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After hearing about what happened to the clan in Salvación, Reese Dolarhyde was quick to wrap things up in Summertown as he knew it was only a matter of time before the Dominion headed his way. He was, as the old saying went, 'getting while the getting's good'.
He shut the Nest down, emptied his personal safes, packed his bags and readied his dune wagon for the long trek across the Wasteland. His cargo consisted of traveling supplies, extra core coolant tubes, and a pair of indentured whores who were both months away from working off their debts. He had one hired gun to ride with him and two buggy escorts worth of mercenaries to bring him through the desert safely.
Reese planned to get off state, east to Louisiana where he could start his business anew. The way he heard it, civilization had taken root in the old bayou state. Any prospecting businessman looking to set up shop was welcome in what the locals called 'The Cajun Wasteland', provided that he or she had the grit and finesse to contend with its savage inhabitants. With nothing to tether him to Four Seasons and the land soon to be consumed by the Dominion, Reese felt it was the right time to leave while everyone else was distracted.
The man got up to the passenger seat and reached out to bang a few times with his fist at the sleeping robot jury-rigged to act as the dune wagon's driver. There was no steering wheel, no gear shift or pedals. The robot, taken apart from an old eyebot and Protectron, had been assembled into the driver's seat and pimped out with an assortment of colorful silver and gold bedazzle glitter. Its head lit up at Reese's touch and it immediately started up the engines. Reese glanced back at the two women stowed in the backseat.
One was a tall redhead, an austere beauty from the plains named Calamity Jane. She got the name due to her reputation of shanking clients she didn't like. After a particularly severe 'disciplining action' from Reese, she stopped killing his customers but the dangerous air about Calamity stuck. Although, some high-paying clients still have taken a liking to her. The other was a meek blonde thing plucked from the orphan gangs of Lowtown Salvación, known to the younger patrons of the Nest as Lassie. She was found to be rather well-behaved, though a bit skittish with the older men- just the way they liked it. It wasn't the same as having a whole wide selection of birds, but it was going to be a start- a good start.
Reese felt he was just about ready to get Calamity to share in the business as co-manager. She didn't like him any more than he liked her, but she was a staunch protector of her fellow whores. She'd make a great partner once her debts were paid.
"Girls, it's gonna be a long journey, but I'm gonna take good care of you. I only ask you take care of me, be on your best behavior and we won't have a problem. Understood?"
The two whores nodded wordlessly, and Reese turned to the driver. "Let's go, Lemon, we don't have all day!"
Lemon chirped twice in acknowledgement and drove the dune wagon out of the garage. The attack buggies followed suit, and pretty soon the little convoy was on its way out of Four Seasons and into the badlands. They took one of the routes less taken by the caravans, a route known only to the Dolarhydes in case of emergencies, like slipping out of the state without setting off alarm bells. Reese gambled that the Dominion would be too busy consolidating its hold on the canyon city and its supply lines to worry about the last Dolarhyde man to walk the earth.
However, he didn't account for one man's vengeance. He was too confident in himself, that his deeds would never come to light.
Reese's convoy didn't get far down the road before it got caught in an ambush. The lead buggy sighted a not-so-well hidden bunch of men lying in wait around a bend in a low bluff, right at the apex of a steep descent. The gunner manning the machinegun mounted on the roof started shooting, while the driver gunned the vehicle forward- right into a taut length of rope that acted like a tripwire. It opened up a spiked pitfall, a trap big enough to stop a vehicle. The buggy came to a sudden stop, throwing the hired guns violently about and killing the gunner as he landed face-first into the dirt.
Little John and the Jackson hirelings emerged from their hiding places, guns out and ready to fire.
John had his father's M60 machinegun in one hand and the other grasping the bipod. His lips twisted into a hateful grimace as he stared down the speeding dune wagon containing the man responsible for sending his woman to the slaughter. Snowball was also growling at his feet, but remained obediently at his side during the fight. "That one's mine! Light up the rest!" The wilderness erupted in a cacophony of gunfire and screams. The Jacksons killed everyone in the convoy, except for Reese Dolarhyde, the two prostitutes, the bodyguard and the driver robot Lemon. The dune wagon itself was shot all to hell, setting fire to its engine.
