Private The treasure of the West (Fallout)

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    Mr.Self Destruct

    Chosen Undead
    Chris grimaced at the sight of Daryl's corpse, slumped against the wall in a gathering pool of maroon. His jaw hanging open, and his glazed-over eyes staring blankly at nothing. Billy had a thing for cutting throats, he'd do it often, many times halfway so that his victims passed slowly. He'd always watch them thrash about on the floor, trying to plug up the hole in their throats until their choking cries would cease; and their body still.

    Christopher shook his head as Clint went off on a series of insults, bluffs and half-threats. Raiders were ego-maniacs, up there with New Vegas casino-regulars. They definitely did not take kindly to the sort of stuff Clint was barking, but somewhere in his words Chris thought he heard a plan forming. As if the drug dealer knew what he was doing.

    "So how do you know my old boy, Chris? Hmm?" Billy said, hand clamped around Clint's neck. "I was going to kill him. For money." Christopher called out before Clint could respond. Billy swiveled his head around to glance at Chris for a moment, before turning back to Clint. "That true?" "It is boss, when we found them Chris hadda' gun to 'em." The other Raider said, standing watch by the door.
    Billy stood, looking a bit taken off. He paced for a moment, seeming to contemplate what his next move would be. Then he got that look, like a lightbulb going off in his head; one Chris was all too familiar with. "So, my boy Chris decides he's a hitman now? Too fluffin' proud to roll with us? Not enough piano wire and fluffin' suits for you?" Billy said, approaching Christopher. "Tell you what, junkie-- whatever your fluffing name is. I'll give you one chance." Billy said with a maniacal smirk. "Set 'em loose."

    For a moment, the other raider looked at Billy dumbfounded. "Boss, we co--" "I said set him fluffing loose!" Billy roared, the raider visibly flinching as he did. Without further input, he hurried over to Clint and undid his bounds. "Now stand up. I'm not done with you yet." Billy said, pulling the gun from his belt and putting it to Clint's face.
    Billy stood still for a moment, holding the muzzle against Clint's forehead. Until he suddenly flipped the gun around, so that the grip was facing Clint. "Take it." Billy instructed, and Clint did. Warily grabbing the gun.

    "Now..." Billy said, stepping aside so that Clint and Chris were directly across from each other. "Kill him, and you go free." Billy said with a smile.
     

    K3V!N

    Member
    Clint held the 9mm in his hand firmly as he looked down at Chris, the Indian man's gaze remained firmly planted in front of him, as if he’d accepted their fate, or maybe he was contemplating a plan. Clint looked to Billy who looked on exuberantly, clearly loving every minute of the chaos he’d induced. These guys have tossed me around like a ragdoll he thought to himself, they’ll just kill me as soon as I’ve done their bidding.

    He began scanning the room jittering the gun in his hand to look like he was struggling. The bleeding had finally stopped from his jaw, his goatee matted in a web of crusted ooze. Although his head still raged he tried to focus, shifting his eyes from one corner to the next. There was no chance he’d make it out of there if he turned guns blazing on the raiders, he figured he could get Billy at least, but the others would surely kill him in the fracas. Maybe it was worth killing Billy then.

    No, the only way to survive something like this would be with some help.

    Clint raised the pistol towards Billy, the gun making a resounding clicking sound as Clint pulled the hammer back. Billy looked unimpressed as Clint lined him up down the iron sights.

    Maybe you bumblefluff hick fiends do plops this way,” Clint said fumbling through the words trying to keep his jaw in line. He motioned to Chris with a nod, “I think your buddy deserves some more dignity than this.

    Clint shuffled forward steadily and intently, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

    Untie him, let him die like a real man. After I’m done with him, I’ll take you to the lab, get you all the chems you could want, you’ll be rich, and we can all go our separate ways.

    Clint was several inches from Billy's face now, he put his finger on the trigger ready to squeeze.

    "Or we could all have a very bad day."
     

    Mr.Self Destruct

    Chosen Undead
    Billy's face was blank for a moment, but his lips curled into a smile, as if he were trying to hold back a laugh. "I offer you a gift--" He grabbed the barrel of the pistol, pressing the muzzle harder against his forehead. "And you do this!?" He roared, his face now twisted into an enraged snarl. The other Raider had his gun raised towards Clint, yet he seemed anxious, licking his lips and sweating profusely "We could have been friends man, and you have to turn around and tell me to fluff off like this? That it? Huh!?" Billy continued, saliva flying from his mouth.

    "Well what the fluff are you waiting for?! fluffin' do it bitch! End me!" Billy cried, his grip on the gun tightening as he held it fast to his head. "Shoot me motherfluffer!" Christopher watched helplessly, unable to do anything.
     

    Simus

    An Excellent Site Member
    After Jessica listed off some ideas of where they could go, Damien was eager about her last suggestion: San Francisco.

