Oh Ye of Little Faith….

This fic is far from dead. I just wanted to finish The Fourth Option, and I'd rather hand you guys a chapter than an explanation…

We're in Krow Blood's Territory now. This is where we start to really tip-toe away from strict cannon.

28/01/13- cleaned up most of the spelling erros and whatnot.

Mutatis Mutandis 19

The world swam into focus, revealing Jason's less than pleasant surroundings: another set of endless concrete subway tunnels. The floor was cold and the heavy chains binding him were digging uncomfortably into his side. He had no idea where in the wasteland they were; all the tunnels looked the same from underground. Jason knew most of the wasteland's subway tunnels, having spent four years wandering through them, but he didn't recognize this particular one. Perhaps it was the disorientation, or the way his head was pounding.

A modest fire had been lit, something to lessen the sting of the chilly concrete labyrinth. It cast a rather comforting orange glow on the cold walls, but put Jason ill at ease. Fires presented silhouettes - easy targets. Darkness was safe. Or at least it had been. He grimaced, remembering the floodlights, and the giant in Enclave armour.

As if on cue, the hiss and whirring of power armour echoed through the tunnel as the figure stomped into view. He was carrying an enormous minigun the likes of which Jason had never seen in the capital wasteland. It had been kept in immaculate condition, painted in reds and oranges. Chrome rings held the barrels together, and it looked as if some sort of coolant system had been added on; pipes and fins were tangled around and through the killing machine, all feeding into a compressor hitched to the back. White lettering had been stenciled to the bottom of the ammo case - of a size and make Jason had never seen before – and it said: CZ57 Avenger.

The giant set his contraption down directly across from Jason, and moved out of view. The Wanderer could hear his captor digging through a cloth bag of some sort. He returned a short while later carrying Jason's Perforator, turning it this way and that, examining it from all angles. It looked pathetically tiny in his enormous armoured hands, and he unloaded it with ease and tossed the empty weapon across the fire. Jason grimaced as it clattered across the rough floor, sliding to a halt a foot from his nose.

"This… this is the weapon of a conniving, sneaky little cunt." The giant reprimanded. He leaned back and gave the minigun a tender pat. "This here's my baby. I've mowed down armies with this weapon, but you? How in hell did you ever fight the Enclave with that thing?"

"It's not my only weapon."

"I know. I got the others for you. Like your Chinese assault rifle. Thirty-six rounds per mag? That there's a real man's weapon."

"Who are you?"

"I told you already."

"Narg?"

"And don't you forget it."

"Very helpful." Jason murmured. "Thank you."

"Look, I didn't come all the way to this shithole to play twenty questions, kiddo."

"Shithole?" Jason glared at him.

"You've seen this wasteland, right? Where are the fucking whores? Where's the booze? Christ I miss New Reno!" The figure reached for the nearby satchel and began to dig around inside. "By the way, did a little experiment while you were out cold. Thought you might want to see this." He pulled out a small plastic bag. A finger, detached from whatever poor bastard had previously owned it, lay inside, smeared with blood.

Jason shrugged, a painful exercise as he was working against his bonds. "So what?"

"It's yours!" the armoured warrior announced happily.

Over his four years of adventuring, Jason had witnessed, heard and been told a great many strange things, which is why he maintained his composure and did a quick count of his own digits. Ten for ten.

"Bullshit." He said.

"No, seriously. I cut it off not two days ago. You grow back! It's fantastic. I doubt even the Boss can do that! I got curious. I wanted to try it ever since we fished that bullet outta your skull."

Jason frowned. "What bullet?"

"Burke put ya under and locked you in a vault. We broke in and pulled it out so you could regrow. Gave Jackrum a little help."

"Who's we?" Jason frowned and made a mental note to ask Jackrum some very insistent questions.

The Warrior gave him a blank look. "Me an' my friend."

"Yes, but who are you?"

"Narg." He shook his head in exasperation. "Honestly, kid! We've been over this!"

"I didn't ask your name!" Jason spat. "I asked who you are!"

"I'm Narg. West coast version of you." There was a thoughtful pause. "Except more badass."

