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The young wanderer arose from a ruined house to find the dust storm had abated. The red sands that blew in had scattered across the muted brown hues. The sky was a steely blue swathe interrupted only with a few meandering wisps of clouds. He strapped on his rucksack and pulled his bolt action hunting rifle from its drag-bag which had protected it from the sands. He'd tucked the colt .45 into his belt on the opposite side of his holstered .32 revolver. He practiced quick drawing his pistol from his holster, as his fumble the previous day had almost cost him his life. He toyed with dual wielding the guns like he'd seen on some old cowboy poster. He ate some mole-rat jerky for breakfast and prepared to venture onwards, for his immediate goal lay ahead to the west.

The tower on the horizon loomed ahead, he hoped salvation would lay in its shadow, though he knew in the wasteland nothing was free, that went double for the meds he'd need. He took a swig of stale water from his canteen and trudged on with rifle in hand. Every once in a while he'd halt and take a knee to survey his surroundings, watching out for any dangerous animals, especially other people. He clambered down a ravine, his legs gave way and he toppled over. He took the fall to his body instead of turning to absorb the blow with the rucksack as he'd delicate valuables inside. He heard the crunch of a few light bulbs; he'd packed them with some rags hoping that'd keep them from breaking in case of a fall. It took some time for him to muster the strength to pick himself up off the ground, his hands skinned and his head was cut but at least he'd all his teeth. He looked up to see a vulture circling him.

"I'm not dead yet." He said madly, glaring at the circling bird.

He crawled until he could fully rise up the other side of the ravine. He picked his way carefully through the crest of a rocky ridge, avoiding the rad-scorpions sunning themselves on the rocks, keeping his rifle at a low ready. Slow and steady he crossed out into the flatlands. There were the ruins of a several houses arrayed around the tower which had a great fence of concrete slabs, rebar, sheet metal, and barbed wire around it coming to a large gate which was likely manned by armed guards within. He passed the shadow of the Robco robot factory on his way, crossing across its vast and vacant parking lot. He approached the gate to see there was already someone else there appealing to get inside, a ghoul. He'd seen ferals before, but had never met a ghoul who'd retained his senses and so kept his distance. The ghoul had stringy red hair thinning atop the peeling skin and exposed purpling veins on his rotting head. He wore a thick black leather jacket and pants with heavy black boots crusted with green muck. On his back was slung a mean looking Chinese assault rifle. He was pressing the button on an intercom speaker and leaning in towards its flat microphone.

"You can tell Tenpenny to kiss my ass, we've got plenty of bottle caps, god damn it. Now let me in." The ghoul barked into the speaker with a throaty growl.

"For the last time, I told you Tenpenny won't allow zombies in his tower." The voice on the other end of the speaker replied.

"Who are you calling a zombie! Do I look like a feral to you?!"

"You're not human, that's for damn sure."

"Can't you tell the difference between me and a feral? Fine, I'll show you the god damn difference, you'll get yours… all of you!" The ghoul shouted into the speaker as he pounded his fist against the wall.

The wanderer stood a distance away, crouching near to a crumbling pillar on the ruinous pavilion before the gate. The ghoul passed on by, walking with an angry gate, giving him no notice. He rose up and went to the speaker, he pushed a button on its surface as the ghoul had done.

"Tenpenny doesn't want your god damn caps. Get your maggoty ass, rotten ghoul hide out of here…" The speaker hissed with feedback as the guard yelled into its microphone from inside.

"… I'm human the last time I checked." He spoke, a little winded from his hike.

"Oh…sorry about that, thought you were that damn ghoul…Ahem, you are trespassing on Alistair Tenpenny's private property, renders and official business only."

"I have goods to trade. Light bulbs, pilot lights, copper wire…"

"We've got enough junk..."

"I've got some weapons and ammo to trade too… look, I've got the rad shakes, I need some medicine soon."

"Does this look like a hospital? We're not in the business of giving handouts to mangy strays from the wastes... Find somewhere else to die."

"I can pay, I've got some caps, I can handle any jobs you need doing, just you name it. I'm a mercenary."

"Now you're talking my language… Maybe I could grant you admission if you got something to sweeten that sour story of yours, like the jingling of say… one hundred caps."

"…One hundred?" He only had one hundred and thirteen caps on him.

"Did I stutter?"

"Fine, I'll cough it up." He spoke begrudgingly, hoping he could make up for the loss by selling off what he'd scavenged from the wastes.

"Dandy."

The rusty gate buzzed as the magnetic locks disengaged. It shrieked open and he stepped inside to be greeted by a few guards in a tan combat uniform with American assault rifles. One of the guards raised his rifle as another came and pat him down, removing his rucksack and handing it off to another guard to prod through. Before him stood the man who seemed to be in charge, a short olive skinned man, clean shaven with a waxed wave of chestnut hair parted to the side.

"You guys this friendly with everyone?" The wanderer said in a nervously joking manner.

"Try something, smartass, and you can get real friendly with my girl Sally here." The head guardsman said patting his rifle which had the name 'Sally' carved in its wooden stock along with a crude etching of a nude woman.

"Don't worry, she's not my type." The wanderer said with a forced smile.

"I'm chief Gustavo, in charge of Tenpenny security, and you are…?"

"Ghost. I'm a merc from up north." He extended his hand to shake but Gustavo didn't return the gesture.

"Right…" Gustavo said unconvinced of his credentials, "How old are you?"

"Old enough." He said.

"No chems or explosives, he's clean." The other guardsmen reported after going through his belongings.

