Mutatis Mutandis 21
Convincing the already frightened civilians to let themselves be taken 'hostage' proved to be an unforeseen difficulty. The Wanderer had left for several hours, presumably to inform his enormous friend of the plan, and make preparations of their own. Jackrum had to admit, he was looking forward to seeing the Wanderer and his friend in action. He himself had spent the meantime gathering the civilians in the enormous missile pit and trying to convince them to be used as bargaining chips in a fake negotiation.
What he rapidly realized could very well have been the entire surviving population of the Capital Wasteland was gathered there; a sorry sight. Dirty, smelly, underfed and disshevelled faces glared up at him from the shadowy pit. Other Mercenaries were gathered on the catwalks which circled the enormous concrete tube's inner wall. The floor had long since wasted away, and many of the civilians were standing ankle-deep in dirt. They looked miserable.
He had not expected this proposal to be greeted with enthusiasm, but he very quickly found out just how much goodwill the Talon Company had garnered since Littlehorn and Burke had twisted the organization enough to allow Jabsco to take over its management.
The civilians had run to him because they actually had no other options. Not because they were happy being there. And they certainly looked on the mercenaries as captors as much as protectors. It bothered Jackrum that his organization had been tainted to the point where people thought he'd sell children to Supermutants if it meant a little profit.
He wondered how many times that exact situation had occurred. The Talon company had been allied with Brutus, however briefly. And there was no way the muties could have kept their numbers up by catching the occasional drugged-out waster. Not at the rate the Wanderer picked the orange bastards off. Where had the new muties come from? Had people been bought and sold? Perhaps it hadn't been the Talon company. Had the purge of Paradise Falls cut off Brutus' supply, perhaps? Or had it been closer to home afterall? Jackrum took a small amount of solace in the fact that he'd never been asked personally to capture anyone, much less sell any human beings. But he was just one mercenary, and couldn't speak for the rest of them.
"This is not happening!" The rather elderly spokesman declared. His name was Evan King. Jackrum had met him once or twice before. The Veteran had been turned away from Arefu's proverbial gate more than once. It was in a relatively convenient place, and could have made good business serving mercenaries on their way back down to Fort Bannister. But unlike the Talon Company -Jackrum smiled ruefully- the town was run by good people.
"Look, this is the Wanderer's plan." Jackrum argued. "We are not going to hand anyone over to the mutants. We need to capture their leader for information."
"And what if we don't trust you?" the old mayor demanded. A few of his supporters nodded.
"If we wanted to hand you over to the muties, we could have done it a long time ago!" Jackrum argued. "We're trying to win this war."
"Really? Because we don't see a whole lot of killing going on." The old man responded acidly. "Where we you when Behemoths knocked my town into the river?"
"Getting armed and prepared. We barely had more warning than you did! This took us all by surprise."
"You were arming for three weeks!" a woman shouted from somewhere in the ocean of unhappy and borderline hostile faces. Jackrum couldn't help but notice the way the group had arranged itself: the sturdiest wastelanders on the outside of the group and the young, the old and the most vulnerable on the inside. They had done it without thinking.
"I was rebuilding the Talon Company!" Jackrum shouted back. "I had to take it away from Jabsco and his bosses first! It's under different management now, and if you want to ever go back to your homes, you have to do this. You have to trust us. We need intel from their leader, and this is the way to get it."
"And after they realize you've double-crossed them?" King demanded.
"We'll fight them off. The Lone Wanderer brought a friend or two. He's getting things organized on his end, but we have to move fast."
"Well I'm not going up there." The mayor declared, crossing his arms.
"He's right." Another waster said supportively. "We should never have gone to the Talon Company for help. What the hell were we thinking?"
Jackrum sighed as the crowd once again murmured in agreement. He produced a cigarette and tapped it thoughtfully against the flimsy cardboard case. Behind him, he could sense the tension in his own Mercs. A glance told him all he needed to know about how this latest statement had been received. The Civilians had been instantaneously transformed from helpless innocents to ungrateful burdens. Tensions were rising, and this sort of situation could go very badly, very quickly.
First step: Make the Talon Company less of a threat.
He turned backwards momentarily and raised his arm, waving the unlit cigarette. "Guns down, boys." The hesitated, and he gestured encouragingly. "Go on. On the ground. I don't want to see any finger near any goddamned triggers." He gave them a final glare, and one by one, giving him incredulous looks, they lowered their weapons. The Veteran turned back to the crowd of waiting Wasters.
