colt's rage filled punches.
"Stop!" The ghoul yelled, coughing from the blood caught in his throat and mouth. "Please! Just stop!"
"Why should I?" Colt asked, his rage causing him to yell and his voice to quiver, "Why should I fucking stop, huh? Did Aleksander stop before he murdered my family?" Using the collar of the armor to his advantage, Colt jerked the ghoul's head forward and then slammed the back of his skull into the steel floor with a sickening thud.
"No!" Nikolai answered, letting his head hang to the right from the pain coursing through his nerves, "No, he didn't… but that doesn't mean you should beat me… I'm not Aleksander…"
Colt lowered the fist that was raised and ready for another strike, "You're right; you're not Aleksander… but you're next best thing." With that, Colt slammed his right knee into the ghoul's torso, causing him to grunt and let out a painful breath. Colt raised his fist again, ready to land another ferocious blow to the ghoul's face, but was stopped by another question…
"Wait!" The ghoul gasped, holding up a hand to protect himself, "Wait! Just wait…" the ghoul took a moment, catching his breath, and then looked towards Colt, the cut on his forehead leaking blood and his right cheek severely bruised, and asked, "What is it that you want from me? Besides beating me…"
"I want information," Colt answered, jerking the ghoul's head once more, "I know you were with the Stallions…"
The ghoul let out a staggering breath, "Y-Yes… I was with the Stallions… I was one of the founders… was… I left when things started to get out of control and when Aleksander started that ridiculous war with the NCR. I knew no good was going come of it; he was going to destroy the entire gang… I wasn't going to risk my life again, not for another ridiculous cause… so I left. I left that gang behind and I wandered… until I found the Brotherhood and they allowed me to join because of my military experience and knowledge of pre-War tech…I just wanted to join a group with a nobler cause…"
"Great," Colt said, letting go of the collar to the ghoul's armor and allowing his head to drop to the floor, "Now that I know you were with the gang, tell me where Aleksander and the Stallions are now… I know you know…"
"Sorry," the ghoul said in a low voice, "No… I don't know where they are. Like I said; I left them behind…" he was quiet for a minute, thinking and then said the greatest piece of information Colt had heard in a long time, "But, I do keep in contact with a friend who was one of the other leaders. He left soon after me… his name's Mikhail Voroshilov. A few months after he left, we met while I was out doing a training scenario. We had a few drinks, talked awhile, and decided to keep in contact. We talk at least once a week via ham radio."
"And how does this help me find Aleksander or the Stallions?'
"Because, Mikhail keeps telling me he constantly gets visits from one of the remaining leaders of the gang; Vladimir Ryndenko. Vladimir keeps trying to recruit him back, but doesn't understand the meaning of now."
Colt stood up and loomed over the ghoul, who was still curled up into the fetal position and began coughing heavily. Finding Mikhail and Vladimir may be his only way of getting to the Stallions… to Aleksander… to Cass... some how, some way, Colt had to find those two men.
The ghoul on the floor looked up at Colt again, the pain in his stomach shaking his voice, "Why are you looking for Aleksander and the Stallions?"
"Because," Colt answered, looking down upon the ghoul and shaking the blood off his fist, "Aleksander and the rest of them killed my family."
There was a loud hiss, turning Colt's blood ice cold and making the atmosphere in the room heavier than anything he had ever felt before. Colt quickly turned to see who was entering the room; it was Elder McNamara, Hardin, and Ramos. The three stopped, noticing Colt standing over their injured comrade, who had a long cut streaking across his forehead and a blackened bruise on his right cheek, and with bright crimson still on the knuckles of his right fist. The Elder's mouth dropped at the sight and Hardin and Ramos just strode over, Hardin grabbing Colt by his arm and jerking him away while Ramos helping the ghoul to his feet.
McNamara regained his composure, "Well," he began in a surprisingly calm voice, "I did not expect to see this. Are you okay, Initiate Butkovsky? I hope this maniac did not hurt you."
"Da, I am okay," the ghoul said, using the wall and Ramos to help stand himself up, "He did not hurt me. I am a tough old ghoul and have experienced much, much worse."
"Well, I can assure you, his actions will not go… unpunished," McNamara turned to Colt, glaring at him, and then turned to Hardin, "Take him to the interrogation chamber. We'll get some answers out of him and make him suffer for his ill deeds."
