» Fri May 04, 2012 4:16 am
Monroe
Museum Authority Offices – Early Morning
“We need to do something to pass the time”, said Charon with a chuckle, nudging her with the toe of his boot. “What do you reckon we do, there…Miss Hot-ass?” Shelby replied by trying to kick him, he laughed as he easily dodged her. “Show me your bullet wound, you say?", Charon said mockingly. “Well…OK, if you say so.”
It was then that Charon heard noises from the floor above.
“[censored]”, said Charon bitterly, as he zipped his fly back up and grabbed his shotgun. “Cannot even get some without being interrupted.” He looked down at Shelby and winked.
“I’ll be back”, Charon said. “And then we’ll see how hot that ass really is.”
He then turned and made his way to the stairs, and cautiously ascended to the main floor. Once he was gone, Shelby looked over at Joe. He was still out, Shelby figured that when Charon had laid him out with the butt of his shotgun, he might have given him a concussion. She began looking around frantically for a way to get free.
Charon quietly moved from the stairwell and through the warren of decaying offices. From the shadows, he got a glimpse of one of the intruders who had interrupted his fun….he had so looked forward to taking that stuck-up ghoul hater down a peg or two…moving about. It was a smoothskin, wearing a Mercenary Charmer outfit.
It’s Jimmy’s boys….should have figured Griffon’s morons wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back.
Charon followed the smoothskin, who led him to the reception area. From his vantage point, Charon could see that the man he had been following was reporting to his superior. The boss, an older and better armed slaver in a Mercenary Veteran outfit sat on a ruined couch, a Chinese Assault rifle leaning against the cushions beside him. Perched on his knee was a hard-faced woman in a Mercenary Charmer outfit, watching the younger slaver impassively as the boss fondled her ample bosom.
“They here, Jeff?”, the older slaver asked as he idly toyed with the top button of the woman’s blouse. “We haven’t got all day.”
“They aren’t on this floor or the next”, Jeff replied. “The stairwells leading up beyond the floor above are blocked. We must have beat him here.”
“What about the lower floors?”, the older slaver asked. “did you check down there?”
“Lower floor?”, asked Jeff sheepishly. The woman rolled her eyes. The boss stopped playing with the woman’s blouse long enough to point at the ruined elevator on the other side of the room.
“That elevator has a down button….stands to reason there are floors below this one.”, the boss said wearily as he returned to what he had been doing. “If you don’t want to end up dead…or in the meat pens yourself…you need to pay attention to detail. Trey and his crew didn’t play attention…how did they end up, Jeff?”
“They got strung up from a telephone pole by Simms and the Megaton militia”, replied Jeff. “and left for the crows to eat.”
“Exactly”, replied the boss. “You’re new to the Trade, so you need to get this and get it quick. Everybody out here hates you. The meat, the people you buy meat from, the people you sell it to, the Regulators, the [censored] Brotherhood….they all hate your guts and would love to watch you die screaming. You cannot afford to [censored] up, not even a little. Because when you do, someone is going to notice, and then you’re [censored] as they will show you no mercy. The only, and I mean only people you can rely on is the Crew. And if we get the impression that we cannot rely on you…”
“SSSSS--orry, boss”, Jeff stammered. “We’ll find a way down right away. Once we f-“
“You’re early”, said Charon flatly as he stepped out to where he could be seen. “You smoothskins got my money?”
All three of the slavers started at Charon’s sudden appearance. The woman stood up, propelled as much by surprise as the leader’s hand on her bottom pushing her up and away. The leader stood up, picking up his Chinese Assault rifle by the barrel. The third slaver, Jeff, turned to face him and backed away. Charon was beginning to get a very bad feeling about the way that this was going.
“Hello, Charon”, the leader said with insincere friendliness. “You got our merchandise?”
“Yes”, Charon replied coldy. “Caps first.”
“Jeff”, said the leader, “Go tell Leroy that Charon is here and wants his caps.”
“Right away, Boss”, Jeff said, as he scurried past Charon and deeper into the offices.
After what seemed like a eternity of silence, the leader spoke again.
“Is the meat near here”, he asked. “What condition is it in?”
“You pay me”, Charon replied, “and you’ll find out.”