He said, "I get where you're coming from. Believe me, I do. We're the bad guys. I get that. Always have been. Hell, I've lived with it for decades. But… well… we're human. Humans picking on humans. And that ain't right. I get that too. But you know what? our blood is as red as yours, and our skin? It's-" he glanced around the catwalks at the gathered mercenaries. "Well it's many colors, but it sure as shit ain't green!" He began to pick up speed, now that he had an angle to play. "This is the Capital Wasteland. Who here hasn't scraped and fought tooth and nail to get what they could? We had to. Every single Merc you see in front of you survived a fight. Me? I've lived through more than I can count. Same with most o' the boys under my command. Has anyone had it easy here? Has anyone here not had to work? Not had to suffer? This may be a shithole of a desert. No fresh water, no food, no shelter an' every day we're all of us hunted by shit the devil wouldn't take in the deepest circles of hell, it all gets shoved onto us! All of us! But we keep fighting. We keep building. And you know what? We were winning! We had fresh water! We had crops! We had the Brotherhood! And then them muties came and took it all away from us. They want us to lay down and die. I don't plan to. Sure hope you don't, neither. You can keep cowering in this hole, waiting for them to take my fort. But me and my boys? We're going to fight! We're going to bleed for this place cos it's our home, just like the capital Wasteland is our home. And I'll be damned before I let some green-skinned mutie bastard take it from me!"
Relishing the stunned silence, he pulled out a match and struck it on his chestplate. He lite his cigarette, saying "I ain't askin' you to die, and I sure as hell ain't handin' anyone over. There aren't enough of us humans left to play by those rules. If you die, we die with you. All I'm askin' is that you stand in the light of day and help me show those mutie bastards that we ain't going down quietly!" he took a deep drag on his cigarette and examined the crowd. "So who's in for a little fun? I'm looking for volunteers."
The Supermutant 'diplomatic' party, for lack of a better word, slowly wound its way up the gravel slopes of Fort Bannister. It was headed for the partially open entrance. Jackrum's heart fell the moment he laid eyes on the small mutant band. Six heavily armed Overlords were accompanying the General up to the entrance. The Talon Company had the teeth to deal with the threat, but Jackrum couldn't guarantee that the General would not get caught in the crossfire. Furthermore, as soon as any of the mutants so much as shouted for help, the entire army would fall upon the fort, and Jackrum was not keen on starting that battle before he was ready. There was no sign of the Wanderer yet, but Jackrum hoped that the young man had a plan for dispatching the Overlords quietly.
The negotiations themselves had gone off without a fault. He had sent a courier under a flag of truce to explain that the Talon Company was running low on supplies and would trade Wasters for food and water. All the leaders had to do was pick and choose. The mutants had responded with guarded optimism, sending the courier back with all of his limbs intact and instructions to 'keep dem alive foah us!'
He eyed his carefully arranged defenses. His own boys were set up in groups around the perimeter of the camp. Each group manned what Jackrum had dubbed a 'firepost'; a foxhole with a roof on top, a mounted minigun, and a collection of ammunition within. Within that outer ring lay more defensive structures, reinforcements, and a few emergency groups capable of heading to any part of the fort, should any section be particularly hard pressed during the coming fight. Most of the mininuke launchers had been set up as mortars with twenty shots apiece, and had sighted every inch of the dusty open ground within four hundred yards of the fort. The missile launchers were already sighted on the behemoths. All the weapons were loaded with what Jackrum desperately hoped was enough ammunition for the coming fight.
They were as prepared as they could be.
The bait, mostly women and children, though a few men had elected to stay with their families rather than sit upon the barricades. Jackrum had requested that each captive's hands loosely bound for the sake of appearances, and a small number of Talon guards were paced at intervals around the group.
He heard the nervous shouting as the mutant envoy approached the gates, and felt his apprehension grow; one way or another the coming battle would determine who owned the capital wasteland. The Citadel was gone. Rivet City was under siege, and far too close to the Mutant lines to wage a proper war. This was the last bastion, and if they lost here…
He looked back at the gates. The overlords were shuffling through, forming a protective cocoon with the mutant general in the middle. The Veteran took a deep breath and pulled himself together. He was somewhat reassured by Turner, who was standing just beside him. The stupid boy was still holding his clipboard.
"Kid," Jackrum ordered as the envoy made its way to him, directed by a few mercenaries. "Don't panic."
