Hey dudes and bros of all different kinds! So, here I am, back at the lake, and my neck is killing me from tubing (but I'm better off, my brother smashed into the water and broke his nose (ooooowwwww)). So, we're tired, I have an excuse to write, so here I am making another story for you! My awesome readers! Also, remember to PM me, I have an important question to ask the readers! Especially the Author of another fanfic that is promising to be epic: The Bluegrass Wasteland! Be sure to check it out!
And now, as they say in the Deep South (Maryland): BACK TO WORK!
Derek turned, and smirked slightly as he kept his gun pointed, straight at the man before him. "I told your friends to leave, why are you here?"
The figure before him was casually dressed: Myrelurk gauntlets, but besides that he wore Brahmin skins and a purple vest with a Talon Company symbol sewed into it. His face was pockmarked with scratches and scars, but his white eyes were alert, and his white hair was straight and very clean. "I'm insurance. I told my commanders that threatening you would do no good, but do they listen? Of course not." His voice was smooth, like oiled glass.
"So you're here to patch things up with the paranoid new leader in case random threats don't do the job," Derek surmised, utterly bored now.
"Pretty much. Would you like to talk business?" the strange man asked calmly.
"Eh, sure. I could care less who does what, as long as I stop getting bothered," Derek answered, leaning on his crowbar again.
"Fine. Is here all right?" the stranger asked, looking around for a door or something to keep out prying eyes and listening ears.
"Anything we discuss will eventually become public knowledge. I don't care who hears us," Derek responded. "Just, say your piece."
"As you wish," the scarred man acquiesced. "I come here representing the Old Northwest branch of Talon Company. My job is to put all the resources my organization is willing to offer on the table, and to facilitate negotiations. If at any point you wish to bow out of-"
"Skip it, and get to the haggling," Derek sighed, leaning against the wall. His crowbar remained in his left hand.
"As you wish," was the reply, still cordial. "Sir, to be short, my organization is willing to offer you the position of a Company Garrison."
"And that means…?" prompted an unimpressed young man.
"Look around you, for a moment. We are in what is possibly the most well secured settlement I've ever been inside, and that is saying something. To our flanks lay unending tribal warfare, and to our north is a deep trench of nuclear craters, beyond unlimited scavenging from the RobCo headquarters and Vault-Tech vaults." Arms spread wide, the man began to gesture grandly towards the areas he spoke of.
"I know all that," Derek told him plainly. "I've lived here for as long as I can remember, you're stating the obvious."
"All right, think of it this way. The name of your settlement could not be more apt. Raw Border is the last bastion of civilization before an uncivilized frontier. This is what Talon Company needs. My superiors think your settlement is the perfect spot to restore order, to show those that need to see just how powerful we are!" he pressed excitedly. "Think of it: Talon Company moves in, and your borders expand, you establish new settlements, and the rule of law returns to the area! We'd be seen as liberators!"
"Or, you end up taking advantage of my hospitality to take over my tower, kill those who oppose you, and suck in all the money that comes up the Ohio. Don't think the Umpire and I are blind to what your Company is guilty of: word travels up the river every day about what you people are doing in Balto!" Baltimore, or Balto, had been a peaceful settlement that had retained many secrets of pre-war medicine. However, Talon-Company had moved in, and, under the guise of keeping order, had removed many of the area's leaders, and was currently herding off rebellious sections of the population to the Pitt.
"We cannot help that some of our commanders are more… aggressive than others. However, considering the ability of your local residents, you can rest assured that any Talon Leader operating from here will be advised that he is walking on eggshells." The man's explanation was smooth as silk, no hesitation or panic in his flawed demeanor or seductive voice.
Derek yawned, then ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, well, I don't really care who wins at this point, you or the Regulators. You go back to your superiors and tell them this: I do not negotiate with people who disobey my rules, and the Umpire even more so."
"Sir, I do not-"
"Save! It!" Derek warned, raising his crowbar and pointing out one of the windows, to the old Mt. Adams. "My scouts have told me you are setting up a base there. That is well within my area of influence, and I still have the original copy of the agreement you people signed with the leaders of Raw Border and Passtime concerning your actions here."
"I can assure you-"
"If you want me to consider what you have told me: you will tell your superiors to remove the base before, oh I don't know, someone mistakes it for a raider outpost and it's destroyed." Derek was no longer bored, he was all business. "Now, if there is nothing further-"he was cut off by the stranger's quick jab to his ribcage.
"You will not stand in our way boy!" hissed the negotiator-turned-assassin, all pretenses gone. He jabbed again at Derek's ribs, but Derek was able to back away from the blow, still stunned from the first strike.
"Such arrogance. Is there no subtlety within your company?" demanded the young man, swinging his crowbar towards the assassin's face.
"Silence!" the assassin demanded, blocking the blow with his gauntlets. The man was quick and precise, and struck three times at Derek, who managed to block two of the blows, but took a hit to the jaw.
