John felt a little grumpy as he marched on.
For one this day seemed particularly dry and sandy, meaning that you either kept the helmet on and slowly cooked within it...or spent half the day spitting up sand while your lips were frayed away. More annoyingly however had been the cat and mouse game he'd been forced to play for two days straight with the enclave patrols. He knew he should be terrified of almost dying at encountering them so close...but all he felt was annoyance over going in circles.
One patrol had he managed to lure into the clutches of a pair of deathclaws, another he had ambushed in a narrow gully...and three others were probably still following the confusing prints he'd left for them back west. The satisfaction of having done all that was nothing compared to the irritation of being forced to spend badly needed time....goofing around!
Mostly he was irritated about going east when his goal lay to the west however. It was wrong dammit! Every moment spent marching around and in the wrong direction was another moment the enclave might catch up with him or make some sort of offensive on his brotherhood allies or...Megaton.
Growling he pushed harder, eyes fixed on the rapidly growing spot in the distance. Paradise falls...those guys did not like him...and he had a feeling they didn't like the brotherhood either. Better keep the helmet on...anger against an organisation was probably less intense than personal anger.
The fact that the statue of a cheerful cartoon boy holding an icecream rose above the rest of the compound did not really detract from the menacing look of it. Outside windows to the half-dozen buildings barred shut, large barricades topped by barbed wire running between them...sentries by the only gate. It was obviously a fortress, and as John came closer he could hear the faint sound of a feast inside, raucous laughter reminding him of raiders reaching him....figures.
There were three sentries by the entry, all behind separate walls of sandbags as they watched him approach from their seats. The one closest to the exit was dressed in pale blue leather armour and had a Chinese assault rifle on his back, his dark skin was covered in tiny scars and his even darker eyes squinted at John with the casual suspicion of an experienced guard.
The second one looked quite seasoned as well, though he hardly paid John any notice as he sat behind his 'boss', hands busy laying down a deck of cards on a table hidden behind his sand bag wall, John couldn't see any visible weapon on him. The third was quite young, staring at John in barely concealed fear while running a hand through his spiked hair and drumming his free hand against his small wall.
"That's far enough." The leader stood up, eyeing John while keeping a hand on the pistol stuck in his belt, John obeyed, sighing as he weighted his options. Should he slaughter his way in? Or would that risk the slaves too much? Maybe he could just make a deal? Though the look on the man's face told a different tale... "What does a brotherhood fool want to do here?"
"I'm not brotherhood." John answered while raising his arms, slowly walking forward under the close scrutiny of all three. Ah, the other veteran was carrying an SMG...bad calibre for armour piercing. "I come here to buy."
"Sure you are." The leader snorted, frowning in irritation as he craned his neck to look up at John's armoured shape towering above him. "And one step back...now." The newbie licked his lips nervously, the hand moving through his hair going down to a dirty looking revolver. John obeyed, judging the distance carefully as he slid backwards. Close enough...bend your knees a little just in case...
"I'm in a bit of a timetable, and I don't think your boss would appreciate you turning back customers."
"At the gate I say what my boss would appreciate." The man jabbed a finger in John's direction, frowning in irritation even as the other two rose to their feet, guns still holstered though. "And I say my boss wouldn't appreciate me letting in a brotherhood spy to check out our defences for an attack."
"I told you, I'm no spy." John lowered his arms, the veteran glared at that, but didn't say anything.
All three men laughed, though he newbie's was tinted with nervousness. The leader shook his head. "Man you're a bit on the dull side...you're wearing brotherhood armour boy."
"Doesn't make me brotherhood. Now let me through." John sighed inwardly, he was really getting sick of this...why was he even talking to these guys anyway? They were no better than raiders, maybe even worse...no, definitively worse since they did horrible stuff matching that of raiders while not the least under the influence.
"Sure, take off that helmet first." The veteran glowered at him.
John frowned, would they recognise him? Without the helmet he would be exposed... "No." Yep, that's it, no more friendly approach...