"You're shaking worse than me, Commander."
Jackrum glanced down at his trembling hands and grinned. The kid was right- Jackrum's hands were shaking enough for his cigarette to leave little zig-zagging trails of smoke. "After this is done, remind me to dock you some caps for lipping me off."
"I doubt the boys and I would stand for it, sir." Turner replied calmly as the mutants drew to a halt before them.
"You unionizing on me?" Jackrum grinned. "You Commie sons of bitches." He stared up at the Overlords. God, how he hated them! Not only their impenetrable bulk, but the way their neckless heads seemed to jut out from their chests, a further deformity. They were one more ferocious step from human, and they were all taller than him. That did not help. He hated staring up nostrils.
The group parted, revealing the mutant general. Jackrum had been a little worried that they might try to send a decoy, but even at first glance, he could tell they had sent the right mutant. The creature's relatively intelligent gaze told the Veteran that this mutant had more between its ears than more muscle. Not enough to prevent it from being capture, but it was a little smarter than its kin. The General stepped forward. It was small, by the abominations' standards, and its skin was a little more orange than green. It glared down at Jackrum the same way the old Merc used to watch radroaches when he was in a foul mood. Jackrum took great comfort in the fact that he had too many troops around for the mutie to risk stomping on him.
"I am Rust." It declared awkwardly.
"Commander Jackrum. Talon company."
But the mutant did not seem to care. It was busy examining the merchandise. "We want the females." It grunted in the usual halting mutant cadence. It leaned forward a little more, and Jackrum could smell the thing's abhorrent stench. It probably hadn't showered since it had been turned into an abomination. "And the human children." It added. "All of them. We have water. Food. You want? Give us prisoners."
The captives drew closer together in response, moving the youngest to the center of the group. Jackrum grinned at the General, spotting a faint shimmer creeping up on the left. "Yeah, about that…"
The mutant's yellowing eyes shifted over to him. "What?"
The veteran shrugged, spotting a second shimmer approaching from the opposite direction. "…I lied. We aren't handing over a damned thing."
The air exploded into motion, revealing the enormous Power-armoured figure, wielding strange-looking Power Fists. Before anyone had a chance to react, each of the figure's hands was snapping the neck of an overlord. The warrior moved forward, delivering a debilitating strike to the General's solarplexus, leaving the mutie on the ground, gasping for breath. At the same time, the Lone Wanderer had materialized on the far side of the group, slicing the throat of the nearest overlord and ducking under its ill-aimed retaliatory strike to repeat the process with his next target. He took his third by emptying his silenced assault rifle into its face, just as the armoured Warrior snapped the neck of the last overlord. The entire process had taken around five seconds, and the sudden merciless slaughter left the occupants of Fort Bannister standing in stunned silence.
One of the children began to cheer quite loudly until his mother shushed him.
Wanderer and Warrior turned as one to confront the mutant general, who was still trying to catch its breath. Before it could think shout, the enormous armoured warrior's hand was around its throat. He stomped off across the fort towards the bunker's access door, the Wanderer following close behind.
Jackrum grinned and turned to the wide-eyed refugees. "The Talon company thanks you for your participation. Now get armed and get back up here. We have a battle to fight!"
Narg tossed the Supermutant leader to the concrete floor. They were standing in a medium-sized square room somewhere in the maze of tunnels underneath Fort Bannister. A single lamp in the corner was all the light the interrogation would require. The Tribal very carefully reached up and undid the clasps holding his helmet on. He set it on the floor and circled, putting a deliberate ease in his step; he had all the time in the world to break his prisoner.
"You…. Chosen One!" the mutie growled, trying to rise. "We are going to break you! Not like last time! This time, Brutus will win!"
Narg planted a foot on its chest and pushed it back down. "Do you got a name, mutie?"
"Rust!"
The room's solitary door opened, and the Wanderer stepped through, looking grim. He glanced at Narg.
"We were just getting introduced." The Tribal explained airily. "Weren't we, Rust?"
"Stupid human! You will die! Even if you kill me!"
"Calling us stupid after he gets caught that easy…" Narg shook his head disapprovingly. "If that ain't the pot calling the kettle black. Got any problems with torture, kid?"
"Not at the moment." Jason replied grimly.
Narg grinned. "Riiiiight." He turned to the mutant. "This is going to be very simple, Rust. If you refuse to answer me, I will hurt you. If you lie to me, I will hurt you. If you fight back, I will hurt you."