    "Yes, yes of course! Golden Gate!" Damien exclaimed. "There is a settlement there indeed, and with an NCR stronghold in the Rock, and a Chapter not too far away, it would be the perfect place to hide out for awhile and to garner up some possible information. There are fiends in the area as well, but probably contained by the NCR. As for the 'friendly relations'..." he pursed his lips and gave a short shake of the head, "I can only trust those in the Brotherhood as of now, no matter how good of relations the NCR may have with our kin. I only fully trust the Brotherhood in fact as to not have any moles or agents of the Enclave in them. For your safety of course, Miss--I-I mean, Jessica," finished Wynden-Pryce with a slight stammer as he corrected himself yet again on her name.
    Damien then had an emberrassed, slightly flushed look on his face after stumbling over her name. Jessica wasn't sure why this was as it really wasn't a big deal. He was just being polite after all, as was expected from a Brotherhood Knight.

    "Are you all right?" Jessica asked with concern. "Why don't you sit down. Would you like something to drink? We've got Nuka Cola, clean water and Sunset Sasparilla if you're interested. Also, I suggest we head south along I-95 towards Mojave Outpost. Lots of stops along the way and we might be able to rent some sort of vehicle whne we get to California."

    She then looked outside the tent to see the bright, starry night.

    "We should probably leave tomorrow morning though. Freeside tends to get...dangerous after dark so the Fort's the safest place for us. You're more than welcome to stay here of course. Just make sure to let Dr. Farkas know so she can find you a bed."

    She pointed to a woman in her mid-fifties with a slightly wrinkled face, glasses and graying brown hair down to her neck. She was in conversation with what appeared to be a junkie with crusty pockmarks all over his arms and a face covered with dirt and small cuts. Dr. Farkas was holding some bottle of lotion in front of the junkie and explaining to him how to apply it to clean and heal his cuts.

    "Oh, she goes by July by the way." Jessica added, still standing over Damien with a concerned look.
     

    K3V!N

    Member
    "Shoot me motherfluffer!" Oh plops, Clint thought.

    Usually his bravado worked versus the lowly junky population he'd dealt with on a regular basis, these guys were clearly beyond them. Billy was, with certainty, on the edge of reasoning and there wouldn't be a way to talk him down or into something dangerous.

    A sudden feeling of dread washed over Clint as he shot a glance at the other raider who looked on nervously. He watched as the raider stood sweating and anxiously gripping his rifle waiting for the other shoe to drop. Clint thought twice about his decision, maybe I should have just killed that guy, got it all over with.

    No time for that kind of thinking. Clint needed a plan B, and fast.

    Billy's grip on the gun was firm as he pressed it into his forehead. Clint glanced at Christopher who watched on, his face stoic and tense. In one fluid motion Clint pulled the gun away from Billy as they both struggle with the pistol. As the two lost grip of the 9mm it bounced arching slightly before coming to rest in the pool of blood Daryl had left.

    Time slowed down as both Billy and Clint watched eyes wide as the weapon flung from their reach. Clint reacted preemptively, diving for the gun full bore before Billy or the other raider could move first. Billy followed close behind throwing his full weight onto Clint. Lubricated by the blood pool, they both tumbled across the room to the feet of the other raider who seemed dumbstruck by the situation.

    As they struggled, Billy managed to get Clint's back, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other flailing after the gun that Clint jockeyed for.

    "What are you waiting for?!" Billy shouted, springing the other raider into action. He lined up his rifle at the two bodies as they did battle. Despite Billy's superior position and seemingly stout physical capabilities, Clint thrashed and kept the raider off balance enough to maintain while keep him close at the same time.

    "I-I can't get a shot boss!" The raider threw the rifle over his back, sliding into the fracas himself to separate the two. Billy grumbled as he watched the raider, clearly dismayed at why he hadn't shot the junky yet as the two of them grabbed at Clint and the 9mm.

    Clint felt the raider pounce on them clumsily as he vied for position. Billy had a strong grip around his neck and he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd have to concede. His pace was frenetic, his body on overdrive as he fought for his life at the bottom of the pile. As he turned to the other raider, his eyes wide and pensive, he pawed at his pockets and belt. Come on, he thought, they must be somewhere.

    As he focused his attention on the raider Billy had taken advantage, taking prime position over Clint and was now reaching for his box cutter. The 9mm sat out of reach of the three of them now, an omen to what could have been.

    Clint made a solid connection as he watched Billy reach for the blade. He grabbed at the set of keys which sat loosely in the raiders pocket, flinging them out in the direction of Christopher, hoping that if there was any good left in the world, those handcuff keys would be on there.

    The keys slid across the floor, Clint couldn't tell if the raider had noticed as he turned his back, bracing for the impact of the blade. He threw his arms up over his head, protecting his neck as Billy reeled back.