"West coast? What do you mean another version of me?"

"Look, why aren't you more interested in the fact that you can actually grow back lost limbs? I mean… can I chop off your head?"

"No." Jason stared. "But thanks for asking…"

"You're not curious?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"No!"

The giant sighed. "Look, I've seen more crazy shit than any sane man should, and I can take care of myself. But I can't even do that. I mean, I'd be freaking the hell out if I was you!"

"But you're not." Jason replied evenly. "I've known for a long time that I can heal. It's not news." He shook his bound hands. "Besides, I have bigger problems!"

"On that we can agree." His captor nodded. "You got Supermutants overrunning the capital wasteland. They're all the way to Fort Bannister now."

Jason froze. "Fort… is it… what about Bigtown? Arefu?"

"No idea. Probly ashes. So why the fuck are you busy asking me questions! We gotta stop this! They burned the Brotherhood!"

"Not all of them." Jason murmured, feeling more and more out of his depth; a rare occurrence. He felt a stab of guilt, remembering What he had done to Sarah. He knew she wouldn't be happy in there, but she was alive at least, and he hoped she was all right.

"I know." The armoured man held up a control board. The one Jason had removed from the Vault 101 door controls. "Who exactly were you planning on giving this to? And when? Ya clearly didn't mean to let your blond get stuck there for the rest of her life."

Jason stayed silent, glaring at him. the warrior sighed and carefully set down the board. He reached up to the back of his helmet and undid a few clasps. Jason heard a faint hiss as the carefully regulated air inside the helmet was released to mingle with the stale subterranean air. The glowing eyes faded as the helmet split apart on its hinges, revealing the face of his captor.

The man was old. Far older than Jason had expected. The last time he'd seen a face that marred by age, he'd been talking to Obadiah Blackhall. But even that depraved Shaman lacked the tattoos. Thin black lines delicately traced the man's features, accenting his hooked nose and thick grey brows. They swirled and swam across his face and down his neck in a frenzied psychedelic tribal dance, and Jason wondered if the man's entire body had been decorated. Quite often, the hypnotic patterns were interrupted by jagged pale scars. The man's hair was gray, fading to white, and he kept it cut very short. His bead, on the other hand, was a mess, bunching out at odd angles, his myriad scars making it impossible to shave properly. Instead it looked as if any time a particular bush were growing too unkempt, the man would take his combat knife to it. Perhaps that was even where some of the scars had come from.

With a pair of cold, grey eyes, the old man surveyed Jason. They looked familiar, and Jason found himself trying to place them. Had he seen this man before? Jason felt sure he would have recognized those tribal tattoos. But he then realized he saw them every time he looked in a mirror. The old man was a Wanderer, same as him. Just… a few years more experience.

"Look, Jason." The Tribal said, "I know you and I kinda got off on the wrong foot… mostly my fault. I don't like tip-toeing, and you?" he nodded at the Perforator. "You're all tip-toes. I can't tell you why, and I can't give you all the answers, but I'm on your side, and I have the key to winning this fight."

He rose and disappeared from view again, only to return carrying a black satchel. From this, he drew a rather strange-looking pistol. At least, it had a pistol's grip. But no barrel, no discharge port, and no place to insert a magazine. Instead, some kind of an energy weapon had been mounted on the top. Jason recognized the signature machinery for a laser pistol, but it didn't look like a regular AEP7.

"Tell me, do the words 'Highwater Trousers' ring a bell?"

"Not at all." Jason said,. Trawling his memory for some obscure reference.

"No? Well let me explain it, then. Before the war, the USA built satellite communication towers north-west of D.C. You must have seen them, at least…"

"Raider hide-outs. They had mininuke stockpiles on top. I cleared them out." Jason grunted. "Nothing of value left there."

The old man grinned, causing the elaborate tattoos to dance across his features. "Except a computer system connected to orbital platforms capable of activating nuclear strikes."

"What?"

Narg gave him a smug smile, "Didn't look very hard, did you? This little gun is a modified laser detonator. It'll let you launch those things, and more importantly, it'll decide where they land."

Jason's eyes widened as he considered the implications.