Grunting and tasting blood, he responded by kicking out with his left leg and nailing his opponent in the side, forcing him to double over for breath. "No one ever expects a left-sided kick" he explained to the gasping assassin before giving him a thorough beating. At the end, the attacker was moaning in pain, and his body was scarred enough to match his face. "No one attacks me in my own tower either," Derek gloated, before knocking the poor man out with a blow to the head.
A soft clapping of hands sounded from Derek, and he twisted to find the Regulator leader lounging against the wall, still applauding. "Well done, very well done. Very few can take down a trained Talon assassin in hand-to-hand combat. I'm very impressed."
Derek shrugged, then spat some blood out of his mouth. "It was a fluke: he thought I would be stunned, so I caught him doubly off-guard. He was too arrogant to think a kid would put up much of a fight."
"You could tell all of that by looking at him?" the Regulator inquired, leaning down to observe the poor soul.
"Story of my life," Derek responded.
The mercenary chuckled and handed a sheaf of papers to the young man. "Well then, here's all of the information you asked for. Names and goods for each of the dirty merchants, and their associates and friends from other settlements."
"You work fast," Derek announced, impressed. "This is very thorough too," he added, leafing through the papers.
"We were prepared, so-to-speak," the Regulator confessed.
"I see. Ever the strategist. Well, it looks like my decision has been made for me. Do me a favor and take care of this man for the night will you? Tomorrow, we'll bring him and this evidence before the Umpire and figure out the proper course of action." Derek looked on as the Regulator hefted the limp assassin over his shoulder and started down the hallway, to meet up with more Regulators most likely. "By the way, what's your name?" he called after the man.
"Justice," was the reply.
"Well, now I can hopefully go to bed," Derek mused to himself, starting off once again down the dim hallway.
Of course, the young man is not that lucky. In this case, it was because he discovered a certain small blonde woman wrapped up in the arms, and lips, of a very happy looking wastelander. Sighing, he stepped around the scene and continued on to his room. "Thanks for keeping me up again Olivia" he said as he passed the pair before hurrying on, not stopping to see if he'd even been heard.
And so the day ended with the young man drifting off to sleep as he sat on the edge of his open window. After calling himself worthless for the hundredth time, he finally closed his eyes. The tears remained on his sleeping face, and it was a wonder he didn't fall from his perch.
The next day began much the same as the previous day. The only difference: it started from a window instead of a bed. Tired and sore, he leaned back and fell onto the hard tile, groaning from pains throughout his body. "I think my jaw's broken..." he mumbled, trudging into the bathroom.
Once the heat from the shower water had soothed his aching everything, he stepped out of the stall and dried off, before putting his armor, pants, and duster on. A sneaky grin on his face, he strapped a pair of Myrelurk gauntlets to his wrists beneath his duster before rolling up the sleeves. "Well they fit. Thank you nameless assassin!"
Working his way through the halls where other people were just starting to wake up, Derek stopped to stare when he spotted a half-naked Olivia leaning against her door. "Morning," she said, looking up at him.
Derek just shook his head and walked on, too fed up at the moment to care. "Morning," he mumbled in her general direction, purposefully looking away. His next stop was the radio tower.
"…Winzel has sent a message back with the scavenger, saying he will be returning upon completion of the expedition and receiving his payment. 200 caps rewarded to… Firebird? Seriously? Okay, someone is getting canned over this," Derek spoke into his mike, as all the listeners could hear the jubilant laughter from the radio room. "Next on the list: The Blood Stabbers have been thinned to three heads and a leader, thanks to some trigger-happy Regulators. Remember kids, there's still one-twenty caps for every head, and Stab nets you another four-fifty. Okay, the final order of business. There will be a combat exercise taking place in Mt. Adams later today. This will involve any member of the local communities that is willing to wield a gun for the sake of profit, himself, safety, and so on. Meet at the old planetarium and be prepared for war. That is all."
His announcing done, Derek replaced the mic on its stand and stared angrily at the still snickering workers. "I hate you all," he announced before stepping into the elevator and hitting the ground-floor button.
Upon reaching his destination, he was greeted by a rather humorous sight. Panama had decided to sleep in the main lobby, and was a bit of an attraction to the few children who were in Raw Border. They were happily perched on various parts of her body, and she didn't seem to even notice, much less care. "Panama!" Derek called, and the Yao-Guai immediately heaved herself up and padded over to his side, shedding the kids behind her. Sighing, he patted the side of her snout affectionately. "We're going to be traveling a bit today. Make sure to eat now, I have no idea when we're getting back." Panama knocked him over with an affectionate nudge, then padded off to the Myrelurk cart she had commandeered as a feeding trough.
Mato was at his recharging station, but his fusion batteries were reading 98% charged. Equal to about three day's worth of shooting stuff. So, Derek punched in the activation code and Mato sprang to life. "User detected: input of orders imminent," the machine buzzed.
"Passive protection is all for now Mato. When an engagement takes place, do as the system deems fit."