    "We got you now bitch!" Billy's voice was high pitched and exuberant as he dug the blade into Clint's arm, the short box cutter blade piercing the skin easily. Clint wanted to react but didn't, his mind racing he tried to focus it but couldn't. He tried to inch closer to the 9mm, but the weight of the two men kept his body from moving. He trashed about as hard as he could but knew it was only a matter of time before Billy would get his way.
     

    KaitoGhost

    Sea Sponge First Mate
    As Richard made his way down into the slums, he began to ponder just what he would actually do now. It was simply too dangerous to continue as a trader by himself. Bill had been the badass of the two. More often than naught, it was Bill who kept them safe on their journeys across the desolate wastelands that were formerly the southwestern United States. If Richard wanted to continue trading, he'd need a new partner, and trustworthy partners were in short supply. Hell, the old Sergeant wasn't sure if he even wanted to continue trading.

    Before he knew it, Richard was in the worst part of the slums underneath the bridge, the foul odor of sweat and human waste filling his nostrils. Bodies lay sprawled out everywhere, some still living, some dead. The trader had been so lost in thought, he hadn't been paying attention to where he was going. This was the last place in the Golden Gate that he wanted to be right now, filled with violent, desperate people. Many would kill him, just to eat his pack brahmin, let alone steal his tradestuff. Already Richard could feel their eyes upon him, sizing him up. He needed to leave, fast, before the poor sods that lived in this craphole decided to get any ideas.

    Before he could leave, however, a commotion near a building off to his right caught his attention...
     

    Mr.Self Destruct

    Chosen Undead
    Christopher immediately began working towards the keys, which were just out of reach from his boot. Every time he lunged for them, the cuff around his neck would strangulate him. The struggle continued on the other side of the room, with each passing second looking worse and worse for Clint. Christopher began to panic as time became imperative, with his own life; and Clint's, on the line and hanging from a thread.

    With one last lunge that nearly crushed Christopher's throat, his heel struck down upon the key and slid it back to him. He immediately scooped it off the tile and began working it into the lock which held him fast to the pipe, and after fumbling with it briefly it clicked open. He rebounded from the wall and charged Billy just as he had drawn the box cutter and sliced into Clint's arm. Chris threw both of his arms around Billy, locking them around his neck as he yanked him back from Clint.

    "fluff you!" Billy spat as he plunged the blade into Christopher's forearm, which sent searing pain throughout him. "Argh!" Chris grunted as he threw Billy aside, blood pouring profusely from the gash in his arm. As Billy fell, his head struck the wall forcefully, stunning him and leaving him sprawled across the floor in a discombobulated daze. Chris looked up as the other raider stood, raising his rifle towards him. "Gonna' fill you with holes you sonuva--"

    With a surprised cry, the raider lost his footing and slipped in the pool of blood gathering around Daryl's corpse. The rifle sailed through the air before clattering to the ground. Christopher immediately made a move for it, but Billy had recovered, grabbing Chris' ankle and forcing him to the ground. Pain wracked his body once more as his knee connected; hard, with the tile.

    "You fluffin' Judas." Billy uttered as he made a move to plunge the box cutter into Christopher's throat. Blood was pouring freely from the grisly laceration on Billy's head, coating his face with crimson. Christopher immediately moved to guard, grabbing Billy's hands and wrestling for control of the blade. However, Billy's strength proved firmer. And the tip of the blade was beginning to press into Christopher's flesh.


    "Hey, twat, 'fluffs goin' on in there?" Ed Jackson disorderly called out. The malnourished and haggard raider guarding the building scowled, as if he had smelled something rotten. "Non 'uh ya fluffin' concern, geeza'." He called back in a cockney, high pitched voice. "Now fluff on outta' here." He said as he motioned for the holstered pistol by his side.

    Ed Jackson pulled a fast one, motivated by ego-bruised anger he drew his weapon and fired upon the raider in a short burst of fire; riddling his torso with holes in a flurry of blood. The raider crumpled to the ground without sound as the ranger pressed on inside. "Ain't nobody tellen' Ed Jackson to fluff off." He muttered as he kicked in the door.

    The complex was small, the entrance lead into a small room where a cluster of raiders were playing caravan at a table. Before they had a chance to react, Ed gunned them down in a gust of bullets and blood as the table and chairs were overturned and the men painted across the walls and floors in shades of crimson and maroon. A door across the room caught Ed's attention, and he made a mental note to come back and loot what he could after clearing the complex.
    He kicked in the door to find a brutal altercation taking place; four men struggling to kill each other, and a single fresh corpse chained to the wall. The scene put him off for a moment, but he quickly took action. Recognizing the two men he had seen earlier, he kicked Billy off of Christopher first, then raised his rifle toward the other raider fighting Clint. "Freeze motherfluffer!" He commanded, all noise and commotion ceasing quickly.