"You have eight nukes." Narg told him, putting the weapon aside. "Choose your target carefully. A place like the center of the mutant camp, or in the behemoth pens would do a lot of damage. But you'll have to get close enough to paint the target for me. I'll be up north, activating the system. Brutus knows about it, and he set up a guard there long before he attacked the Citadel.

"You knew about this?"

"Been watching it develop for some time, trying to pull strings behind the scenes. Turns out that don't work too good."

"You could have saved lives!" Jason said, overtaken by a sudden fit of rage. "you could have stopped this! Why didn't you tell me any of it? Why didn't you help!?"

"I wanted to see if you could go it alone." The old Tribal shrugged, his voice serene. "But it turns out you're a little incompetent. Why the hell were you up north with the girl instead of down in D.C. hunting Brutus? Do you love her or something stupid like that?"

"Shut up!" Jason snapped, glaring at him.

"What a very coherent response." Narg replied, shaking his head. "You need to grow up kid. One woman ain't worth the world. I don't care how good a lay she is!"

"We haven't even… actually…" Jason's voice died away, but he rallied magnificently. "And I'm not in love either!"

"Wait… seriously? You didn't even sleep with her? What's the goddamned point then?"

"You're a pig!"

"And you're a fool! And we're going to make a great team if only you'd get over yourself long enough to stop the mutants from taking over America. It's not just your little slice of hell what's at stake here! Work with me, Wanderer, or you'll live to see the world go up in flames!"

"What do you mean?" Jason grunted venomously.

"I need to talk to Brutus. Some very scary people gave him some very scary technology. Game-changing shit, right? I need to know what he traded in return, and we need to stop him."

"What scary people?" Jason frowned. "Burke? The Talon Company? I know Brutus was negotiating with them. Burke was going to double-cross him…"

Narg waved a hand to silence him. "That'll have to wait till after. Right now we need to stop Brutus. At any cost. If he wins the war for the capital wasteland, it could very well be the end of the entire state, then the entire Eastern coastline. Then he'll move inland and things'll get even hairier. Let me tell you something, Wanderer, when you and Jackrum finished Burke off, you made things far worse for the rest of the free world."

"Why? What has Brutus got that's so terrifying?"

Narg shrugged. "Aside from a horde of angry muties? Just a virus. Some kind of an upgrade. I don't know what it does exactly, but my guess is that his prototypes won't need the FEV to reproduce."

That explained a lot. Jason had wondered why all the female scientists at Project Purity had been spared. He chewed his lip, considering the grim implications. "He's set up a harem somewhere, hasn't he?"

"Now you're thinking with your brain." Narg congratulated, his tone equally disgusted. "He's got breeding pens of some sort. Churning out as many mutant babies as possible. I don't know how many he has, or what the new ones can do, but…"

"We need to shut it down. Where is it?" Jason started to struggle with his bonds, his anger and curiosity at his strange new ally overtaken by a feeling of absolute revulsion, and a renewed determination to escort this 'Brutus' mutant to an early grave.

"I don't know." Narg admitted. "But I know someone who might…" To the Wanderer's surprise, Narg rose to his knees, leaned across the fire and used his Power Armour's assist to easily snap the thick chains, allowing his captive to spill out onto the concrete floor.

Jason took a few moments to recuperate, and then sat up and grabbed his Perforator. "Where is this person?"

"It's a supermutant general, actually. We're going to capture him and torture him until he tells us where Brutus' breeding grounds are. We have three objectives." The Tribal explained. "We're going to destroy Brutus' children. Then his army. Then we're going to salt the earth, so to speak, and drive the Supermutants out of D.C. forever. Make it unlivable for them."

Jason grinned. He liked the sound of that part. "How?"

The tribal pulled a second item from the black satchel. Jason recognized it instantly. He'd last seen it in Rothchild's lab, assumed it lost, or worse, in Brutus' possession. His fears were laid to rest as Narg opened it and flooded the tunnel with blue light.

"The FEV cure." Narg explained. "The one you and Jackrum retrieved from the D.C. ruins. This is the final step. Inject it into Project Purity, and watch the wasteland get soaked in anti-mutie water."