"Yes, sir," Hardin said with a sort of delighted tone as he pulled a metal staff out of the side of his belt. He stopped as Ramos began to protest once more…
"But, sir," Ramos began, "You can not do that; he's not NCR and he's not a hired mercenary. You can't interrogate an innocent person; he was being forced—" He was cut short by McNamara who waved a hand over the entire thing… Colt was really getting sick of that Goddamned hand…
"Enough, Ramos," McNamara said in an elevated voice, his tiredness of Ramos' constant protests obviously irritating him, "This man is a worthless degenerate who has killed many of our brothers and just savagely beat another. He will not go unpunished," he turned to Hardin, "Hardin, take this pathetic man to the interrogation chamber."
Colt couldn't take it anymore; McNamara's blind accusations and lies finally frustrated him for the last time… he pulled his arm free from Hardin's grasp and swung a tightly enclosed fist towards McNamara's skull, landing a hard blow to the man's cheek. The Elder stumbled backwards, holding his hands to his cheek and cursing loudly. Colt only managed to release a small smile at his deed before he felt an intense shock generating from his back and then began to course through his body.
The shock of electricity made his muscles painfully cramp up and it caused him to lose all motor control function, making him collapse to the ground with a loud thud, his muscles in a painful bind. He looked up through the blinding pain he was enduring; a blurred version of McNamara staggered out of the room, mouthing incomprehensible words as he proceeded to leave. He was soon followed by Ramos who was helping the injured ghoul stagger through the door. Betkovsky, however, slowly exited the room, watching Colt as he finally left. After that, everything began to give way to blackness and Colt passed out once more…
Colt let his head fall to the right, his frontal lobes throbbing with pain and agony from the electricity that jolted his body just minutes before. He slowly lifted his eyelids, letting in small amounts of lights so as to adjust to the room for his sunglasses, once again, were missing from his face. Through the blur, he noticed that his feet were tied to the legs of an old wooden chair and that he was soaked in the only pool of light in the room. Colt tried to move his arms, but they were bound together and then to the back of the wooden chair, preventing any movements he could possibly make. Lifting his head, causing agony in his aching spinal cord, he was greeted by a blurry version of Hardin, who, within a few seconds, came into focus as Colt's eyes adjusted to the light level of the room.
"So," Hardin said, crossing his arms, "You're finally awake."
"You know," Colt began, flexing his shoulders and his neck, loosening the muscles in both appendages, "You guys really need to stop that electricity shit; it's starting to piss me off."
"You're in no position to be throwing around threats," Hardin said bluntly, not intimidated by Colt's comment.
Colt just laughed, "What makes you say that?"
"For one; you're tied to that chair."
"That doesn't mean I can't kick your ass later."
With that comment, Colt received a strong back hand across the face that he returned with just a laugh. Hardin didn't take the laugh all too well and had to make his 'superiority' known, "I am a Brotherhood Paladin. An NCR lieutenant doesn't even match up to my abilities."
"Hey," Colt laughed again, "Whatever helps you sleep at night. But, to me, you'll always be that creepy half-bald guy who had a surprisingly strong right hand." Colt, once again, received a blow across the face, the sharp serrated edge of the gauntlet on his interrogator's wrist creating a deep and long cut that streaked down from Colt's left eye and down to the middle of his left cheek. Colt let out a sharp yelp and then a pain filled laugh as air rushed into the open and bleeding wound.
Colt laughed painfully as he looked up at Hardin, a twisted smile on his face, "That all you got? All those miserable nights alone, working your hand and arm and that's it? You weak bastard…" Another, much harder strike rocked Colt's skull, sending a small stream of blood flying from his mouth to the floor, creating a crimson string that streaked across the cement.
"Enough of your jokes!" Hardin yelled at Colt, his eyes filled with fury and his voice quivering with anger.
"Hardin," a stern voice from the darkness said, "Calm down." Elder McNamara stepped out from the darkness, hands behind his back and a large bruise that covered his entire right cheek that shined in the little light in the room. It made Colt smile and nearly laugh.
"Yes, sir," Hardin grunted through gritted teeth, taking a step back from Colt.
"That's a good boy," Colt said, smiling, "Listen to your master," he turned to McNamara, "You really need to keep that Chihuahua of yours on a leash; he's starting to get a little too high for his heels. It's going to be a real bummer when he finds out there a much tougher people out there other than himself."
"Like yourself?" McNamara asked, smiling the fakest smile Colt had ever seen in his life.