     

    Hale Loneshadow

    Well-Known Member
    Brilliant, now she thinks you're a spastic as well! Brilliant, Dam.

    Smiling politely, Damian Wynden-Pryce, shrugged and said to the girl, "Well, it is quite hot out, an aqua pura would do wonderfully, if you don't mind at all? Anyways, I think you have it right. I was also going to suggest the 95 as well, for those reasons and that it is the, er, 'safest' route across the Mojave. As safe as one can get, anyways. As for procuring a vehicle, I may have another contact willing and able to rent us a car or small truck. It'll probably be something ex-archaic military, but that would be for the best."

    Looking over to the woman that Jessica pointed out as Dr. July Farkas, Damian nodded in her direction and said, "Well, it is getting late and I should probably get some sleeping arrangements. I'll talk to her. Thank you very much, Jessica. I must say it was an absolute pleasure to meet you, and I'm sure you'll make for an excellent traveling companion!"
     
    Harden was just walking down the streets of San Francisco looking for a hit of jet or a bottle of vodka, or something else intoxicating to get rid of the hangover that was ripping his head apart. Suddenly there was a loud burst of gunfire just a few meters away from Harden, who sank to his knees holding his ears closed with the palms of his hands. "My head, think about my damn head!" he yelled at the shooter, but the figure had already disappeared into the building.

    Goddamnit, he thought, before actually getting up and wondering what was so important about the building to shoot an armed guard to pieces. Harden got closer with his baseball bat in his right hand and the 9mm pistol in his left. He quickly looted the dead raider's pockets for bullets, and holstered the extra gun before continuing on into the building.

    What he found there was truly astonishing. A whole room full of dead raiders, they were still sitting at the table where theg were apparently playing cards. Harden entered the room and quickly closed the door behind him, so that he would have more time to react if someone was walking down the hallway out to get him. He looted the bodies again, and slung a rifle that one of the raiders had set down in the corner over his shoulder. The load was beginning to get pretty heavy, and Harden decided he shouldn't take any more things unless they were really worth something.

    He snuck further through the buildings, passing various other rooms and dead raiders, before finally catching up with the figure who had shot the guard at the entrance. His baseball bat was heavy in his hand, and Harden decided he would use it rather than the gun if he could. He crawled along the wall, aiming his gun just to be sure, before finally reaching the cowboy. He looked into the room, and almost threw up.
     

    K3V!N

    Member
    (OOC: Switch to teal to avoid conflict when our characters meet up)

    Clint couldn't believe his luck as he lay bloodied and battered on the ground beneath the raider. It had taken just about everything he had to keep the raider at bay and he struggled to remain conscious under the pain and blood loss he had undertaken. He glanced over at Christopher who somehow had also found himself in a precarious position, Billy mounted and waiting to slash his throat. The four of them now sat frozen, the skirmish interrupted by an unknown source.

    Clint scrambled, kicking the raider off of him and staggering to his knees supporting himself on a nearby table. He looked towards the man who had busted into the room, recognizing him clearly from earlier. It was the seemingly crazed man that Chris had bumped into on the street earlier, he must have followed them in and bided his time before busting up the party. What did he want, though? Clint thought, looking around the room at the swath of carnage.

    He had the look of a combat veteran, and Clint assumed Ranger, although he had no grounds to back that up. He had spent many man hours deployed with those that wore the black armor, chewing nails and spitting out napalm, true to form. Mounted firmly against his shoulder was a well maintained marksman carbine, a fine weapon, good for clearing out rooms just like this one or being precise at distance.

    There was an inkling of worry in Clint's thought process though as he looked around some more, noticing the plethora of goods scattered about. Between the contents of his ruck and the expelled ammunition and other valuables that had been flung around the room during the scuffle, it was a veritable gold mine. As he realized this Clint moved to cover behind the raider picking up the 9mm pistol and stuffing it into the back of his pants, just in case the grizzled marksman turned on all of them.

    Clint needed a Stimpak, maybe two, badly, that and a mirror so he could stitch up the gruesome gash that hung from his jaw and his arm which had been sliced open by Billy's box cutter. He eyed his pack in the corner of the room, waiting for the hammer to drop. I hope this fluffer wastes them.
     

    KaitoGhost

    Sea Sponge First Mate
    Richard glanced at the carnage the old cowboy had left in his wake, debating if he wanted to follow. He hesitated, shifting the strap that secured his combat rifle over his shoulder. Whatever was going on in there, it was definitely ugly. Even outside, Richard could hear the sounds of a fierce struggle, as multiple people fought for their very lives. This isn't my fight, he thought to himself. Inside the building, more shots rang out, echoing down the now empty street. I'm a businessman, not a soldier. I doubt I'd be of much help in there. Beside, I can't leave Bessie alone down here, she'd get stolen! Before the trader could make up his mind, however, a dark skinned man checked the dead body outside, then entered the poorly constructed hovel.