The trio stood quietly, the two slavers starting at Charon, Charon staring back. The boss and his companion were getting increasingly nervous. The ghoul’s filmed over corpse eyes, and tightly drawn skin over his rotting face gave no clue to Charon’s thoughts. He stood perfectly still, not even breathing, the only sign of life was him toying with the sling of his shotgun. The tension became unbearable as they waited for what happened next.
After a moment, footsteps running towards them could be heard. The leader slowly grinned, sure he was in control now.
“There has been a change in plans”, the leader said. “We’re not going to move her on to the Pitt like you and Leroy agreed to…Jimmy wants to have a ‘chat’ with her.”
“I don’t care”, replied Charon flatly. “Once you pay me, she isn’t my problem anymore.”
“That’s just it”, said the leader as he moved to ready his rifle, his hatchet-faced companion following his lead, “We aren’t planning to pay.”
His suspicions confirmed, Charon pulled on the bottom of his shotgun sling, flipping the weapon out to the ready with blinding speed, then firing before either of his targets could raise their weapon to cover him. The woman screamed, involuntarily triggering her Mesmetron harmlessly at the ceiling before she dropped it as she took a blast of buckshot in her stomach. The recoil flipped the barrel up and left towards the leader, who promptly took the second shot in the chest. He dropped his rifle, and fell onto his back, dead where he stood.
Charon dodged right, out of the door frame and against the wall, covering the open doorway with the smoking barrel of the shotgun. A third slaver burst into the room, he had barely enough time to react to the sight of his boss and female companion on the floor in a rapidly spreading pool of their own blood before Charon took his head off with a blast at point-blank range. As the headless corpse flopped around on the ground, Charon maintained his position and listened. He could hear more feet running up, by the sound of it, two more.
Charon considered his options. The slavers were clearly not going to pay him. He was confident he could kill the two remaining slavers and get away….if he left Shelby and Joe behind. Jeff had been told to get Leroy…who Charon knew was #3 in Jimmy’s Crew. As Leroy had been given a independent command, based out of the Lincoln Memorial, he was either more trusted than Al, or too powerful to unseat after Jimmy staged his coup against Eulogy. In either case, if Leroy was here, he’d be the one sitting on his ass pawing at his female underlings while the so called ‘boss’ was looking for him. He had to assume that once Jeff had warned the others he left for the Memorial to summon help. It’s what he would have done if he were him.
That gives me ten minutes before I’m up to my ears in these morons.
He then thought on the orders Moriarty had given him two days ago.
"Get on down to Grayditch and tell Amelia she's in charge now”, said Moriarty angrily. “I want my rent and my moonshine in the next three days. Then I want you to get Calypso's apprentice, Shelby and you track that bastard Rennie down and send him to the [censored] Pitt. He knows too much about our opperations, I can't have him running around anymore."
"Understood”, replied Charon. “That all?"
"No. Once Rennie is securely on the cart, you knock Shelby out and load her up too”. Moriarty’s face contorted with hatred and rage as he continued. “Calypso thinks it's ok to [censored] steal from me. I'll take the one thing I know she cares about. Now get going."
He had been told to send them to the Pitt, selling them had been a enhancement Charon had thought of himself, as it didn’t conflict with his orders. He had learned enough from Moriarty to know Calypso and Jimmy weren’t exactly friendly so this wasn’t a rescue mission….most likely Shelby would be tortured for what she knew about Calypso’s doings then used as leverage against her. The Lone Wanderer…who would likely be very upset if he knew what Charon had been up to since he left…had told him about Ashur’s policy of promoting slaves to the ranks of his soldiers. If he sent Shelby there she would almost certainly survive Ashur’s little ritual combats and join his Crew. Which means Calypso would eventually hear of this and that would cause trouble for both Moriarty and him.
Better she meets her fate at Jimmy’s hands, I’m thinking.
The conditioning was still resisting the idea. You were told to send her to the Pitt…you must! That slaver said he was sending her to Jimmy, not the Pitt!
Oh really? How do I know that? They lied about paying me…..what reason do I have to believe any of the rest of it? Ashur will pay a lot of caps for them…Shelby is a formidable fighter and has technical skills to boot. Even that gutless wonder Joe has technical skills. Jimmy’s a businessman, he’s not going to waste that many caps…who else would he sell them to?
Finally, he felt the tendrils of his conditioning unwind, and Charon made a decision. He would shoot his way out, and leave Joe and Shelby for the slavers to find. Mission accomplished.