"Orders acknowledged. Passive protection of user primary objective." The machine whirred and hummed as it made the proper adjustments, then wheeled to Derek's side. This will be fun Derek told himself as he stepped out of the building.
Coming to meet him were three heavily armed regulators and their leader, none other than Justice. Two of the mercenaries were carrying the pitiful assassin between them, each with an arm on his shoulder. His legs were chained together, and his upper body was a mass of tangled ropes and chains. "He can walk for himself, but I don't want him to have any leverage," Justice explained to Derek.
Nodding, Derek leaned forward and whispered "Thanks for the new gauntlets" into the assassin's ear. The gagged man could only stare hatefully at him. "Well, we'd best be off. I don't want to keep the Umpire waiting."
As the group made their way up the fortified concrete ramps(with Panama waiting outside the gates, of course) to the Umpire's control box, the Regulators couldn't help but notice how much security was in Passtime. "It's the Umpire. No one likes to trade stable goods in an unstable environment. So he hires security, makes the place a welcome reprieve from the rest of the earth, and the market almost makes itself."
"Just how smart is this Umpire?" inquired Justice, eyeing a rack of plasma grenades that was being hauled out to the large bazaar.
"He's smart enough to know when to shut down the markets to drive up prices, and he has enough influence that no one will question his decisions. He's also smart enough to be the only one who pays the security: no one else to take orders from." Derek explained all this casually, like it was a matter of fact.
"He certainly knows how to run a settlement," Justice mused, impressed.
"He does. And he's waiting for us," Derek pointed out, indicating a pair of armed guards that were standing directly in front of their little procession. "He knew we were coming."
"What makes you so sure?" Justice asked. "He could've seen us on the video cameras."
"He knows enough about all of this to see we're not a threat. If we had just shown up on his video cameras, you think he would've only sent two guards?" Derek mumbled the last part, lowering his voice to explain before the guards heard.
Justice stared at him, amazed by this turn of events. The guards did not speak, only falling in with the rest of the group, but keeping their weapons raised to prevent any surprises.
Soon enough, the eight people and a robot arrived at the double-doors that led into the Umpire's strongbox. "Ladies first," Derek asserted, shoving the prisoner ahead of the rest of the group and through the threshold. He followed, his crowbar's blade pricking the back of the assassin's neck. "Keep moving!" he ordered the poor man. Mato wheeled himself in after them.
"Wait outside. Be calm, nothing will go wrong," Justice ordered his subordinates before following the young man. The two guards remained with the Regulators.
Inside the box, Derek took in everything with one sweeping glance. To his left was a huge bank of monitors, all connected to cameras everywhere in the compound. Before him was a large one-way mirror that looked out into the stadium and gave a full view of the market below them. To his right were wooden stairs that went up to a second level. "You're observant, as I recalled," mused a cracked, broken voice.
Derek turned and grinned, the enigmatic Umpire standing before him. "It's always good to see you Symes," he told the ghoul, clapping him on the shoulder.
"You as well my good friend. But I do wish it were under better circumstances." The Umpire, once a human named Symes, had been pre-war Cincinnati's chief Vault-Tech executive. Immediately upon exiting his vault two years after the bombs had fallen (he'd been about thirty five) he had contracted the stigma that turned people into ghouls, and had been forever sealed away from his vault. So, he had set about clearing away the rubble from the Great American Ballpark to make it a useable settlement, setting up his strongbox within, and breeding Myrelurks to live in the sickened Ohio River. Suffice to say, he was single-handedly responsible for Sin'Nati's economic standing. Not bad for a ghoul used to the cushy life.
As far as ghouls went, he was surprisingly not bald, and wore his hair straight and combed, like any pre-war businessman. He also wore a dark suit that matched his dark-flaky skin quite well. The thing to note, however, was not his appearance, but the familiarity that he had with the combat shotgun on his hip. "First things first, Symes. We need to discuss Owner."
"Yes, I remember him, the man who rents out your rooms and runs your bar. Is it that kind of a thing?" Symes inquired with knowing experience.
"Yes. I'd like to keep him on, he does a fantastic job. But if things become untenable, then…"
"Of course, he's always welcome. Some company would be nice these days, I'm afraid," Symes complained, mostly to himself. "But that's not the entire reason for your visit, is it? Come now, explain this mess, please," he asked, referring to the unmoving assassin.
"Stand up!" Derek ordered, smacking the kneeling prisoner in the side and receiving a gasp of pain in response. "Stand or I will kill you!" Slowly, grudgingly, the prisoner stood up and faced the Umpire, a mix of shock and resignation on his face. "Symes, you always could read a man better than me. Tell me if what I say is true or not: The Talon Company is using some of your merchants to ferry supplies to their base in Mt. Adams, and tried to forcibly oust me from power last night."
Symes chuckled and looked up at Derek, a smirk on his face. "I didn't need your prisoner to tell me that much, but he does confirm that every word of it is the truth."