    A voice rang out, gruff and filled with anger. "Freeze, motherfluffer!" And then... nothing. The sounds of fighting ceased, the silence hanging heavily in the air. "What the hell is happening in there?", the trader muttered to himself. He hesitated just a moment longer, before his curiosity got the better of him. Richard tied Bessie's pull-rope to his belt, then unslung and shouldered his rifle, and entered the building.

    A scene of utter devastation greeted him upon passing through the threshold. There were bloodstained pieces of furniture scattered around the room, most with a dead body lying nearby. In the center, a table sat overturned, cards spread around the floor like dead leaves. Apparently the cowboy had interrupted a game when he burst in. Of the grizzled old man, or the dark skinned wastelander, Richard saw no sign, but a door across the room had been violently kicked open, and hung pathetically on broken hinges. From where Richard stood, he didn't have a good view of the other room, but from what he could see, it was likely that that's where everyone was. Still pulling his brahmin behind him, the trader slowly made his way towards the broken door...
     

    Mr.Self Destruct

    Chosen Undead
    The ranger had all of them staring down the barrel of a smoking gun. It didn't take long for Christopher to make the connection and recognize the figure, who had shouted inebriated slurs and threats at him earlier that day. "Now, tha'fluffs goin' on here?" The man spat, Chris wasn't sure whether or not he had made the same connection as he did. "We were having a boys night out, partnah." Billy said, a plops-eating grin spread across his face. He spoke this with a hick, cockney accent, as if trying to antagonize Jackson.

    "Very fluffin' funny." Ed said gruffly as he swung around the stock of his gun, which connected with Billy's jaw and sent him sprawling across the tile. As he did this, the other Raider immediately made a move to the rifle that had fallen earlier; but Ed was faster, and like an automated sentry he swiveled around and emptied two shots into the man. Sending blood splashing against the walls as the raider's body went limp, and dead.

    "Do somethin' else stupid, I fluffin' dare y'all!" Ed roared, and for a moment Chris began to wonder whether or not the man was on something. He glanced over to Clint, pressed up against the wall and dead quiet. "Now explain; what the fluff was happening?" Ed continued, pointing the gun at Chris. "They were going to kill us." Chris said, trying to keep a level-head. "An' whys that?" "They like to hold grudges." Christopher wanted to keep vague, not giving up to much info. The look Ed gave him meant he wasn't satisfied with the answer.

    "Wait a minute..." Ed said, raising an eyebrow. "You were that clumsy fluffer from earlier. I ought a kick your ass, y'know." Ed said with realization. Chris said nothing, simply staring back blankly. "Heh-heh..." Billy croaked, face down on the tile and bleeding profusely from wounds all along his face. "Grudges.. good one Chris." He said, rolling over onto his back. "Well..." Billy propped himself against the wall and struggled to stand, all eyes on him as he got to his feet and raised his hands. "Checkmate, ya' got me."

    "It's over Billy." Chris said, getting to his feet also as Ed watched warily from the door, letting things unfold, yet with his rifle raised. "It's done." Christopher said as he crouched down to pick up the dead raider's rifle, glancing over at Ed as if checking for his approval. "Easy, motherfluffer. You best not try anything." Ed said, rifle still poised towards him. Chris nodded and slowly picked up the gun, cradling it in his arms.

    "I was going to give you a second chance, y'know." Billy said, glancing over to Clint for a moment before turning back to Chris. "So, this is goodbye?" Billy asked as Chris pressed the muzzle against his chest. Chris hesitated, and there was a pause in the air. "Well?" Christopher stared right at Billy, not moving. "Come on, let's go." Nothing. "fluffing do it, come on!" Chris gritted his teeth. "Pull the trigger!" "fluff!" Chris yelled as he lowered the gun before slamming it into Billy's nose, knocking him out cold.

    "God-fluffing-dammit!" Chris yelled as he let the rifle drop to the floor, Billy's unconscious body slumped against the wall behind him. Ed chuckled, clearly amused by Christopher's mercy. "If you can't do it--" "No, I'm taking him to the NCR. Let him rot in a correctional facility."
     

    K3V!N

    Member
    The weight of the raiders body crashed down onto Clint as he fell backwards, the tidy array of bullets pock marking his body efficiently and with purpose. Clint rolled the body gently off of him as it came to rest next to Daryl's, a graveyard of guts and blood.

    As the group bickered over what had happened, Clint withdrew himself, rubbing at his face to stave off the effects of the ordeal. The grizzled man was asking a lot of questions, and what did he care? Clint thought that he'd pegged him right. Ranger's generally never lose that sense of wasteland justice, and this man seemed no different, even if he was a little… rare. After some debate Chris grabbed that dead raiders rifle from the ground marching towards Billy.

    Billy stood in defiance as Chris held the rifle to his chest, egging Chris on to finish the job. The tension was thick as Clint waited for the trigger to be pulled... Chris hesitated.

