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The Operators

Recording by Scribe Ellison

The Operators bunked in the Parlor, "Home of the world-renowned Nuka-world players!" according to Sierra. I could almost see it, under the raider decor there was a stage and seating where people could have dinner while watching the show. This building had been built to be what the Third Rail had been jury-rigged into. Here was a real stage, and maybe someday after the raiders were thrown out… and the place was cleaned… maybe Magnolia would like to visit and try out the acoustics.

There were no rotting bodies, instead I smelled dust and perfume. The furniture I saw had been maintained, as much as any furniture was, and on the tables there were place settings set out with all the silverware. Already I liked the Operators better than the Disciples. The rank and file sat around sharpening knives and eating and sewing, strangely. They all looked up to watch the Overboss and her bodyguard pass. Someone nodded to me, "Hey, Overboss. Mags an' William are through there."

"Thanks." I said.

There were slaves too, busy cleaning the place. At least this group's slaves were working rather than being tortured, and I heard one slave badgering a raider, "Get out of bed if you want your sheets washed!" The laundry woman's hands were red and cracked. Her life must be bad, but it could be worse.

Deacon trailed along behind me, his face carefully bodyguard-blank. Noticing everything from behind those sunglasses.

The leaders of the gang were holding court sitting on the edge of the stage so their underlings had to literally stand under them. As we came in the back of the room I heard, "...with that Pip-boy on her arm."

"So our new boss is a vault dweller."

"Or she iced a vault dweller."

Now that was an upper stands accent. Not really a real accent; Nick had explained with some amusement that once someone had enough caps to buy a place up there they were 'allowed to use that highfalutin way of talking even if they were an ordinary scavver a month ago.'

The two leaders were clean, with neat hair and wearing beaten metal armor. Gage had mentioned their names, Mags and William, in that order. The man shooed away the raider who'd just mentioned my pip-boy while the woman tried to pin me with her gaze.

"Well I suppose we owe you for taking down Colter."

"Man was an idiot." William growled. "Made us all look bad."

"Heh. A clown stuck in his own little car. I guess we can take some solace in the fact that someone finally gave him what he deserved. I want to know, what did you feel as you did it? When you brought that piece of human garbage to his knees."

I had not been expecting the question, and too-recent memory of how I had felt hit me. So I dodged the question. "What were you talking about when I came in?"

"Well, you, Overboss. you're an unknown quantity and we're interested in knowing who we're dealing with."

"So we'd like if you answered the question." William leaned forward just enough to make me remember I wasn't in shape to fight.

"Yes. What went through you as you cooked the life out of that oaf?"

The truth—nausea, terror, and wanting to live to see my kids again— was probably not what they were looking for. So I said the opposite. "It was thrilling. Taking down an opponent like that."

"Sure looked it." William put in.

Mags smiled an elegant lips-closed smile. "Hmm. Perhaps you're better suited to this than I expected. Regardless, Gage's degree means that you're the new Overboss. I suppose we can only hope you work out better than the last one. I'm Mags. This is my brother, William."

"Pleasure."

"Along with our co-conspirator Lizzie, we run this crew. Call ourselves the Operators." I'd never heard anyone use the word co-conspirator unironically, but Mags didn't even pause. "You'll come to understand soon enough that you're the only gang you should be backing around here. Because we're the only ones who see this place for what it is. A temple. A testament to the only thing that matters in this world."

I glanced around. "...soda?"

"Huh. Not quite."

"What then?" I asked.

"Caps. This place was built for the sole purpose of taking caps out of the pockets of fools. We only joined Gage and Colter's little menagerie in order to restore it to that goal"

"...you want to open the park again?"

William snorted and Mags looked at me like something she found on the bottom of her shoe. "It can be put to better use by somewhat more cutthroat methods than I expect its founders intended."

I nodded.

William grumbled, "Instead Colter had us sitting on our asses for the better part of a year while he lived large in his damn mountaintop."

"And that means if you're going to be in charge around here, we'd like some assurances that you intend to bring this place back to its true purpose. And that we're going to get back to robbing folks of their money."

"I have big plans for Nuka-world, I've barely started. Tell me about the Operators. Who are you, and why should I be backing you?"

One of the other Operators walking by said, "It ain't complicated, Boss. We're the only gang that knows how to live. The others, dying's more their thing."

Mags smirked at that. "Exactly. We dispense with the bullshit. My people aren't commanded by lunatic bloodlust or animal instinct. We are the only rational players around here and would make valuable allies, so long as we know your goal is bringing in caps."

The way Mags said it, getting up just a little too close, was really very menacing while being polite. I nodded and didn't step back. "I do like caps. You run the slave market don't you?"

"Of course. Some people are worth more for sale than they would be working for us here. Only if they're in good condition of course. We aren't the Disciples."

"Nisha said you sell babies."

William said, "Would you rather leave them here? Not exactly the right environment for raising a family."

"And they're worth money." Mags waved a hand, "This poor innocent baby, caught by cruel slavers, only ten thousand caps and you can rescue him and give him a good life!"

William had a point. And now I knew which gang's headquarters to check for records of where slaves had been sold. "How many in your gang? When we get more territory to work with I need to know population sizes."

