User blog:DB Baxter/A Gathering Force - The Pyro (3/9)

April 13th, 2277

Corpus Christi, Texas, USA

12:37 P.M.

            The overhead sun beat down fiercely upon the head of Richard Barton as he traversed the Texan landscape. Of all the assignments he had been assigned over the years, he hated the ones that forced him to head down to the former Texas territory. The heat down here being awful, coupled with the lack of water and giant desert creatures being everywhere, made this place almost unbearable. Not to mention that this town was a short distance away from Houston, which took many hit during the Great War and was thus the reason for no moist ground. And he was a very short distance from the radiation fields.

            Helen knew that Richard hated going into the southern part of the country, and he hated getting near areas of Radiation. That’s why he always got those jobs. She had a cruel sense of humor, but he dared not complain. This job paid too well and gave him a lot of power in Salvator Industries. He wouldn’t dare do anything that could jeopardize that.

            After a while of traveling, Richard looked down to check his pip-boy. According to the map, he should be coming up on Brandon’s location soon, but the actual terrain didn’t reflect that. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere, on a hill that gave him a good view of the deserted Corpus Christi city. There was no one out. In fact, there wasn’t even any life out here. There was only dirt. Dried, cracked dirt.

            The thought of this being another joke of the CEO’s infuriated the man. He bet that Brandon Aviur wasn’t even out here in Texas. He was probably back at headquarters right now, enjoying a cold martini poolside with Castile herself, laughing about the stooge they just sent to the deadest spot in this country to wander aimlessly around and wait for the precise moment to tell him it was a joke…

            As he stomped up the hill, his pip-boy began to beep to let him know that he was drawing closer towards the target. He’d believe that when he saw it.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            At the top of the hill, the ground was flatter. The dirt was still dry and hardened, having not seen a glorious rain in some time, but there would be no more climbing. Richard spotted something at the center, something that resembled a chair and an umbrella. The faint sound of music could be heard from where he stood, but he wasn’t sure what the song was.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “This better be him,” Richard muttered, before making his way over. He drew closer and began to make out the items in the distance. Someone was lounging in a lawn chair, under the shade of a Captain Cosmos umbrella. It had the titular character printed on it, riding a rocket which left a trail of smoke that stretched around in a circle. The Hubris Comics trademark was printed in large letters just below the rocket.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Next to the lawn chair was a rusted barrel with a radio on top. The device was playing Bob Crosby’s “Happy Times” at a low volume. Next to it was a microphone. In the chair was a man dressed in what looked like leather armor, and was thumbing through some book.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Richard wiped a wave of sweat from his forehead and got closer. “Are you Brandon Aviur?” He asked.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            There was no response from the man. Just Bob Crosby getting ready for the next verse of the song.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Hey! Are you Mr. Aviur?” Richard spat in frustration. He was louder this time.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            This time, the man in the chair heard him. He sat up slowly and gently pressed a button on the radio in the middle to turn it off. A bookmark was placed in the middle of the pages, and the book was shut and placed on the dirt. A gas mask covered his face

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Yes?” Brandon answered, in a gravelly and hoarse voice that made Richard shudder. His voice probably sounded like that due to the mask.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “I’m Richard Barton…” He said, knocking some dust off of his trousers. “I am a representative from Salvator Industries.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Good for you,” Brandon shrugged, before picking his book back up and continuing to read.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Richard cocked his head at the man. “You have received our messages in the past, right?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Yes,” Brandon said as he turned the page. Richard moved closer to see what the man was reading. Embedded into the withered red cover were letters in a golden font that spelt the title “Fahrenheit 451”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “That’s a good book there,” Richard said. He had never read it, however. Brandon only responded with another flip of the page.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            A few awkward moments passed of silence that ate away at Richard before he said something more. “My employers are very concerned due to your lack of a response.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Again, he turned the page.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Mr. Aviur, ignoring me in favor of your book is not going to make me go away any sooner,” Richard muttered, visibly irritated as he wiped away another wave of sweat from his forehead.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            The page turned.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “You’re not even reading that fast!” Richard pointed out.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Brandon snorted. At least, it sounded like he snorted. That could have been a grunt or a sigh that the mask had obscured.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “It is funny how quick you noticed that I wasn’t interested in your nonsense,” Brandon noted as he tucked a bookmark into the pages. The bookmark was another piece of merchandise from Hubris Comics. This one had the Silver Shroud on it with a speech bubble that read ‘Silver Shroud reads, and so should you!’