    "fluffing do it, come on!" Billy yelled, his eyes wild and full of rage. Clint could see Chris grappling with the decision, come on, waste him!

    Chris took a moment, then lowered the gun reeling back and slamming the butt of the rifle into Billy's face sending him toppling into a heap against the muddled floor.

    "God-fluffing-damnit!" Clint watched as Chris screamed out, flinging the rifle to the floor. The grizzled man by the door let out a chuckle as Clint smacked his forehead with his hand, damn.

    "If you can't do it," the man in the doorway added, motioning the carbine in the direction of Billy's body.

    "No, I'm taking him to the NCR. Let him rot in a correctional facility."

    Clint's attention was piqued as he woozily stumbled to his feet. He brushed past Chris towards his ruck and delightedly found his glasses. He pulled a stimpak from its packaging, throwing on a rubber tourniquet, popping up a vein and injecting the fluid like he'd done hundreds of times before. The solution coursed through his veins causing a burning sensation at the site of his wounds as they began to carterize and close up on their own. Next, he slammed a med-x into his arm, the relief was immediate as he felt the intense ache in his head and jaw dissipate.

    "Are you kidding me?" He looked to Chris who had begun to gather himself, "what are you gonna tell the NCR, that you found this guy and he is a criminal? You'll need something more conclusive than that."

    Clint pulled the pistol from his pants and cocked it back. He hadn't killed a man in nearly a year, it was something he hated doing but had gotten used to. It was with the Followers, during his fellowship at the New Vegas Medical Clinic as one of the brightest young medical minds in the Mojave region, that he'd learned to value human life above all else. It wasn't until his time in the NCR and subsequent departure that he'd realized just how naive and foolish those ideals truly were. In life, and especially in San Fran, certain people needed to be dead, no reform was possible for someone like Billy, and for the world to function in a semi-civilized state, he needed to be eliminated. Morality was complicated, but in this case it seemed cut and dry, much to the chagrin of the ideals he'd held as a younger man which gnawed at him annoyingly.

    "Look man, I don't know you," Clint went on, taking a seat on a folding metal chair, "I don't know where you're coming from or why you're here. I don't know this guy from Jack on the street," He motioned to Billy who remained motionless on the ground. "What I do know is, that guy was about to kill us both like it was nothing."

    Clint set the gun down, digging back through his ruck, "Can we just talk about this a second? I would like to know, and I'm sure this guy would also like to know," he pointed to the grizzled man still standing in the doorway, "thanks by the way." The man nodded, tipping his hat before Clint continued, "why in the world should we let this guy live? I understand, it's your prerogative, just seems like a liability. I mean, say the NCR does take your word for it and locks him up? What happens then? He sits stewing in jail waiting to break out and come kill us again?"

    Clint pulled a stimpak and some med-x from his ruck, motioning towards Chris who hadn't reacted, "need some patching up?" Clint realized it was an awkward moment as they sat in silence, he tried his best to calm the tension, "I'm Clint by the way, Doctor Clinton Johns… Thanks for the save."
     

    Mr.Self Destruct

    Chosen Undead
    Christopher was ready to explode, his brain hammered in his head and a knot was forming in his stomach. He wasn't normally seen like this, vulnerable and open. The thought alone made him sick, yet he reserved himself. Keeping his thoughts behind a cool, stern visage. He wasn't surprised when his decision to let Billy live was challenged, but he wasn't going to back down. As sadistic and malicious as he was, Billy was his brother once. He couldn't leave him down here in the gutter, but he couldn't turn him loose. The NCRCF's dotted around the coast would be enough to satisfy Chris, and to some, a punishment worse than death.

    Before Chris could reply, the doctor introduced himself as Clinton Jones; while pulling out a hypodermic needle and offering it to Chris. His blood went cold, as if longing for the warm rush of Med-X. And his eyes caught the same gleam they had when news of Billy's arrival reached his ears. "No thanks." Chris said, forcing himself to look away from the needle. "I'm Christopher, you might already know." He said gruffly, not one for introductions. He folded his arms, turning back to the matter at hand.

    "You don't know Billy like I do." Chris said, glancing over to his unconscious body. "He may be a sick son of a bitch, but I'm not letting him die. He was my brother once, a long time ago." Chris snapped with finality, "The NCR will take him, they'll take anyone suspected of being a fiend." He added, turning to a rusted locker in the corner of the room. Curiosity peaked him, and he opened up it's dilapidated door. Inside was Chris' and Clint's stuff. Christopher's jacket, his rifle and his pistol; along with whatever Clint happened to bring.

    "Before anything else is done, I'm having a word with Billy when he wakes." Chris said, putting on his coat and slinging his rifle over his back. Billy was beginning to stir, groaning and mumbling incoherently. Chris knelt down beside him; taking the metal chains that had bounded Chris, and fastening Billy's wrists to a pipe behind him.