"Reese, you yeller sumbitch!" John roared, "Get the fuck outta the wagon 'fore we fill you full of holes!"
"Don't shoot, I got women in here!" The quick-thinking weasel of a man shouted, worming his way to the backseat so he could use the whores as human-shields. Calamity was swearing under her breath as she nursed a bleeding hole in her foot, while Lassie was covering her face from the glass shards that sliced up her cheek. Annoyed, Reese shoved the women outward. "Move, bitches!"
Awkwardly, the survivors exited the vehicle, leaving Lemon to futilely start up the wrecked car. Reese shuffled behind Calamity, snub-nosed revolver resting against her shoulder. His bodyguard did the same with Lassie. Calamity started chuckling condescendingly at her employer, to which Reese uttered a sharp whisper of contempt. "Shut the fuck up!"
Suddenly, Lassie slipped out of the bodyguard's grasp and tripped over a rock. She fell flat on the ground, giving Little John an opening. The bodyguard shook and danced at the powerful spray of bullets that came his way. His arm snapped back and disappeared into pink mist, while a few dozen holes opened all the way from his stomach to his back. The riddled corpse fell to the ground with a loud thud.
"I got a shot, Johnny!" One of the Jackson hirelings announced, eye peering down the scope of his rifle. "Just say the word!"
"You fucking try it and this whore gets it first!" Reese shrieked in reply, frightened out of his wits.
"What makes yall think we give a flying fuck about a couple o' whores?"
"Because... because I know yall are Jacksons! An' Jacksons put their women first, ain't that right Lil' John?"
Little John didn't hesitate, "Maybe. But she ain't my woman. Boy, you got a shot- take it!"
A loud crack set everyone's ears ringing, and Reese started howling in agony as he held up what was left of his hand. The sniper took off everything above the thumb, smearing Calamity's face in bright red. The woman gasped, fell forward, then started laughing maniacally. Snowball yipped and rushed after the fallen weapon, seizing the snub-nosed revolver in his jaws. The dog returned to Little John and dropped the gun at his feet, his master affectionately scratched him behind the ears as a reward.
"Take care o' the ladies, gents. Me and Reese got some unfinished business." The Railsplitter said, fetching a length of rope as he had a better end planned for Reese- one that befitted his clan's legacy.
Reese soon found himself hanging by his ankles on the branch of a dead tree, just a few feet off the ground. John didn't even bother stripping him, considering that Dolarhydes loved to be buried with their money. For what he had in mind for the poor gent, John thought it wouldn't even matter what he wore to his death. He did, however, retrieve a ledger from the man's pocket. He ignored Reese as the man started blubbering, begging for his life while spewing out a torrent of promises, both of blood and fortune- mostly fortune. "Listen, we can make a deal! Do you know who I am? I'm Reese Dolarhyde, and I got a hundred loyal guns who'll be lookin' for me!"
"That right?" A hireling said, casually spitting out his tobacco. "You wouldn't be hightailing it out o' Summertown with this sorry pack o' fools if that were true. You're alone, and nobody's comin' to help you."
"Pardner, why don't ya shut up and try to die with dignity?" John said to Reese, "All that blood and shootin's got them Sandsharks' attention, but they'll come a lot quicker if you keep hollerin' like that."
Reese wouldn't stop, "Lil' John, please! I got money! Name your price and I'll give it! Anything!"
John sighed, pausing to open the ledger and skim through its contents. "Unless you can bring back the dead, Reese, I don't want it. Now die, in the same manner you damned all them sorry gals to- including my Molly."
"Hoo-wee! Here they come, Lil' John!" Someone whooped, pointing to the shapes moving across the dunes. The Sandsharks were coming, and they smelled blood.