Colt's own smile widened, "Look who's not such an ignorant bastard after all. Good for you, McNamara. Finally passing grade school, are we?"
McNamara's smile faded as he took the joke with much distaste, "I… sort of admire your wise cracks. You continue to make tasteless jokes even though you're tied to a chair and are about to be ruthlessly beaten."
"It's a defense mechanism," Colt explained, "The docs said I've had it all my life; if I can't physically kick your ass, then I'll verbally kick your ass... say, how's that bruise on your cheek?"
McNamara's emotionless face turned to that of a scowl as Colt mentioned the bruise he caused the arrogant Elder. "I don't know," McNamara said coldly, "How does it look to you?"
"Well," Colt began, taking another look at the bruise, "In my unprofessional medical opinion… it looks like you got knocked the fuck out."
"Funny… so, let's get to business, shall we?" McNamara approached Colt, looking down at him, "What was that you said yesterday? You said were being blackmailed by the NCR?"
The smile faded from Colt's face, "Yeah; that's exactly what I said."
McNamara nodded, "Well, my next question would have to be why you accepted to do the mission in the first place. Of course, you could have ousted the NCR to the media and put them in a bad light for blackmailing you, an 'innocent' citizen. Why did you accept to help the NCR knowing full well you could have completely destroyed them for even thinking of blackmailing you?"
"I fail to see to see how it's any of your business why I accepted to do join that patrol…"
"You seem to forget who's the one tied up in a chair here."
Colt scoffed with a small smile, "I guess you're right… I accepted to join that patrol because the NCR promised me information on a group of people I'm looking for…" Colt let his head fall, remembering the Stallions, Aleksander… Cass…
"You're looking for a group of people? Ramos mentioned something about that…"
"Yeah… I've been following them for years… all the way from Shady Sands and to here, the Mojave, where I met a wonderful young lady who, for some odd reason or another, joined me on this little search… one day, we stopped at the little town of Novac, just for the night. Well, regardless to say, that group of people found us there, shot me in the leg, and kidnapped her in the middle of the night.
After that, I've been searching for clues to their whereabouts and followed a trail… I was interrupted on that trail by a couple of NCR officers who tell me that, if I don't disguise myself as a Ranger and join one of their patrols, me and my friends will be thrown in jail for crimes we didn't commit. Left with little option, I had to join that patrol and, now, I'm here with you fine people, enjoying the wonderful Brotherhood of Steel hospitality you guys are so famous for."
McNamara took a step back, "Huh, interesting… and what will happen if I let you go? Will you tell these 'NCR officers' what happened here?"
"To get the information the NCR has, I have to provide them with a culprit for who ambushed the Rangers… and with what you bastards are doing to me right now…"Colt looked up at McNamara, "I probably will be telling them about this."
"Well," McNamara began as he turned and walked into the darkness, "I guess you're not leaving this place then." Colt's heart sank… the hope of the Brotherhood letting him go faded and faded fast…
There was a hiss as a door beyond the darkness opened and few footsteps as some one entered. Then there was an urgent voice that addressed the Elder, "Elder McNamara, sir—"
"What is it? Can't you see I'm discussing important matters with the Brotherhood's friend?"
"It's High Elder Maxson, sir; he wants to speak to you."
"About what?" McNamara's voice changed from frustration to hesitation in an instant… something must've gone wrong…
"He wishes to speak about the situation with the NCR… he also has Elder Lyons and Elders from that splinter faction on the line as well. High Elder Maxson says it's very important and that it will decide the eternal fate of the Brotherhood."
McNamara sighed, "Fine. Hardin, try and get more information out of the prisoner… use any means necessary.
The door hissed once more and the sound of the Elder and the runner's retreating footsteps echoed out. Finally, the door hissed shut and locked.
Hardin stepped forward and into the light, a devilish grin on his face as he cracked his knuckles. "Alright, we finally have some alone time."
Colt chuckled, "Well then… where's the wine? Let's have a party."
A blow struck landed across Colt's face, creating a fresh cut that streaked upwards from the corner of his mouth and to the middle of his cheek, intersecting the cut that streaked down from his eye. Blood began to slowly seep out of that cut as well, blood slowly cascading down.
Hardin looked down towards Colt, the smile gone and replaced with a livid face. "Tell me what I want to know!"