"Listen up kid, 'cause I'm only going to tell you once. You're limited to the first floor; you can trade your junk with our people in the main concourse. Keep your weapons holstered and I won't have to take them from you."

"What about meds, you guys have a doc?"

"We do, but he doesn't see to strays… Tell you what, 'mercenary', you mosey on to my desk after your done peddling your wares and we can see about that." Gustavo said as Ghost picked up his rucksack and followed him inside.
The interior of Tenpenny tower was more lavish than anything he'd ever seen. Easy listening music spilled over the radio in the red carpeted lobby, he looked up at the high roof in awe as he beheld a glittering chandelier with crystalline jewels hanging like tear drops. The people were dressed in fine pre-war clothing. Despite some wear and tear the lobby was seemed to be in a different time, as if he stepped in from the wastes and entered a pre-war America untouched by the radiation that plagued him. He overcame his awe as a wave of nausea hit him. He gripped onto a waiting table as a well dressed woman gave him a dirty look, he was unwashed and sickly and stood out like a sore thumb. He steadied himself and pushed on to the convention hall off from the lobby where the trade store was located. He took in less caps than he wanted, the sickness made him look desperate which cut away at any negotiating edge for they knew he needed every cap he could scrape up and couldn't afford the caps or the time to simply take his junk somewhere else. Afterwards he came to Gustavo's desk in the main concourse before the elevators, flanked with two great staircases to either side.

"I've got a proposition I think you'll want to hear." Gustavo said as he beckoned him closer with a wave of his hand.

Ghost came and sat down on a green cushioned chair before the varnished wooden desk, "I'm all ears."

"We've got ourselves a ghoul problem, and Roy Philips is its name."

"The ghoul banging on the gate?" Ghost asked, Gustavo nodded

"That Roy Phillips and his crew have been trying to get inside for the past month now. It's making everyone nervous, nervous residents makes Mr. Tenpenny nervous, and I don't like when Mr. Tenpenny gets nervous, this job's hard enough without the man upstairs breathing down my neck. I think they're going to try something and soon. That's where you come in."

"It is?" He asked, wondering what it was they wanted him to do that their well armed security forces couldn't handle.

"Those ghouls are holed up in the metro under a train yard not far to the south. I can't spare the men and keep this place secure to Tenpenny's standards. Besides, Roy sees one of my boys, he'll know what's up and shoot first. They'll see you for some down on his luck scavenger and maybe they don't shoot first, then you get the drop on them. Kill them and I can have the doc set you up with meds for radiation treatment."

"Kill them?"

"Kill them, drive them off, whatever, just make sure we never see their maggoty behinds again... and I thought you said you were a merc. Honestly, you look like a runaway farm boy to me."

"No. I'm a merc. I can get it done."

"I'd hurry if I were you. It doesn't seem like you've got a lot of time to waste... Oh, and the tunnels are overrun with ferals, they spill out every now and again and we have to gun them down before they try to climb the walls, its a damn nuisance. You kill many ferals before?"

"Oh yeah, all the time." Ghost lied casually, tightening the sling to his rifle over his shoulder as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"That bolt action rifle's good for the open range but in the those tunnels you might as well grab it by the barrel and use it as a club."

"Yeah, I know that. I'll go in with pistols."

"Both?"

"I got two hands and two guns."

"How are you going to aim, hotshot?"

"Got two eyes." Ghost said as he slowly started to realize what Gustavo was saying, dual wielding was for old pre-war movie cowboys, not real world wasteland mercenaries.

"Ferals don't go down for good unless you put one through their head. You'll need an SMG or shotgun if you plan on fighting your way through them."

"Oh yeah, why's that?"

"Because you don't want them to get close, so you either go with a shotgun and shoot buckshot so you can't miss, or you take an SMG with a large mag to spray in short bursts. A little advice kid, aim for the knees, then put a round in their head when they're on the ground. I've got an old 10mm SMG sitting in the armory, I'll trade it for your .45, could use a good sidearm with some stopping power."

"Just make sure you don't lubricate it with gun oil before a sandstorm, tends to gunk up and jam."

"What do I look like, an idiot? I know that, farm boy. Now go kill some ghouls and try not to die, I swear if I have to hear that Roy Phillips' voice again on that intercom..." Gustavo ground his teeth in agitation, "Just get it done. Now let me take a look at that gun."

Ghost slid his .45 to Gustavo across his desk. Gustavo took apart the .45, it was crusted with sand which he rubbed off with a rag, making sure the bolt and its springs were still good.

"It's a fine weapon. Too bad you didn't take care of it."

"It's wasn't mine." Ghost said as Gustavo noticed the bloodstain on its grip.

"You actually killed someone, kid? Maybe you won't be ghoul chow after all." Gustavo said with a raised brow as he depressed the feed tray to the .45's magazine, "This mag's spring is bad, but otherwise its in pretty good condition. Give the ammo and spare magazines you've got for it and I'll get you that SMG and some ammo."

Ghost rummaged through his pockets and set the extra mags and ammo down. Gustavo reassembled the pistol and rose up to walk to the armory. It was a dim metal chamber with steel lockers, a workbench and a tubed basin with hose that sprayed gun oil. He pulled a battered black SMG from one of the lockers.

"Remember, you'll want to test it out before you get into a fight with a pack of ferals, get used to how it feels. The recoil pulls your aim up and to the right, so aim low and to the left to drag your burst across your target. Do not try and rock the full auto setting, keep it on burst and keep your cool otherwise you'll just waste your rounds and you don't want to try and reload while you're face to face with a feral. Class is over. Now get to work, 'mercenary'." Gustavo said shoving the SMG into Ghost's chest.