Almost immediately, Reese became hysterical, and that got most of the approaching pack's attention. They didn't go after the other men, they just went after the noisiest one. John and the hirelings made their exit, though they paused a bit to watch the Wasteland critters feast on the hapless man on the tree. The beasts clawed and bit into Reese's hands, arms and face. It surprised John to see how slow getting eaten alive was, and the sight tickled that primal urge for vengeance in the back of his head. Reese's screams became gurgled as blood started to pool into his mouth, then suddenly he had no mouth. A Sandshark closed its jaws over the lower half of the man's face and ripped out his jaw.
Soon, all that was left of Reese was his right foot, which dangled from the noose above the howling pack feasting below the boughs of the dead tree. Everything else was down on the ground, or in a Sandshark's stomach.
"Look on, my darling. There goes the last of them." John said, feeling a weight roll away from his shoulders. Molly's ghost could rest easy now.
His revenge complete, Little John and the Jackson hirelings sped back to Summertown for a drink at the nearest bar. After having more than his share of killing, the Railsplitter wanted nothing more than to drown it all out in the bottom of a shot glass and sleep it off.
In the wake of the war, the Dominion's continued expansion offered communities a chance to grow. Villages became towns, towns became cities, and cities became metropolises. The secrets unlocked from Hell Valley's vault allowed the creation of new and exotic raw materials for the construction of these concrete jungles. Never again would anyone have to resort to cannibalizing the ruins of the Old World to build up the New. Prosperity followed as hundreds flocked to Middle Texas, nomads and wasters willingly traded in the wanderer's life for the security of Dominion walls. By then, the system of naturalization had been balanced. It was far from a perfect system, but it was enough to ensure the continued flow of new blood and the availability of an expendable work force.
Citizenship became a highly coveted status in the Dominion, which promised better perks and a higher standard of living. Climbing up the social ladder became an integral part of Dominion society, which largely involved joining the military. As a result, the austerity of the Dominion's domineering aesthetic shaped its culture into something that befitted the era, something that social scientists would aptly name as Neomilitarism. If one paid close attention to the subtle trim of the average citizen's work clothes which emphasized substance over style, the brutalism architecture present in every building which never failed to induce a daunting feeling, the cold corporate interiors of each room- neomilitarism was a defining trait of the Dominion.
Even so, the nation wasn't particular to one social aspect. Some traditions, dating back to Old America, influenced the Dominion's inclination towards transforming population centers into cultural melting pots. Any local customs that positively impacted society as a whole were adopted, one such example was Riverside.
Riverside, the site of two of the greatest battles in the Brotherhood-Dominion War, had grown from a fortified town to a sprawling burgh which expanded along the length of the twin rivers flowing down Middle Texas. While the city would often like to think it retained some semblance of autonomy after submitting to Dominion authority, the firm grip of the government was ever-present. The state is engaged in a pervasive mass surveillance of its own populace, though it is no secret to those who have acclimated to Dominion society. It is widely accepted as a necessity to curb potential criminal activity and encourage civilian transparency. To Dominion citizens, the cold machinic blinking red light of a camera was as normal as the common neon sign.
The nerve center of all surveillance, documentation and storage of information in the city was in an underground facility beneath Riverside's Hall of Justice, heavily guarded and rightly so. Extensive research into the cyberware of the Cult of the Reshapened led to the creation of the artificial intelligence Foresight, which is responsible for keeping the facility running. Peak efficiency proved problematic when left to a human team, necessitating the AI's existence. It was, however, closely watched by a failsafe detail. The details of its creation, creator and location are considered state secrets. But for all its sophistication, surveillance stood only as an auxiliary line of defense.
The bulk of internal security rested upon the shoulders of the Justice Department and the enforcers of the Peacekeeper Corps. Since its implementation in the year 2101, the aptitude tests assess citizens as young as twelve years for candidacy for either roles, who are then pressed to apply at the Elysion Academy of Law to undergo a rigorous three-year course involving weapons training, the study of criminology and the state laws, first aid and computer skills. Those who stood out were also encouraged to take an additional five years in a specialty course, which could lead to them becoming judges.
One of those cadets was Sam Ray.
