Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout 3 or any of it's irradiated and fatal content.

... Silas' POV ...

Unbeknownst to both Silas and Dust, both of them were in a bad mood because of the other. Dust, because she was the hunted, and Silas, because he had other business to take care of, and she was going to be a distraction and drain of time. His head was whirling with activity as he made his way to the Park. There were a myriad number of problems that were going on in the Park, and not all of them as easy to see or resolve as the others.

Gill was looking to raise the average price of everything sold in the Park by fifteen caps. This was because Orville's hunting and scav parties had been less fruitful then they usually were. This was because of the bandits that Silas had just taken out looting and pillaging everything that they could get their damned hands on. Nobody seemed to understand this besides Silas and Orville, so Gill was pissed off because his proposal hadn't passed, and the council hadn't taken it into reconsideration, Parker was pissed because Gill was being an annoying prick, and Lane was indifferent because her men wouldn't suffer if the proposal was passed, or vetod.

And they were all pissed at Silas because he knew all of this and explained it to them in depth.

Gill was looking for a way to overthrow the Marshall as the Mayor, and replace him with the Business Rep, himself. He wanted to line his own pockets along with the other business men's as well. Parker was pissed because he knew that, and he knew that Gill was an untrustworthy sonnovabitch who would be his friend, and then throw him out on his ass as soon as he figured out how he could pull the coup off. Lane didn't give a damn at all. Orville was pissed off because Gill and Parker were pissed at him, angry because his men had failed the town, and furious because nobody but Silas understood the situation regarding the bandits and their ties to the hunter's scavenging and hunting.

This could be resolved by keeping things they were, with the Marshall as Mayor, with the deciding vote, and having the council vote on what would be passed or not. But nobody wanted things to stay the same, and although Silas hadn't said it aloud, this meant that the Park would crumble, and his men would have to move their headquarters elsewhere. Silas didn't know where that would be, but he didn't want to have to deal with it. The Park was a big town, with good men in it. They didn't deserve the problems that they had.

But that was life, and they had to accept it. The people would live, and they would press on as they always had. As Silas approached the Park's Barrier, he felt himself relax. With all of it's flaws, the Park was still his home. It might not have always been, but it was now. He walked towards the bridge, giving a nod to Sam, his sniper. She was on wall guard most of the time, day and night. She was looking at him now, undoubtedly. Silas glanced upwards, checking the time. Around one. Shane was probably on guard with her.

Silas grinned. Poor bastard. Sam was well known for her looks, and being alone up there with her was probably driving the poor man mad. Silas didn't envy him. Silas was halfway across the bridge when he was greeted by a guard. "Good to see you're still alive." One of them offered. Silas nodded.

"Officer Williams, right?" The guard nodded.

"Yes sir." Silas clapped him on the shoulder as he walked by.

"See you another time Harrison." It was a very fortunate thing, Silas reflected, that the guards had at least some sense of discipline. That and Parker would have anyone who was slacking tied to the a brahmin's backside for dereliction of duty.

The checkpoint didn't bother checking who Silas was. They knew him, and waved him through. As a respected mercenary captain, and council member, nobody had any qualms with him keeping his weapons on him in public. Usually, anything larger than a pistol or knife was to be confiscated, and returned upon leaving the Park. Or if you had a home, you could store said weapons there. Nobody was very comfortable with heavily armed strangers strolling through the middle of the town.

Silas' first stop was at the Hole. It was short for Hole in the Wall, and was the only official bar in town. It's owner, Willy, was a fairly underhanded person. He'd sell his mother for...well anything, really. It didn't matter. He was a businessmen, and like most barkeeps, they were only interested in money, and their own power. Silas tried his best to keep him in line, but he knew that the man had his hands in things that he didn't have any control of.

Silas walked into the two story bar. Unlike most bars, it was only a bar, and not an inn, where one can rent a room for the night. James flashed Silas a grin as he cleaned off a glass. He wasn't a bad kid, and just wanted to make a living. Silas wouldn't condemn him for that. He walked up to James, and put down a small pouch of caps. "Scotch. Whole bottle." James almost asked Silas why he wasn't ordering the usual whiskey, but thought better of it.

"Seventy-five caps." James said, eyeing the pouch.

"I know." Silas said, keeping his voice low. It didn't matter what Silas' reputation was, or what people thought of him. He tried not to draw attention to himself, and was damned good at it. Silas was of an average height, five ten, maybe five nine. Average weight. Far above average strength, agility, and perception. Not the best at persuading people or the like. Black, short, scraggly hair. Green eyes. Clean shaven. A fairly nondescript person.

"James." Silas said, again in the low voice. "Any of my men here?" James knew what he meant. The men and woman who worked for Silas occasionally went to the Hole for drinks.