His decision made, Charon began to focus on getting out of his predicament. Charon squatted next to the doorway and pulled out a ancient mascara compact, it’s contents long since cleaned out. Charon flipped it open, then slowly moved the end with the mirror out into the doorway, and examined the surrounding area. He saw nothing….for that matter, he didn’t hear anything either.
Too quiet….something’s wrong.
Charon put away the compact and stealthily moved out into the hallway, then ducked into a office he knew led into the maze of crumbling office cubicles on this floor. He then began to work his way around to the door leading outside. As he passed though yet another cluster of cubicles, he saw one of the slavers lying prone behind as desk, apparently covering the approach from the reception area where he had been. As his friend was nowhere to been seen, and he seemed to be unaware of Charon’s presence, the ghoul decided to eliminate him with his combat knife.
Once sure he had not been spotted, Charon slung his shotgun and crept up quietly behind the slaver. Once within reach, he reached out and grabbed his target, covering his mouth and was just preparing to slit his throat when he noticed the slaver wasn't resisting, the rifle dropping from his fingers the moment he was pulled back. It was then that Charon noticed the slaver’s hat was soaked in blood. He pulled it off, and found a exit wound large enough to hold a Nuka-Cola bottle in the back of his head.
It was only then that he saw the crumbling “Buy War Bonds!” poster across the room distort as something in front of it moved.
A Stealth boy….gotta be. I’ve been made bigtime.
“[censored]”, said Charon bitterly.
A hail of 5.56 slugs tore into Charon’s chest, arms and legs as the cloaked figure fired short bursts into him. But instead of the roar of rifle fire, there was merely the “snick,snick” of the bolt rapidly cycling, and the tinkle of expended shell casings bouncing off the rusting desk and rubble to the right of the cloaked figure. Wincing in pain severe enough that even his decayed nervous system had to take notice of it, Charon fell over, jerking involuntarily as bullet after bullet thudded into him. After one last burst, the firing stopped. Lying on the floor, his semi congealed blood oozing out of multiple bullet wounds, unable to move due to the shattered bones in his arms and legs, Charon quietly awaited his fate. He heard a snap then what looked like a R-91 magazine materialized from the cloaked figure and fell to the ground. Shortly after that, he heard another magazine slammed home and the bolt dropped. Then the field moved a bit and the empty magazine disappeared into the cloak. The figure then stood up and walked over, kneeling beside him. The knife was picked up, then tossed across the room. Then the shotgun was roughly removed. Then the figure chuckled.
“Hello, Charon”, the voice, maddeningly familiar to him said. “Fancy meeting you like this.”
“[censored] you”, Charon spat, “You win. Get it over with.”
The figure laughed, then moved a bit and the stealth field dropped. Before him was a man pushing forty, wearing what looked to be a pre-war industrial rad suit, reinforced with ceramic plates from combat armor. In his hands was a heavily modified R-91 assault rifle, it’s barrel shortened and fitted with a suppressor, the wood buttstock replaced with a collapsible stock, and a scope fitted. Slung around his back was his own trusty shotgun.
“I heard you’ve got some merchandise for Lord Ashur”, the man said to him, he then winked. “I’ve come to collect it.”
The dots finally connected. Memories of the radio message the Wanderer just had to check out…..that shifty [censored] Wehrner, the outfits the men who came after him had been wearing, the unexpected challenge the Raiders had offered, the odd accents….it all made sense now.
“Well, [censored] me”, Charon said. “If it isn’t Monroe.”
“Yeah, that’s me”, Monroe replied. “But you’re not my type….sorry. I’m not too proud to bed a ghoul, but I draw the line when it comes to boys.”
“Ha, ha, ha”, said Charon sarcastically. “Save the jokes for Willow. What do you want?”
“Well”, said Monroe, “Leroy told me he had some prime meat to pick up. I get here and they say Jimmy’s decided to keep it. That made me curious…so I followed his crew here and it led me to you. I’m thinking your negotiation didn’t go so well. I’m thinking doing business with me might be in your best interests.”