Hailing from the reclaimed plains outside Carlon, he grew up in the secure and peaceful enclosures of the Green Belt from which the mainland drew most of its food supply. The byproduct of that kind of life, where the dangers of the Wasteland existed as stories or cautionary tales, was that citizens tended to forget its frailty and how fleeting peace was. Sam's parents taught him that the divide between order and chaos was a thin line, a line made up of judges and peacekeepers. As a kid, he always wanted to be a part of that line. While other folk chose to remain in the Belt and continue the honest work of maintaining the agri-farms, Sam enrolled in the Academy first chance he got.
It was going to be his last month before graduation, he just needed one supervised run on the streets. That's how he got assigned to Riverside, under the strict tutelage of one Judge Benjamin Greene.
Sam took the bus, like any good commuter, and got off the stop so he could soak in the sights for the first time. He didn't come with friends, and he wasn't pressured to be in any hurry. The city wasn't Elysion or Carlon, but Riverside had all the amenities necessary to stand on its own. There was no dome to keep the skyscrapers from going higher, nor should anyone worry about any crime-ridden slums like the Gypsy Mile. It was bigger than the capital, and a lot cleaner than Carlon. Both of that meant that it needed a lot of peacekeepers and even more border-control contingencies than the rest of the Dominion cities combined, considering its proximity to the frontier.
That'll all change when the Dominion redraws the map and pushes the frontier a few hundred miles outward. It's a pattern. Another city rises, close enough to the border to let the wasters know the grass is greener on the other side and just within reach, more people pour in to get a shot at citizenship. Then, the border lines change again. Of course, that also means it'll end up attracting all sorts of trouble from the Wasteland. There was never a shortage of raiders, psychos and weird things on the bad side of the fence.
The boundary wall had the sort of defenses one would equate to holding off an army. Missile and rocket launchers, automated sentry guns, even a laser grid perimeter fence to act as an auxiliary buffer to the heavy steel gates. And every year, there was always a new weapon to be added to the Dominion's vast growing arsenal.
Sam was dressed in his cadet's uniform and carried a duffel bag, both setting him apart from the crowd he mixed in on his way to the precinct. To his right marched the construction drones, more commonly known as the 'hard-hats', who were the backbone of Riverside's development programs. To his left were the clerks and shoppers, the consumer population and lifeblood of every city. The streets were busy with vehicular traffic while overhead, hovering courier drones carried packages and assorted mail through the airlanes and commercial blimps floated around advertising the month's trending products. They varied from the usual cosmetics outlets to the unusual cybernetic augmentation clinics.
"Why be you, when you can be new?" The blast of the nearest blimp's speakers caused the newcomer to look up. Sam stopped in mid-stride to stare at the models posed in the ad, everyone else just went about their business as they'd grown accustomed to the sight. "Get your very own aesir bod at the Elysion Gentek bio-processing facility today! The first one's free, personal modifications included!"
Beneath the main body of the ad were the words 'Non-citizens need not apply.'
He heard about the aesirs, saw a few of them on TV but never in person. They were advertised as the next stage of evolution, a race of seemingly immortal superhumans immune to the effects of radiation. How something could be so alien, yet remain strangely human, he would never know. The specifics of the science behind them were lost on him. It became apparent to the farm-boy that the social stigma of the subspecies wasn't the same in the city as it was in the Green Belt. He didn't hate or fear them, neither did anyone else as far as he knew, but he couldn't see himself undergoing bio-transference any time soon.
Sam took the long route up a pedestrian overpass to avoid the part of the city where the traffic was thickest. Holo-posters appeared on the screens that lined the walls and ceiling, calling for the farm-boy's attention. He was all too easy to distract, but Sam kept his mind on the task at hand. Nevertheless, he dwelled on the sights and sounds a bit before moving on.
It was the age of discovery for many new and exciting things, just like the days before the Great War.
As Sam strode through the crosswalk lane along with dozens of other pedestrians like himself, an armored car belonging to the Peacekeepers was hurled through the air by some unseen force and smashed through a jewelry store. Pieces of metal and glass exploded all over the street, while frightened bystanders scattered. The crash was no accident. The driver didn't lose control, the vehicle was deliberately thrown. Sam's training kicked in and the cadet whipped out his gun in preparation for the unknown assailant while everyone else fled the scene.