"Upstairs. Jacob and Grimm for sure, maybe Kylar." Silas nodded his thanks, and placed another few caps on the counter before heading for the stairs. The various nameless mercenaries, hired as guards, looked at Silas with mixed emotions. Some with fear, or anxiety, because if he went hostile, they might not be able to stop him. Some with contempt, because he was the head of his own band, or he'd turned them away when they asked to join. He didn't care.

Silas reached the top of the stairs, and headed for the men of his band. Jacob and Grimm were indeed there, thoroughly engaged in some argument of some kind. Silas didn't see Kylar for a split-second, and then found him. He was in the corner seat, in the shadow. His arms were folded across his torso as he silently listened to the two. As Silas approached, Grimm and Jacob still hadn't spotted him. Kylar had.

"Afternoon." He muttered, not bothering to look up. Silas didn't take this as a sign of disrespect, or insubordination. He and Kylar were equals, and they both knew it. In some this would spark a rivalry for the the ages, but between Silas and Kylar, it was the start of brotherhood. If one didn't have previous knowledge of Silas and Kylar, they could easily be mistaken for siblings.

Jacob and Grimm looked up suddenly from each other, and nodded their hellos to Silas. "Hey chief." Jacob said flatly, beckoning him over to the table.

"How are you smooth-skin?" Grimm asked in his rasping voice. Silas did walk over and sit down.

"Fine. Thing could be better." He meant the words honestly. He wanted to fix the problems in the Park, but needed to keep his word. Breaking one's word was taboo to Silas, and if he left a single bandit alive, or uncaptured, then it would be broken. "Anything happen while I was gone?" It had been two days ago that Silas had gotten the contract, but he'd recieved it from a messenger while in Rockshore, to the North. He'd been working a contract for almost two weeks when he'd finally finished.

Grimm shook his head. He was intelligence. Anything that happened, almost anywhere, Grimm would know. He had eyes and ears everywhere. "Nothing too important. I'm assuming you took out the bandits, and you haven't been asked for just yet. I escorted a caravan to Ripps last week, and Jacob hunted down a theif." He shrugged. "Like I said. Nothing important."

Silas nodded. "Thanks." He pulled the bottle of scotch out of his duster, and placed it on the table. "Kylar?" He poured the drinks.

"Sure." Kylar straightened himself, and cleared his throat. The other mercs stopped talking, and listened. "Vita est ferrues, tunv vos intereo." Kylar raised his glass, and drained it. The other mercenaries followed suit. Grimm, Jacob, Sam, and even though Silas didn't ask, were all curious about what the fuck the speech meant.

"Seriously." Grimm began. "You've said the speech hundreds of times, and all that I can understand is that it's gibberish." Kylar shrugged, and Jacob went on. "Come on. At least tell me what language it is." Kylar thought for a moment, and relented.

"Latin."

Silas grinned, and Grimm groaned. "Because that's so helpful." Grimm muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thank you so much." Jacob nodded in agreement.

Kylar cracked a grin, and shook his head. "It's disappointing how I'm the only person in almost fifty miles who actually has an education." Jacob and Grimm both rolled their eyes.

"Right." Grimm said slowly.

"Because knowing how to spell low-kway-shus is really important when a deathclaw is trying to turn you into minced merc." Silas said mockingly. Kylar glanced at him, and they exchanged a short laugh.

"It's spelled loquacious, and I see your point." Kylar reached over, and stole Silas' drink. "But It's still funny."

Silas laughed. "Bastard." The men talked for the next hour or so until Sam walked in. Grimm tipped his infamous bowler, which, as rumor had it, had been stained with the blood of a ghost, at Sam. "Hey." Sam walked over, and sat down next to him.

"Evening boys." She looked over at Silas. "Hello to you too." She said happily, snatching his replacement drink from his lips, and finishing it.

This was common sport for them. If Silas wasn't careful, he'd get his drinks stolen, something he always protested. "Wh-. But. Why would...aah damn." He finished in a sigh, and poured himself another glass. "The word hate is used so commonly by everyone." He said casually. "It's lost it's meaning. Raiders, kids, me, you, everyone says 'hate'. Hate implies seriously, ridiculously high levels of dislike, to the point of murder." He paused, and let the words sink in. "So, I cannot say that I hate you guys. Now I need to find a new damn word." He finished pouring the glass, and downed half of it. "Assholes."

Everyone laughed. Sam, her casual, soft tone. Grimm, in his rough rasps. Jacob, in silent chuckles, and Kylar, with his roaring guffaws. Silas smiled. They were his family. He touched the glass to his lips, and began to drink. Who the hell else is there?

...

Wow. Been a while. Someone, can't remember who, posted recently that I used to have a torrent of updates and chapters, and now I update rarely, if at all. That got me sad. So I sat down, and in forty minutes printed out this motherfucker. I hope that I'll have the next chapter out sooner this time.
Was listening to Agent Tex the whole time while writing this. Found my muse. Peace. 2nd draft. Review please!