"Then you're not getting in." The man grinned, once again pointing at him. "Now you got five seconds to leave before I-"
Having made his decision John lunged forward, drawing his sword with his left hand in reverse grip. The horizontal slash cut right through the middle of the leader's skull and leaving the top half slipping off together with the stock of the assault rifle. Quickly moving forward John's heavy feet smashed aside part of the first wall of sandbags as he followed the slash with a backhand attack, stabbing his blade into the chest of the other veteran who had almost fully drawn his gun.
The kid had taken a stumbling step backwards, his mouth forming into a scream even as he struggled to pull his weapon free with trembling hands. Reversing the grip on the sword still stuck in the veteran's chest John spun clockwise while advancing, the movement pulled his weapon free, sending the dead veteran tumbling over his game of patience...and his sword scything through the chest of the kid.
An odd gurgle escaped the kid, then the top part of his chest along with his head dropped backwards, the rest of his body stumbling sideways before it too dropped to the ground. With a flopping sound guts and organs begun to pour out of the massive wounds of the two parts of his body...
Sheeting his sword John smiled tightly, no gun had gone off...he had definitively gotten faster. Listening intently, over the fleshy sounds of the organs dropping out of the kid, he heard that the party was still in full swing...no one had heard him then. Good. He glanced back at the broken remains, he had never really understood how strong the armour could make you...eww.
Focusing on the task at hand he moved forward, ducking low while quickly checking his weapons. The gate that went to the main compound was locked, but with the rickety appearance of the door John took a chance and simply tackled his way through, sending the door swinging open with a crack as murky wood gave way.
Thankfully there was a small wall of barricades a few feet in front of the door, meaning he was still shielded from any prying eyes. Listening intently he tried to hear for any signs of alert to his forced entrance, nothing but laughter and clapping reached him however...John felt fresh confidence and moved to the corner of the wall of barricade, glancing out with rifle at the ready.
Yep, that was a party alright...of sorts.
To the right there was more of those barricades that John had learnt to accept, reaching one of the outer buildings...most likely some sort of enclosure. To the left of the main event there was a seizable tower-like construct, a grim looking man who somehow managed to carry a minigun without any aid save that of a strap looking out over the festivities. Behind him and his tower a fancier looking building with a small balcony stood, a dark skinned man in red business suit standing there and smiling down at the feast.
The feast itself was what one could expect of people like slavers. Rough looking men and women sitting around a large bonfire, weapons still close even as they drank themselves into a stupor. What they were cheering at where two lightly dressed women dancing...or whatever one could call it...to John it more looked like spinning around the fire while periodically raising their skirts for no good reason.
So...over a dozen around the fire, armed with assault rifles, heavy super sledges and pistols...well maintained gear compared to the raiders...the guy on the balcony and the minigun on the tower....John ran through a few scenarios in his head before reaching down and pulling out one of his grenades that he now knew to be plasma grenades.
Oh man...he really was going to do it...attack the slavers of paradise falls. Like daring Dashwood or something...he smirked at the thought.
Priming the grenade he took three quick breaths...and threw it right into the fire.
Someone cried out in warning...then the grenade went off. Searing green plasma exploding right in the middle of the group, tearing the dancers to pieces and sending their burning remains along with burning logs flying everywhere, the heavy pieces along with the shock wave knocking the feasters unto their backs.
John was only half aware of that though since he had shifted his attention to the minigun armed man. The whole tower he stood on shook with the force of the exploding grenade, so he was still stumbling around when John's plasma shot took him in the leg...sending him falling over the edge with a shriek of pain.
The man on the balcony was still shielding his eyes from the explosion...and John barely needed to adjust his aim from the first shot... John's second shot hit the man in his raised arm, melting it off at the elbow and boiling away the skin of the right side of his face. A look of horror crossed the man's face...then he silently fell to the floor.
Over the din of screams of pain and fear John heard orders being barked, a small group of slavers stumbling into the cover of the barricades to the right... Pulling back John drew a second grenade and tossed it towards the barricade and took aim...just before it hit the wall he fired, detonating the grenade and sending burning pieces of barricades flying all over the place.