"Sixty-nine last head count. But we're always recruiting. And at least you'll know any park we get won't be painted up with animal graffiti or drenched in blood."

"I'll keep that in mind. Give me a little more time to heal up from the Gauntlet and we'll get back to using this place to make all the money we can."

"Well it's about damn time." William said.

"Hmm. I look forward to seeing your claims put into action. So, you're welcome in the Parlor any time. Make yourself at home. Meet Lizzie. I'll let her talents be a pleasant surprise. And we'll all be anxiously awaiting getting this place back to doing what it does best."

That was the end of that interview. William headed off to what turned out to be a shooting gallery in one side of the parlor. Mags lit a cigarette.

I wandered a bit, looking around, glanced into the barracks room with beds for the Operators, wishing I could get the really very nice dining tables out of here before they got covered in graffiti. The Operators lived much better than the Disciples. They had nice plates, real silver silverware and gold watches and flip lighters lying around. But judging by the smells under the perfume in the air, hot water and flush toilets were not available in the Parlor. This wasn't upper stands living, it wasn't even Sanctuary living.

Deacon wandered out of another room and murmured, "Someone doing serious chemistry back there. Not just chems, maybe chemical warfare."

"Oh great."

"Scanned the terminal. We going?"

"We're going." I had lost any good feeling about the Operators. They weren't obviously horrible like the Disciples but something felt creepy here. Even if they did have nice tables and silverware.

As we walked by the long table I heard an operator tell another, "If Lizzie asks you to volunteer for one of her experiments, don't do it."

And then we met Lizzie. She came in the door before we reached it, carrying a basket of stuff from the market. "Overboss! A pleasure. I'm Lizzie."

"Hello." I said warily, trying to sound friendly. "I came to meet the Operators, learn what you're all about. What do you do around here?"

"I cook chems-" And her hand came up and she sprayed something right in my face.

I jumped back, wobbling on my bad foot, but I'd breathed enough to get the smell, like dead flowers and cheap perfume. I coughed and waved a hand in front of my face. "Ugh! What was that?"

In the second I was distracted Deacon had gone from behind me to behind Lizzie, twisting her hand up behind her.

Lizzie's eyes were tearing from pain but her voice was steady when she said "Well, Overboss? Feeling inclined to do everything I say?"

"Not particularly. What was that?" I asked again, working hard to keep my voice steady while my heart raced.

"Still a work in progress. Would've been worth it if it worked." She broke off with a gasp.

Mags and William were coming. Walking, but fast. I said, "You tried to drug me. Shades, hurt her."

There was a crunching sound and Lizzie shrieked and dropped her basket to cradle her hand. Mags reached us and immediately said, "Overboss, please don't let Lizzie's enthusiasm taint your opinion of the Operators. She's a rogue element, valuable but impetuous. You'll benefit from what she's working on once it's perfected. I promise."

"Noted." I said dryly. "I'll think about it. Now, I am leaving." And we escaped. As soon as we were out the door and I'd checked with the Pip-boy that I was not poisoned I pointed back towards Fizztop Mountain. "I want to wash my face. And sit down. Sorry for making you do that."

Deacon looked at me. "Seriously? We shoot people. A lot. Twisting someone's arm hardly counts."

"What did you do to her then?"

"Give me your hand."

Having set myself up for that one, I did. Deacon demonstrated, "Get the right leverage on one finger and you can make someone do anything you want. And then if you put enough pressure right here…" He pulled just a little and let go without actually hurting me.

Up in Fizztop Grille with both elevators locked we could relax a little. I cooked sitting on a stool while Deacon read what he'd pulled off the Operators' terminal. "She's trying to make persuasion drugs. That spray should've made you obey her every whim. But it only seems to work on people who grew up malnourished and never used much jet or med-x."

"So not me this week. And dinner is molerat stew."

"My favorite! And here's a letter from Mags and William's mother that they kept saved. Looks like they were kicked out of Diamond City after 'what you and that Lizzie girl did to your classmates at school."

"Too bad Nick's gone. Whatever happened he's got a file, I guarantee it. I haven't met anyone named Black in the Upper Stands."

"Wait..." Deacon leaned back in Colter's chair and looked into the air. "I forget the name but there was something in the Upper Stands years back. Parents dead, kids missing, no sign of Institute involvement. I was somewhere else at the time but we had an agent look into it pretty deep just in case the Institute had started doing that. Wonder if it was them."

"How long ago?" Mags and William hadn't looked very old, somewhere in their twenties though it could be hard to tell if they'd done lots of chems. Enough jet will make anyone look ancient.

Deacon counted back, "They would've been—late teens? Reasonable age to start murdering people. Interesting notes about the other gangs on here. Mags thinks Nisha is a stabilizing force on the Disciples. Mason apparently took over his gang by tar-and-feathering the previous leader. Wonder where he found the feathers."

"That's brutal." I said.

"Apparently that's a prank. Pack aren't supposed to kill each other, just play pranks. Like tar and feathering, which will totally kill you."

"Lovely." I dished up the stew. "There's two hundred year old salt and pepper, if you want some. Well, we'll meet the Pack tomorrow."