"Commander!" Hands gripped Jackrum's shoulders, shaking him with a certain insistence that couldn't be ignored. He waved off the intrusion and mumbled a few curses, trying to bury his head further into the pillow.

Except that he couldn't find one, and this bed was rather hard and was he …sitting?

He sat up and peeled a piece of paper off his cheek, staring down at the surface of his desk. A scorch mark revealed where a lit cigarette had continued to burn long after his own brain had clocked out. How long had he been asleep? His back was aching like mad.

"Commander!"

He looked up. Sergeant Turner was standing in front the desk, wearing a terrified expression.

"What's happening?" Jackrum's questing hands happened upon another packet of cigarettes hiding in vain underneath a pile of reports. He pulled another out and fumbled for a match, listening intently to the young merc.

"It's the muties, Sir! They're here!"

Jackrum froze, the lit match halfway to his mouth. "How many?"

"Looks like all of 'em, Sir!"

Jackrum's brow furrowed. "And why aren't I hearing gunfire, Turner?"

"They aren't shooting, sir."

Jackrum winced as the lit match began to burn his fingers. He dropped it in the metal garbage pail beside his desk and rose to his feet. "I meant from our side!"

"They, um… they have a flag." Turner explained awkwardly. "A white one… sir. They want to negotiate…"

Jackrum stared. "Negotiate…"

"Yes sir."

"With muties?"

"Yessir."

The old merc sighed. "Alright, I gotta see this for myself."

The mutant army was indeed huge, and they did indeed have a flag. Not a real one. It looked like a bloody lab coat had been strung up on some rebar, but it still managed to get the message across.

The horde stretched all the way south from Fort Bannister to the edge of the Evergreen Mills crater. Jackrum wondered exactly how many had gathered. Eleven or twelve hundred? At least three for every recruit he had. He saw far too many overlords and masters carrying miniguns. A few Behemoths were in the crowd, stomping around, disrupting the formations. If the horde attacked, it would result in a massacre.

The mercenaries around him were bustling with activity. Delivering last minute packs of ammunition, and directing underground those civilians who didn't want to fight. Jackrum felt a surge of pride; his boys had excellent trigger discipline. Not a shot had been fired yet, by either side, but the tension could be broken at any minute. He thought quickly and leaned over to Turner. "Get the kids up here. And the women. I want them dressed in full armour, armed with rifles I don't care if they're loaded or not."

"Ain't that dangerous, Sarge?" Turner said doubtfully, after relaying the orders. "I mean… if those muties attack, they could get hurt."

"Kid, if those muties attack, we're all dead whether we're cowering in a vault or shootin' from the barricades. I just want us to look like too much trouble."

"Right…"

A horn blared in the mutant ranks, and Jackrum felt the fort tense, ready to fire at the first sign of aggression.

"BUUUUUUUUURRRRRKE!" the roar echoed across the wasteland. The horde parted revealing a blue and gray-skinned mutant in rusted spiky armour. A crown-like helmet covered his head, and on his back was an enormous, horrific sword.

"Ahhh…" Jackrum grinned and turned to his lieutenant. "That'll be Brutus. I'll be right back. If they so much as fire a shot, you turn that mutie to dust, understand, kid? He's their leader."

"Well then why don't we do it now, Sir?"

"Sure. Why not? Let's just bring the entire horde down on us." Jackrum replied. As if to accentuate his point, the women and children were busy being filed up into the courtyard and placed along the barricade with the rest of the human survivors. Jackrum caught a brief glimpse of their terrified faces, and for a moment regretted sending them up. He took a deep breath and stepped towards the gates of Fort Bannister. "Only shoot him if he kills me, kid. Only if he kills me."

As Jackrum approached the front lines of the mutant horde, Brutus' expression turned from furious, to startled, to suspicious.

"Jackrum." He said.

"Brutus."

"The Lone Wanderer is alive!" the mutant growled.

"I know." Jackrum said, keeping his face blank. He let out a stream of smoke. "I've heard a few stories from the survivors of your little war."

"This was corrected!"

Jackrum shrugged. "I guess Burke lied."

"Where is he?"

