I traveled the wastes without a destination, until I stumbled upon a mini-mart. I was skeptical about going inside, I hadn't a weapon but a rusty tire iron I found in a Chryslus I found back down the road.
I entered the crumbling building with caution, keeping a low profile. The air was thick, but the oxygen was thin. The interior was clammy and dark, with garbage and rubble decorating it. There were perforations on the ceiling, letting in little light.
"Who the fuck is there?" Echoed throughout the mart. I stayed in silence. "You here to buy!?"
"Who the fuck was watching the entrance!?" Cried a second voice.
"I told Skippy to tell us when he left the door" the first responded.
"Maybe this fucker got him"
"No, I didn't get anyone! I'm just here to buy!" I figured they were talking about supplies. After a long silence, four high powered lights came on, one from each corner. The brightness hurt my eyes, synthetic light was never my friend.
"How'd you hear about us, punk?" Asked a tall man, bearing leather tights, lined with spikes. He was fit, no doubt, but he needed a shower. Grime covered his upper body and dirtied his flashy trousers. He wore his hair up in a Mohawk, colored green. He had bits of metal sticking out of his eyebrows, accentuating the ones on his lips.
"No one. I thought this place was empty and maybe I could find something useful" I answered, trying to keep calm. His friend came along, walking atop the stands that were used to display various items that used to be sold. He cocked his shot gun and aimed the barrel at my head.
"So you though you were gunna loot us, huh, fucker?"
"No, like I said, I thought this place was empty."
"Throw him in the den, with the others!" Demanded the stinky one.
The other lunged at me, he had taken out some knuckles out of his pocket and slipped them on. He started swinging at me, landed a punch on my stomach, knocking my air out. Almost losing my vision, I swung the tire iron aimlessly as the other laughed, mockingly. Again, hit against the rib. I felt a slight heat, coming over my face, and began to sweat. I steadied myself with a deep breath. I took the iron to his shin. With a crack, he fell to the floor next to where I was at a knee. I began smashing his face, with the back of socket, until it caved in on itself.
"Fuck, son." He paused for a second "We need more guys like you. How'd you like to take the place of the asshole you just killed!? Hahahaa!" Said the green haired sadist.
"Well, what the hell is it you do?", I asked with some authority as I stood up.
"We round up sons of bitches, then sell em for some caps to people"
"What happens to them?" I wondered out loud.
"Shit boy, you want me to shoot you, or you want to get paid?"
I worked with Joe for around 6-7 months, rounding up slaves. I usually tried to get people who deserved it, as opposed to anyone. It was funny though, scumbags rounding up scumbags. It paid well, I made enough to get me a condo.