    Chris sat down in a chair in front of him, waiting silently for Billy to fully come through.

    "Hnnghh... fluff."

    Chris tightened, sitting more upright.

    "Billy." Billy glanced up, his face twisted into a pained grimace; smeared with blood and sores. Billy looked at Chris for a moment, before busting into hysterical laughter. "You're such a bitch, Christopher!" He cried, cackling maniacally. Chris narrowed his eyes, his fists balling. "That's twice now today some ball-less fluff put a gun to my head, and was to much of a pussy to pull the trigger." He said, looking right back at Chris. "Why're you still doing this, Bill?" "What the fluff do you mean? Things never changed, you Judas fluffer." "It was over a long time ago, we were done. Game was fluffing over." Chris replied, raising his voice with anger.

    "The game's never over, Chris. Maybe it was for you, but not for me. I'm fluffing disappointed with you Chris, I held you in such high-fluffing regard back in the day. Now you're just a punk bitch. While I'm trapped in here like a fluffing rat I am free in ways you could never imagine. You're the one in the cage, Christopher." Billy said, followed by a pause in the air. "That's the thing about trust man, you never trust anyone. That's what you fluffing taught me Chris, you taught me even those you love can come out of fluffing nowhere and blindside you. If you kill me it'll be fluffing over, but you're too much of a bitch. If you set me loose, the hunt will be fluffing on once more."
     

    K3V!N

    Member
    Clint shook his head as he collected his things, donning his jacket and shotgun once more. He neatly packed his ruck, tediously placing each vial of jet back into its appropriate place, his hands still shaking from the skirmish that had just taken place. If Chris wanted to take the mad man to jail that was his business, Clint was just happy to be alive. As he tightened the straps on his back he noticed some movement in the room adjacent to the one they were in.

    The grizzled man turned, pointing his carbine into the darkness, "whattha, who's there?"

    Clint peeked around the man, squinting through the clouded lenses of his glasses. The shuffling was growing louder, whoever it was, they weren't worried about being stealthy. Just then a low grumble filled the room, animal like in it's gruffness. Then a faint cow bell could be heard.

    "Is that a brahmin?"
     
    "fluff!" Harden yelled as the cowboy turned. He had sat in the corner the whole time, listening to what was said between the guy named Billy, the doctor and the 'Chris' person. He was too freaked out with the carbine pointed right at him to do anything else than cower with his bat raised. He was afraid of what the cowboy would do to him, probably just kill him like all the other regions. He finally tried to back away slowly, but the wall he was leaning against didn't let him pass. The brahmin moo'd in the next room, and Harden wondered why raiders needed a damn brahmin.
     

    KaitoGhost

    Sea Sponge First Mate
    "JESUS F**CKING CHRIST!"

    Bessie's moo nearly made Richard jump out of his skin. "God DAMNIT, Bessie!", he exclaimed. So much for keeping quiet..., the trader thought, exasperated. Suppose I should introduce myself, then.

    "Hello in there! Don't shoot, I'm allergic to lead," Richard called out. The old trader didn't move, waiting for the shots to rang out. When they didn't, he spoke again. "Is anyone hurt? I have some medkits with me." Bessie moo-ed in response. "...and a brahmin." Injured raiders usually were willing to trade quite a bit for medkits, and Richard had plenty to spare at the moment. "Hold your fire, I'm coming in," he called out, cautiously making his way into the next room.

    2 dead bodies lay on the floor, blood pooled around both. One shot, the other with a slit throat. Ugly way to go..., the trader thought, looking on the second body. The wastelander from earlier was huddled against a wall, ball-bat in hand, while the old cowboy pointed his carbine at him. The grizzled man's demeanor screamed out "Former Ranger" to Richard, himself an NCR veteran. On the floor lay another man, crimson staining his clothes, an expression of absolute loathing written on his bloody face. The loser of the fight, apparently. A haggardly looking man sat in a chair next to him, rifle slung over his shoulder, looking down in disgust at the man on the ground. Another man stood several feet away, staring at Richard. Junkie, by the look of him. He wore a patched old lab coat, stained with fresh blood, and a pair of glasses covered in grime.

    Just what the hell went on in here..., wondered Richard. He lowered his combat rifle, to prove his peaceful intentions. Besides, the trader doubted he'd be able to outgun the Ranger anyway, if it came right down to it. The difference in training was worlds apart, and only the most skilled Rangers lived long enough to grow old.

    "Hmmmm.... doesn't look like Medkits will really help anyone, huh," the trader commented, a grin beginning to form on his face. "Well, I have some fresh water, and food, if any of you want it. My prices are pretty cheap, too."
     