Monroe then took out a water bottle. Charon could see it was marked “Aqua Cura”…the crap that Griffon sold to other ghouls starved for some hope that there was some sort of cure for their condition. Except for Willow…who bathed in it to arrest the decay of her body so she could entertain her small circle of smoothskin ‘friends’. Monroe opened the bottle and poured it on Charon’s leg. He could feel the warm glow of the radiation in the contaminated water, he could swear he felt the bullet wounds it touched heal a bit.
“The deal is this”, Monroe said. “You tell me what I want to know…and I’ll take your problem children off your hands and let you live. I’m guessing that if I drop you in the reflecting pool outside, as hot as it is, you’ll heal right up in a few days.”
“And what if I say no?”, asked Charon.
“Why, I take you to visit Calypso and you can satisfy her curiosity.”, Monroe said smoothly. Charon involuntarily gulped at the thought of that. He had heard enough about her that he did not want to be her guinea pig.
“Alright”, said Charon, “I’ll talk! They’re down in the second sublevel, tied up.”
“That was one of my questions”, Monroe said. “But I’ve got some more. Let’s start at the beginning…..why are you, of all people, trying to sell meat to the Pitt?”
The National Mall – a few minutes later.
Monroe walked out, Charon thrown over his shoulder. He walked past the scattered radroach corpses towards the vast reflecting pool between the Washington and Lincoln Monuments. Stepping over the corpse of a slaver, his face shattered by a rifle bullet, he looked around. Seeing the coast was clear, he dropped Charon on the ground, waved in the direction of the NW Mall Metro entrance, then began looking around for a weight.
“You son of a [censored]!”, growled Charon. “That hurt!”
“Cry me a river”, Monroe said quietly without looking away from his task. He noticed that Lexy had broken cover and was on her way. “Be quiet and play along when she gets here. And when you heal up, stay out of sight until I can get your contract back from Colin. Calypso is going to require some stroking to overlook this.”
Monroe found a cinder-block, and some rope from a super mutant’s discarded gore bag. He then tied the cinder-block around Charon’s chest. He then looked for something to probe the pool with, finding a long piece of rebar. After some probing, he found a deep spot just as Lexy came up.
“What are you doing, papi?” she asked. She then looked at Charon. “Ugh…why are you messing with that zombie?”
“[censored]!”, exclaimed Charon, “If I could move I’d show you a zo….”
“Sorry dude”, said Monroe as he prodded him with his foot. “I told you a [censored] as a Last Request was not an option.” He then grabbed Charon by one arm and leg, then looked over at Lexy. “Grab his other arm and leg, mami.”
Not hiding her disgust, Lexy picked up her side of Charon, and they began to swing him back and forth. Charon glared furiously at them.
“I’ll get you for this, Monroe!”, Charon hissed. “You’d better hope Colin doesn’t find me!”
“He won’t”, replied Monroe as they swung him to get some momentum.
“One…two….three, let go!”. Monroe and Lexy let go of Charon, who sailed over the rail of the pool and into the deep spot he had found, knocking the rebar marker over. Charon disappeared with a splash.
“Out of sight, out of mind”, Monroe said. He then flipped over the corpse of the slaver onto it’s back, then unslung Charon’s shotgun and fired one round into it’s head, blasting it into a pulp. He then tossed the weapon into the pool, landing in the same spot where Charon himself had landed. “That was a nice shot, by the way, mami. How far do you think it is to the Metro from here?”
“Four hundred yards”, Lexy replied smugly, “Give or take a few.”
“Shelby and Joe are in the basemant”, Monroe said. “Let’s pick them up and get out of here before more slavers show up."
Museum Authority basemant – a few minutes later.
Monroe, followed by Lexy, crept by the rows of barrels, all stenciled with the symbol of the Brotherhood and marked “Aqua Pura”, and the bathtubs Griffon’s men used to mix it with contaminated ground water. Through the holes in the far wall, they could see the glow of a camp fire. Making their way forward, they found a small campfire. Nearby was Joe, tied up and out cold. Next to the fire was a blanket, a shock of black hair visible under one end. Monroe stuck his rifle barrel under the blanket and flipped it aside. Under the blanket was a female mannequin wearing a black wig.
“Shelby”, said Monroe aloud, deciding to risk speaking. “Are you here?”
Next to him, the rubble shifted and Shelby sat up, covered in concrete dust. In one hand was a piece of mirror with one end wrapped in rags for a handle.
“Monroe”, she said with a sigh. “You have no [censored] idea how glad I am to see you.”