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">             “I have not ignored your constant messages on accident,” Brandon spoke. “I hoped your organization would one day realize that I wasn’t interested and would stop sending letters, but… here you are.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Richard scratched his scalp awkwardly. “We’re simply trying to help you, sir,” He replied. “The wastelands are a tough place, yeah? We at Salvator Industries could provide you with-“

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Enough, Dick,” Brandon rose from his chair calm. “Do not try to pass this off as a charitable shelter. It is mercenary work. You want me to join your operations so some mob boss or political figure can take out his enemies without getting his hands dirty.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Her,” Richard corrected.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Brandon took his seat once again. “I’m not interested in being your war machine.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Mr. Aviur, I implore you to be reasonable here!” Richard protested. “Salvator Industries is far more than a simple mercenary company! Ms. Castile has built

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “What is the name of your boss?” Richard asked suddenly

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Pardon?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Your boss,” He said again. “What’s her name?

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Helen Castile…” Richard replied, not sure where he was going with this.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Castile…” Brandon pondered, before lightly chuckling. Then he laughed.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “What’s so funny about that?” Richard questioned.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “You wouldn’t understand…” Brandon said. He would have continued, but at that moment, he was interrupted by the sound of shouting. To his left, he heard what sounded like a group of men yelling at each other. And there were footsteps. Loud, angry footsteps. They were coming closer.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Dick, grab that,” Brandon commanded, pointing towards something next to the radio.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “What?” Richard raised his eyebrows. The thing he was pointing to was a gas can that looked to be at least half-filled with gasoline. “Why?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Hostiles are approaching,” Brandon answered. He had overturned his lawn chair and picked up two weapons. A double-barrel shotgun in one hand, and a flamer in the other.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Hostiles?!” Richard spat, immediately dropping the canister. “Oh, no no! I’m not getting involved in that.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “You are here, so you are already involved. Now, grab that canister and move it!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Brandon took off down the hill with his weapons, while Richard stood behind to debate. He now heard the shouting drawing closer and closer, and finally decided to follow the man. He brought the Gas can.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            The two laid low on the hill as the hostiles reached the top. “Come out, you fuckin’ freak!” They heard one of the men holler. “You’re gonna fuckin’ pay for what you did to Joe!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Joe?” Richard whispered frantically.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “A raider who tried his hand at mugging,” Brandon explained. “I burned him and hung his body from a lamppost as a warning. Apparently, these men did not pick up on the warning.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Richard’s face contorted into a look of revulsion. “That’s horrible!” He spat

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “We shall debate this trivial matter later,” Brandon told him. “Get ready to throw that can.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Why?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Stop questioning things and do as I say!” Brandon hissed. “Unless you wish to die by way of being gutted by raiders…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            A gunshot sounded off from atop the hill. Most likely a warning shot. Richard cowered in fear. “Get your ass out here!” The raider hollered.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Get ready to throw that thing…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Richard reluctantly nodded and grabbed the can. The gas sloshed around in it. “I hope you know I’m not really strong. I’m not sure-“

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Now!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Based on instincts alone, Richard heaved the can up and over the hillside, directly at the raiders. The can went far enough to where it landed directly in front of the group, who glared at the can in confusion. Brandon popped up soon after, his shotgun locked and loaded, and fired two bullet at the can.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            The resulting explosion covered a wide area. The fire reached out and took hold of their clothes, setting them ablaze and sending the burning raiders running and rolling across the ground to put out the flames, but it was in vain. Skin and bones were already burning and melting in response to the intense heat. Life was fading from their bodies. And all they could do was scream.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Raiders who had managed to avoid the blast stood and looked on in horror, which gave Brandon enough time to finish them off. He rushed up the hill with his flamer and pressed down on the trigger once he was close enough. Flames came spewing out of the nozzle like a fountain of Hell, and the raiders were dispatched quickly.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Richard’s head peaked over the side to look on at the carnage. The raiders were already dead, or the last bit of life was now being taken by the fire. The awful smell of burnt flesh filled the air as smoke rose from the charred remains, and the Salvator Representative was forced to gag.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “My god…” he choked out, stumbling back onto the top of the hill. “What have you done…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “I do what I have to do,” Brandon shrugged simply.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            After seeing such horrors, Richard was no longer in the mood to negotiate with this… he wasn’t even sure what to call this man now. Everything about him spoke differently. The Comics memorabilia told the tale of a grown child. The way he talked and his book suggested a sophisticated intellectual. But the death he had just wrought with his Flamer suggested a bloodthirsty monster…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “What are you?” Richard trembled.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “A pyrotechnics expert,” Brandon replied.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “A pyromaniac…” Richard muttered.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            A few moments of silence passed between them as the bodies burned. “I want you to contact your boss.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Richard looked up at him. “Why?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “You want me to join this company, correct?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Yeah…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Then give me the Pip-Boy…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Sir, I am not in a position to simply hand over technology that belongs to-“