It had been an enclosure for some sort of kitchen or bar...a few shelves, a fridge and a counter were now exposed. Through most of it was now covered in either burning pieces of debris or the gory remains of someone who had been too close to the wall. "Help me!" A man came up from behind the counter, his arms flailing as flames enveloped him...then begun to tug at his bandoleer of grenades.
Ignoring the burning man John advanced from his cover, instantly one of the people lying by the remains of the bonfire took a shot at him, the bullet harmlessly bouncing off his chest. John rewarded the man with a shot to the hand, melting both gun and hand into a black chunk and drawing a scream of agony from him.
BOOM!
The burning man's explosives went off, sending pieces of flesh and scything fragments of grenades all over the place. John casually raised a shoulder to block off some of the fragments hitting him while hearing others scream at the white-hot pieces of steel striking them. In the right corner of his eye saw an elderly woman in white shirt and leather pants come at him, a scalpel raised to strike.
A step to the right and he slammed his elbow into her face, crushing most of her features before John kicked her up in front of him just as some of the slavers had recovered enough to fire back at him. The woman jerked, an muffled scream escaping her as the storm of bullets tore through her until her arms and head came off and the rest of her blood covered corpse fell to the ground.
Despite having seen enclave soldiers do it to him it was a bit frightening marching up against a storm of bullets...but the way they simply bounced off his armour quickly changed that and he begun to grin in glee instead, slowly marching forward as he with growing confidence returned fire.
There a man lost his leg and fell into the remains of the fire. There another man fell to his knees as he clutched the remains of his left arm. There a woman pulling back a grenade had her entire right side turned to mush as John's shot detonated the explosive...John found his grin disappearing...God...it was a slaughter.
With a roar a man in metal armour came rushing at him, a massive super sledge raised above his head...and John found himself reloading. Despite that he didn't feel more then a slight twinge of fear...and casually stepped to the side when the man swung down on him like the oaf he no doubt was. John's return punch sent the man stumbling back...and then screaming as John drew his pistol and blew his kneecaps out, sending him tumbling to the ground.
Looking back he found a mere three slavers still standing...or that was, stumbling about, either clutching wounds or eyes blank with confusion. Three shots later and they dropped to the ground, their heads turned to goo.
Lowering his weapons John felt drained to the bone all of a sudden.
The tower to the left was tilting slightly, the beams on its right side bent and partly melted off. The bar was still covered in gore and fiery pieces of wood...in fact everywhere small fires had started where the hurled pieces of the bonfire had found further fuel....even as he watched he saw dark smoke rise from one of the buildings to his right.
The slavers were in pieces, some still whimpering as they bled out, limbs blown off. Smoke rose from most of them, the searing plasma hits still boiling their flesh away. Others were nothing but pieces of charred flesh, torn asunder by explosions. This was not just death...this was a scene of agony.
John grimaced, he had done this...sure they were scum, sure he probably made the wasteland a better place by killing them....but to do it so...brutally...felt wrong. He had made the choice to do this...he probably could have bribed the guard come to think of it...but he had let their morals guide his own, used their behaviour as an excuse for his own.
He wasn't sure his father would have approved of that.
"P...please." Glancing down John found the man that had charged him with the sledge still clutching his knees, tears streaking his face as he looked up at John with a pleading look on his face. "H...help."
Squaring his shoulders John put the last bullet in his pistol to use, blowing the head off the man. "That's the best I can do...sorry."
Then he shook his head, cleared away any worry, and turned to the task at hand.
Marching through the smoking remains of the slavers he came round the corner of the barricades on the other side of the kitchen...and saw dozens of people pressing against the steel fence locking them in....all staring at him with eyes wide. Putting his weapons away John slowly approached them, a small warm feeling in his chest...maybe it wasn't so bad after all? They all stared at him, fearful...he should say something.
"Do not worry, you're safe." He finally settled for, his voice meek in his own ears.
He was instantly greeted with a cheer.