He tossed his bag onto a nearby bench and traced the path where the armored car came from. He didn't have to get far, the culprit ran right up his way. Sam raised his weapon and recited the law-enforcer's mantra, "Down! Down on the ground!"
The man wore a tight white bodysuit with the same texture and tech-attachments found in vault-dweller jumpsuits. Several tubes and wires snaked along his arms and chest, biometric sensors once hooked up to some kind of machine. He was breathing heavily, like he just ran a marathon. His hair had gone white, though he looked like he was in his early twenties. The fact that the man had heavy steel restraints still attached to his wrists was all Sam needed to know that he didn't belong anywhere outdoors.
Sam took a quick peek at the destruction left in the fugitive's wake and saw the mangled and torn bodies of peacekeeper officers all over the sidewalk. Before the cadet could react, the man raised an open hand and grabbed at empty air. The fugitive's mad bloodshot eyes glowed bright purple and the air began to vibrate. Suddenly, the gun was yanked out of Sam's hands and the same invisible force closed in on his scrawny neck like a noose.
"Please stop that." A dozen hard-hat drones marched towards the fugitive as he started to squeeze the life out of the cadet. Their monotonous voices warned the man, "The authorities have been notified. What you are doing is a violation of-"
A few of them were cut off mid-sentence by the psychic's next attack, he smashed a couple of robots into scrap but the rest remained undeterred. In fact, seeing him harm so many Dominion citizens flipped a switch in their protocols. The drones brandished drills, saws and plasma-cutters in response to the madman's aggression. Their voices deepened, almost like a lion's growl. "Citizen in danger! Citizen in danger!" All at once, they rushed the man and forced him to drop Sam. "Apprehending assailant! Please stop resisting, thank you!"
The cadet collapsed onto the street, lungs fighting for air. The fugitive cried out as his arms and legs were being drilled into by industrial machinery. The robots weren't trying to kill him, their protocols prevented them from carrying out that action. They were simply leaving him vulnerable for the police to handle. There was still a lot of fight left in the man, however, and he blasted the horde of drones into melted scrap with a powerful heatwave.
A quick response team arrived on scene by fast-roping from a vertibird, belonging to an organization Sam had never seen before. They wore hard-suits painted blue and bordered with yellow. The operatives on the ground carried non-lethal stun weapons to apprehend the rampaging psychic, but there was one sniper onboard the vertibird who had his gun on the man in case they couldn't take him down the easy way. The symbol of a flaming brazier with the word 'Psy Ops' was etched into their suits, distinguishing them from the many other operations running in Riverside. If Sam had to guess, they were on the level with ops like Blackwatch or Gentek.
Shady, above-pay-grade, top-secret kind of ops.
"Watch it, civvie in the zone!" One of the operatives pointed at Sam, "Get him outta here!"
The operative closest to the cadet, a woman with a nasty smoker's voice, snarled at Sam as she grabbed him by the collar. "On your feet, citizen!"
Sam had his eyes on the fugitive, who seemed to be immune to the effects of the tranq-darts they were shooting him with. Though bloodied and battered from the construction drones' assault, he was still in peak physical condition. The Psy Ops team commander notified their headquarters of the problem, and after suffering a casualty at the fugitive's hands he got off the comms real fast. "Understood. You're up, neutralize the asset."
The sniper took aim and ended the madman's rampage with a shot through the chest, as if to keep the head intact for future autopsies.
As soon as the fugitive hit the pavement, a palpable wave of energy sent everyone staggering back. Sam couldn't hold back an agonized groan, neither could the agent standing next to him. Everyone on the response team felt the same unnatural phenomenon at the same time. It was like every nerve in their bodies was alive and singing. Then, they all blacked out.
Working quickly, Psy Ops sealed the area for containment and censorship. The survivors were taken to the nearest facility, away from the prying eyes of the public. As for the casualties, Dominion authorities withheld any official statements until the incident was fully investigated.
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