"No idea. He just told us his job was done, and that he was going back." Jackrum grinned at the mutant. "Also, Jabsco had an accident. I'm in charge now."

"Convenient." Brutus observed.

"Isn't it just? But I'm sure Burke'll be back to fix his mistake. Or hell, why don't you take care of it? Why do we always have to do all the heavy lifting?"

"It was no mistake!" Brutus roared angrily, "You double-crossed me!"

Jackrum made the mutant wait while he fished out a cigarette. He eyed the horde the Mutant had brought with him. It was certainly enough to finish Fort Bannister, and the thought struck him that if the mutant wanted to destroy the Talon Company, he would have.

So what was stopping him? He clearly didn't regard them as allies anymore… Only one thing would stop a Supermutant like Brutus from destroying vulnerable enemies: Fear.

Jackrum thought back to his first conversation with Brutus. Burke had said something. Something about his employer. The Talon Company were the Supermutant's enemies, but clearly Brutus wasn't willing to gamble that Jackrum's coup de tat was complete. For all he knew, Jackrum had double-crossed Jabsco on Burke's behalf. Jackrum was the more capable, after all. All four of them had known that from the start.

The old Merc decided to gamble. He struck a match, cupping his hand to protect the vulnerable flame from the sand-strewn breeze, and lit his cigarette, meeting Brutus' eyes.

"Maybe we did." He said playfully. "But you know who we work for. You want to attack, go right ahead. Maybe Burke'll bring back some of his friends."

The Mutant's fist flew out and stopped…less than an inch from the Merc's face. The sudden rush of wind damned near extinguished Jackrum's cigarette, but the old Merc just grinned. Back at the fort, he could just imagine all the snipers relaxing their trigger fingers. Brutus scanned the Fort's defenses, clearly thinking along the same lines. The mutant king lowered his arm, breathing hard. "No. I will not face his armies yet. Not his abominations. We are not ready."

"That's what I thought." Jackrum replied, suddenly feeling very nervous –and not because he was standing in front of a horde of vengeful supermutants. He was nervous because he had double-crossed people who were capable of scaring an entire supermutant army into submission. What was going to happen to him when they heard of it? Something for later consideration. Said army of frightened muties was standing in front of him now- a more immediate problem. He tossed the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and mashed it into the dirt with his foot. He looked back up at Brutus. "Have a nice day."

"You are hiding human refugees in your fort?"

"What?" Jackrum asked, giving Brutus a cocky grin, "We're recruiting."

"Children as well?" Brutus asked, his voice dangerously low.

Jackrum shrugged. "It's 'Bring-your-kid-to-work' day." He turned and walked back to the fort.

"Human!" Brutus called out. "Cherish your remaining days. As soon as we are ready, we will crush you."

Jackrum turned in mid-stride and gave the king a theatrical bow. Then he continued stomping his way towards the fort. He stomped back through the open gate and examined the new Talon Company's shocked faces.

As always, Turner materialized beside him. The boy was still holding his clipboard. He looked as impressed as he was scared.

"They'll leave soon." Jackrum told him. The Veteran raised his voice so the rest could hear. "Keep manning your guns until they're gone, but keep your fingers off your triggers. "

"What if they don't leave?" a frightened recruit demanded. A few of his buddies nodded.

"They will." Jackrum said confidently.

"…Why?" Turner inquired, unnerved by his superior's composure.

"Cos I said please. Haven't you heard, Turner? It pays to be polite."

The mutant army streamed away from the fort, with Brutus in the lead. Argus and Rust took up their positions beside him, each of the masters as silent as the grave.

"Jackrum cannot be trusted." Brutus said, glaring east towards the D.C. ruins. He grasped Rust's shoulder. "You will keep some of the Horde here. Starve the humans . Do not allow any more recruits or refugees to seek refuge there. Do not allow them any more supplies. But do not kill them yourselves. Weaken them all, and we will deal with him again on our terms. The families in that fort must be given the new virus, and delivered to Alpha's caves."

"Yes sir." Rust said dutifully.

"This is a minor setback." Brutus added, reassuring his generals. "We will be back for blood."