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Brandon aimed his Flamer in the air and fired a warning stream of fire so that Richard could feel the heat. Then he lowered it so that the nozzle was staring Richard in the face. “Are you in a position to hand it over now, Dick?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “I believe so!” Richard squealed. He quickly unlatched the thing from his wrist and tossed the item at Brandon’s feet.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Thank you,” Brandon nodded, scooping up the pip boy from the ground and beginning to twist knobs and press buttons.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “What are you doing?” Richard asked.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Don’t ask questions…” Brandon ordered.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            After a while, Brandon came to what he was looking for. The screen displayed a list of Radio Frequencies, ones that were within reaching. At the top was the one that he needed; a radio frequency right to Salvator HQ.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Okay, look, Mr. Aviur, you really need to-“

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Brandon quickly turned his gun around and quickly stuck the butt of it into Richard’s face. It either knocked him out or immediately killed him, but he went to the ground motionless as blood gushed from his nose.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “You really need to follow directions, Dick,” Brandon spat, before sitting down at his radio. He checked the frequency on the Pip-Boy, and began to adjust the radio to tune into that frequency.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “If anyone can hear this, we’re in trouble at…. Buy the Nuka-Cola brand Blender now for only… The Children of Atom are a bunch’a hillbilly…. So I met like 5 guys named Gary yeste-…. Death has come for you, Evil-Doer, an-“ The Radio spouted out random phrases from stations as he manually adjusted it. Soon enough, he had tuned the radio to where it matched the frequency for the Salvator HQ Station.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            There was bit of silence and static at first. Then, an automated message began to play. “Welcome to Salvator Industries, the number one Shipbuilding power in the United States!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            ''Shipbuilding? Is this Pre-War?''