    Mr.Self Destruct

    Chosen Undead
    Chris narrowed his eyes at Billy, who stared back wordlessly. He had said enough, and Chris had no response to his banter. Christopher unhooked him from the pipe, but still kept his wrists bound behind his back. He prodded the muzzle of his rifle against his side, motioning towards the door. "Move." "What's that for, Chris? i already know you won't shoot me." Billy said with a bloody grin, glancing back at Chris.

    However, outside the room the building was crammed with others. Who no doubt heard the sounds of struggle and decided to investigate. There were several of them, most notable of all being the merchant-looking figure who brought with him a pack Brahmin. He offered some help, and while Chris appreciated the offer he declined. "It's like a fluffin' orgy in here." Billy said gruffly, looking over at the trader. "Nice Brahmin you got there, get lonely sometimes?" He said, amused with himself.

    Chris forced him outside, gun never leaving him as he began marching Billy into the scorched and barren desert that was once the Bay. He was taking him to the Rock, the MP's at the Gate were less than amiable, and very corrupt. His chances were ultimately better with the NCR stationed over at Alcatraz.

    As they trekked over cracked and barren sand and dirt, the pain coming from Christopher's forearm became overwhelming. His arm, and the pip-boy beneath the wound, were soaked in blood. "fluff." Chris said under his breath, drawing a stimpak from his pack and injecting the needle into his arm. The pain dulled, and his arm from the elbow down became numb and cold. The painkiller was working it's magic; but the wound still needed to be dressed. Later he thought, tossing the empty needle.

     

    K3V!N

    Member
    Clint watched as Chris and Billy made way for the Rock and the massive expanse of NCR that sat on top of it. He pictured Billy, chained up and shackled in the cesspool of hooligans that inhabited the correctional facilities. He’d probably end up at San Quentin. A maximum security prison before the bombs dropped, the prison remained mostly intact and had become one of the largest NCR correctional facilities in Northern California. Clint had only heard stories but prison seemed like a rough life, one in which Billy would either thrive or die in.

    Chris was a peculiar character, but Clint admired his capacity for forgiveness, something rarely found on the streets of San Fran much less the wasteland in general. It was an admirable trait, but one that often conflicted with survival, maybe he’d been on the streets too long to remember what that felt like.

    The man with the brahmin walked into the room the animal tugging at the rope attached to its necks. Clint was surprised to see it was the man who had been enjoying himself at the brothel the day before. Clint chuckled as he fought the Brahmin calling her Betsy, shaking his head as the grizzled ranger eyed the man suspiciously.

    Clint turned to the dead bodies on the ground, cold and comatose. He rifled through the pockets, pulling a few caps and some expended vial stuffing them unabashedly into his pockets. The grizzled ranger looked on, grumbling his discontent,

    What?” Clint added, “not like they’re using it.

    Give me those fluffing caps, maggot!” Clint jumped back as the ranger turned the barrel of his carbine on him, the gleam from the barrel temporarily blinding him. Shakily, Clint handed over the caps,

    I fuggin’ killed em’, you shoot em’ you loot em’, ever heard of that, maggot?” The two stared at each other briefly before Clint broke the silence with an uncomfortable laugh, the man strolled into the next room flinging the carbine over his shoulder while spitting loudly against the wall, looting the corpses of the other raiders who were lifelessly frozen in time.

    Clint looked back at the corpse of the raider, the double-tap he’d received was impressive, fluffer can shoot.

    "Well, I have some fresh water, and food, if any of you want it.” The man with the Brahmin said loud enough for all to hear, “My prices are pretty cheap, too.” Clint looked over to the man, a warm smile radiating across his face. The juxtaposition was amusing and welcome, this man, warm and friendly in the unfriendliest of confines.

    You know what? I haven’t eaten a thing in days,” Clint said, his back to the man, “got anything good to eat?” It didn’t matter what it was, Clint figured, it would probably be the best thing he’d ever eaten.
     

    KaitoGhost

    Sea Sponge First Mate
    The junkie in the coat was the first to answer Richard. Well, other than the bloody faced man who made the innuendo about his brahmin, but that hardly counted. “You know what? I haven’t eaten a thing in days. Got anything good to eat?" The trader's grin grew wider as he pulled one of the bags off of Bessie's side, and tossed it to the other man. "I've got some good jerky, chips, a few cans of pork and beans, salisbury steaks, some potatoes and cactus fruit... oh! And a box of those Fancy Lad cakes!" answered the old trader. "If you're thirsty, I got good, clean water, and some Nuka Cola, too."

    Richard turned his attention towards the other man still in the room. The dark skinned wastelander had relaxed visibly after the old Ranger had left, but still seemed incredibly nervous. His eyes kept darting to the bodies on the ground, as if he expected them to suddenly rise up, and start shooting. A puddle of vomit lay on the floor next to him. Well, if he just emptied his stomach, he probably doesn't want anything to eat..., the former Sergeant mused. "How about you, stranger? You look like you could use a drink."
     

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