Colt lifted his head, a smile upon his face and tear streaking down from his eye, not from the physical or psychological pain, but the emotional pain of knowing that he was now trapped in this bunker with no way out… he was never going to see Cass again… Well, if he were stuck here, he was going to cause the Brotherhood and its members some pain while he was here and he was going to mess wit his captors as much as possible… including Hardin.
"Alright, alright…" Colt gasped while stifling a laugh, "I'll tell you… your mother; she likes it up the ass."
Hardin struck Colt once more, hitting him directly in the eye, causing a bruise to form and around his right eye. He yelled again, bending down to get eye-level with his prisoner, "Stop with your jokes!"
"Well, what the fuck do you want me to say?"
"Tell me what you were doing to Initiate Betkovsky!"
"Well," Colt began, heaving a sigh and chuckling, "Sorry to say… it wasn't want you were thinking, big guy; I don't flow that way." Colt's smart remark was only rewarded with another blow that struck across the left side of his face, loosening a tooth on his lower jaw.
"Stop with your asinine jokes and tell me why Betkovsky was on the floor, severely injured, and why you were standing over him with a bloody fist! Were you beating him?"
"No shit, Sherlock."
Hardin raised his fist to strike Colt once more, but another voice from the darkness stopped him, "Please, sir, stop this." Betkovsky stepped forward and into the light, a clear cut across his forehead and a bruise on his cheek.
Hardin turned from Colt to Betkovsky, "Initiate, what are you doing here?"
"I'm here to stop you from hurting this innocent man further," Nikolai said, stepping forward even more. He looked at Colt, understanding in his eyes as he stared at the man tied to a chair.
"No," Hardin retorted, disgusted that Betkovsky would even say something like that, "This scum doesn't deserve remorse, Betkovsky." Hardin raised his hand to strike Colt again, but the Initiate grabbed his superior's hand, keeping him from ever landing a blow.
"Don't do it, sir. He only assaulted me so he could find someone," Nikolai protested, defending Colt, "I wouldn't give him the information he needed when he first asked and he just did what he had to do to find a group that's done him wrong. Anyone would've done the same."
Hardin jerked his hand free from Betkovsky's grip and glared at the Initiate, furrowing his brow, giving himself an ominous appearance, "Brutally assaulting someone is no way to gain information and—"
"But, sir, you're basically doing that right now! You're violently interrogating him to gain information that he doesn't have!"
Hardin turned to Betkovsky, his anger swelling and rattling his voice as he yelled at the ghoul, "What that man did was an assault and a beat down! What I'm doing is an interrogation! They are two completely different things!"
"No they are not! I should know; I've performed both many times in my life! This proves just how hypocritical the Brotherhood is! They will go out of their way to condemn those who brutally assault their own people and then they turn around and do it themselves! "
"There is no excuse for him to assault you the way he did, regardless of what others would do or what that group has done to him or whether assaults and interrogations are the same! What he did will not go unpunished! Now, Initiate, leave and do not question me or this Brotherhood again!"
Betkovsky stared coldly at Hardin, not giving an inch, and then he turned to Colt, nodded to him, and vanished back into the darkness. The door hissed as it opened and then closed, locking shut with a loud clang.
Why would Betkovsky stick his neck out for Colt like that after he was beaten severely by the prisoner? It puzzled and bewildered him. Did Betkovsky sympathize with Colt and want to help him? Why would he do that anyway, knowing Colt wanted to kill his old friend? So many questions and Colt had none of the answers…
The same could be said for the rest of the interrogation; so many question and Colt had none of the answers. Hardin asked questions like "What are the NCR troop movements?", "Where is most of the NCR high command?", "How many troops are stationed at HELIOS One?", and "What type of air defenses does the NCR have set up around the Mojave?". Generic questions an NCR colonel or general would be able to answer… not a man who's being blackmailed by the NCR into joining a squad. Seeing as how Colt did not know any of the true answers, he made up his own smart remarks that only pissed Hardin off more than before.
In fact, the interrogation went rather well… as normal as any other interrogation. Hardin would ask a question and Colt make a smart ass remark that would be rewarded with a blow to the skull or torso. Just like any other interrogation…
After another hour or so, Hardin, finally, grew sick of Colt and electrocuted him with the prod… again… when he passed out, Hardin carried Colt back to the cell he was to call home and laid him on the ground, passed out and resting from the physical pain he had endured for a good few hours. There Colt sat, unconscious, but his mind still tried to figure out some way to leave this hellish bunker…