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “We pride ourselves on our-“ The message cut off quickly, and reverted to its state of static. It picked up again soon, and the voice coming through was much different than the cheery automated message.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Mr. Aviur, I presume?” Helen spoke in her usual condescending tone. Through the speaker, he heard something click. Brandon knew it was a lighter.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “How did you know that?” Brandon asked.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “A lucky guess…” Helen said. “We detected a tune-in from Corpus Christi. I figured it was either you or Richard. Speaking of which, where is he?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Brandon looked over to the bloody but still breathing mess that was Richard. “He is napping on the job. I have the pip-boy.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Something that sounded like a chuckle came through the speakers. “I’m quite pleased we’re speaking. I had thought Richard wouldn’t be able to convince you…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “He didn’t convince me,” Brandon said.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Oh, really? Then why are we speaking right now?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Brandon smirked underneath his gas mask. “Your name.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “My name?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Dick told me it. Castile…” He said. “I very much doubt that’s your birth name. Is it?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Where is this going, Brandon?” Helen replied. “I’m very busy today, and don’t really have time to beat around the bush…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “You’ve adopted that name from the Queen of the same name, didn’t you?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            There was silence on the other end. “You know your history…” Helen complimented.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “I believed your organization to be yet another mercenary coalition bent on eliminating people for obscure reasons, but… to bear the name of such a person. Usually, the mercs I encounter have some code names or intimidating nickname and are loud and aggressive. But you seem too… formal, I suppose is the term I’m looking for. The more I think about it, the more it seems this “Salvator Industries” is too organized and secretive to be common mercenaries. And you, to have that name, makes me see this picture a bit more clearly. And so, I ask…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            He laughed. “What’s your game, Castile?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Once again, silence on the other end. “You’re correct in that aspect, Mr. Aviur. This company is far bigger than any gunner organization or pathetic raider group. I cannot share the specifics of what I have planned. Not yet, at least. All that I can share with you is this; Salvator works for the betterment of all commonwealths across the United States. We’re not mercenary dogs fighting for the highest bidder, I assure you.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Brandon sat there, with a smile behind his mask. Just from that vague sentence, he knew what Salvator was about. And it was something he could get behind. “Now, with that said…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            The radio station suddenly cut out, and the pip-boy began to flash and change what was on the screen. Brandon looked at the screen, and it had a simple question displayed on it.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Join?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            On the left was the Vault-Boy himself giving the thumbs up, with the text reading “Yes” above him. On the right was the Vault-Boy in skeletal form giving the thumbs down. The text above him read “No.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            As if the consequences of No were not already obvious…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi">            <span style="font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family: "TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi">After much debate, Brandon selected Yes. If Castile selected that name for the reason he thought she had, then this organization would be the home he was looking for all this time.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            And with that, he turned the radio station back to the original station. He returned to his book and picked off where he had left off. At least now, the sun was beginning to set, but that was alright. He had burning raiders to provide the light.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            Helen sat back smugly in her chair. With a third of the team already being brought in, it would appear that all was going according to plan with no inconveniences, save for the recent news brought to her attention.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “I don’t like the sound of this guy, commander,” Rick said, who had been standing by as she spoke to this Aviur fellow. “Sounds like a creep. One of them serial killers I read about before the bombs dropped.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Mr. Deere, I would not bring a man onto this team if I was not absolutely sure they were sane,” Helen informed him. “Besides, we will know if Brandon does anything to harm the team or innocents, and he will be dealt with accordingly.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “If you say so,” Rick shrugged. “Anyways, you called me in here?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Ah, yes,” Helen rose from her seat and grabbed a file off the table. “One of my agents reported the location of another individual we hope to recruit,”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            She put out her cigarette and placed the file down in front of them. Pictures of what appeared to be a gang outside of some sort of plant.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “His name is James Gatling,” She explained. “He was the first one we contacted, but he went dark on us for a while…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “And he ran off and joined a Raider gang?” Rick asked, basing his question on the picture.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “No, he was caught.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Caught?” Rick said in disbelief. “This is a team of highly trained killers like me, and this guy… get’s caught by Raiders?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “These raiders have numbers, Mr. Deere,” Castile reminded him. “Numbers that can easily overrun one man toting a shotgun…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “I guess…” Rick shrugged. “So, you want me to go get him out of trouble, huh?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Not just you, Mr. Deere,” Helen shook his head. It was then that the door behind them opened and in came a fellow dressed in red and yellow samurai armor, and a massive sword at his hip.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Jesus Mary and Joseph, The Red Chinese are back!" Rick laughed at the samurai.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Mr. Deere, this is Saishu Ketseuki,” Castile introduced. “He will be accompanying you on the mission.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “A pleasure to meet you, Sir,” Saishu nodded to him.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Does your Chinese Wastelands still have Communism?” Rick asked

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “I’m Japanese, actually…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “A jap!” Rick laughed. “The first wastelanders!” he howled, though Saishu didn’t find his joke all too funny.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            After Rick had stifled his laughter, he said. “Alright, me and Sushi here will get James back, no problemo.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Good. Now, one of our Falcons will airlift you both to the desired area, along with a few Synth Troopers.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Synth Troopers?” Saishu asked.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Yes. You will be provided with a team of Synths to complete this mission.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “I’m gettin’ my own Squadron!” Rick cheered.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “It’s both of yours, Mr. Deere,” Helen corrected him. “This is a Co-Leader mission.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “Sure, I'll share with Jappy,” He smirked. “Anyways, were are we heading?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">            “The Corvega Auto Plant. In Boston,” She explained. “You have 2 hours before the Falcon takes off. Grab whatever you need from the armory. Good luck, Gentlemen.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif;mso-bidi-font-family:"TimesNewRoman";mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">(Next Part: The Mutant.)