Once again, The mutant named Rust tried to rise to its feet. Narg stepped forward and delivered a haymaker to the mutant's temple, knocking it to the floor again and opening a wide gash on the side of its head. Blood dribbled from between its fingers and stained the floor of their interrogation room.
"You pulled that punch." The Wanderer observed, crossing his arms..
"Course I did, kid. You want'im dead?" the Tribal turned back to his prisoner. "Stay down, you stupid fucking mutie!"
The prone figure crawled away a few feet, one hand held protectively over the wound.
"We know that Brutus is setting up breeding grounds for the Mark II mutants." Jason said. "Where are they?"
"Stupid human! I won't talk!"
"Well that's a cryin' shame." Narg muttered happily. He brought his power-armoured foot down on the mutant's thick knee, shattering it with a sickening crunch, and bending the leg backwards in a way that made Jason's eyes water. Rust howled in pain and drew in the injured limb, clutching at it helplessly.
"Where are Brutus' breeding grounds?" the Wanderer asked again, his voice an emotionless monotone.
"And answer fast, or you'll lose the other leg too." Narg added. "Never seen a mutie walk with a cane before. Should be worth a laugh."
"We will kill you all, humans! We will win! Brutus will win!"
"Brutus is just a mutant." The Wanderer said. He propelled himself easily off the wall he was leaning against and took a few steps forward, crossing his arms and staring down at the stricken mutant.
"Brutus is a mutant, just like you. Do you know how many mutants I've killed who were just like you? How many of your raids I've stopped? How many lives I've saved? How many captives I've rescued?" He placed the tip of his assault rifle against the mutant's other knee. "Where are the mutant breeding grounds?"
"Not telling!" the mutant snarled through gritted teeth. "Not talking!"
The Wanderer pulled the trigger, blowing out the mutant's knee. Chunks of flesh and bone scattered across the floor. Rust howled in agony.
"So there." Narg said, enjoying an obscene amount of satisfaction as he watched the mutant writhe in pain. "I guess his karma just ran over your dogma. Now where's the nest? Where is Brutus taking the female humans?"
"Not telling!"
A distant, muffled explosion shook the room, sending a few streams of dust spiraling down to the floor. The Wanderer and the Tribal glanced at one another. Jason gave him a pained look.
"Go save the day, kid. I'll join in after I've got what I needed." Narg ordered. The boy gave him a grateful look and disappeared out the door. Finally alone with the mutant, Narg took a deep breath and crouched In front of his prisoner. Rust shrank away fearfully, dragging its useless legs behind it.
"Now that the kid's gone," the Chosen One said carefully, watching the mutant's futile struggle, "I can ask the important questions. What did Brutus give the Good Doctor? What did he trade Presper in return for the FEV Mark II virus? What did you guys give to him?"
Rust collected itself and glared at him, looking worried. "Don't know. Not telling where prisoners go either!"
"Vault 87." The Chosen One answered dismissively. "I already knew that. Don't care. Don't much care what happens to this wasteland, either. That kid might be useful, but I'm after the important stuff. What did you give him, Rust? What did you give to Victor Presper?"
The mutant stayed resolutely silent. Narg sighed and drew a combat knife from the small of his back. Even when wandering in full power armour, having a blade around was never a bad idea. He said, "Remember what I said before, Rust? If you refuse to answer me, I will hurt you. If you lie to me, I will hurt you. Badly."
A quote from the "torture" scene was stolen from Zero Dark Thirty. Fantastic movie. Disturbing and horrific, but fantastic.
I understand that torture is a touchy subject for some people, so of course I'm going to dive in headfirst and see how far I can push it. This story is rated M for a reason, and I have very little sympathy for supermutants anyway. This is not the worst thing I intend to put in this story, so hold on to your hats.
Might want to read Pro Posterus if you haven't yet. It'll give you a look at the bigger picture.
ALSO, huge news for this series, the Modus Operandi series is now on TVtropes! A reader named Racheakt messaged me a few days ago and told me he'd made an entry. It's listed as Children of the Atom, which is the name of the full series, including Pro Psterus and what is to come afterwards. If anyone can spot or name any tropes in this story off the top of their heads, let us know, and we'll build it up!
I can't actually log on to the TVtropes site for some reason. It keeps telling me I already have an account. I'm trying to get it sorted out, but in the meantime we could do with a few more tropes!