User blog:DB Baxter/A Gathering Force - The Mutant (4/9)

April 16th, 2280

Charlotte, North Carolina, USA

1:27 P.M.



''In Memory of Donny “Caretaker” Goodwin. 2205-2278 ''

This is what the tombstone just a few yards outside of the massive fortress. The man reading it, one Terry Culver, was quite surprised to see this here. Helen Castile had told him that the fortress in front of him was home to a band of Gunners, and they didn’t seem like the kind who would honor their dead.

“Perhaps this was placed here by the previous owners,” Terry said, adjusting his glasses. On either side of the Salvator Representative were drones, armed with assault rifles. Terry had requested them, knowing that he would stand no chance against an army of gunners. “Let’s go,” Terry motioned to his drones. “Let’s go find this Stonewall fellow.” <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif">There had been tales of Stonewall throughout the North Carolina wastelands. Many said that he was some war machine from the previous era, who had found himself in a vat of FEV and was wreaking havoc like he did before the bombs dropped. Some thought he was some vengeful spirit who only comes out at night to feed on the blood of traders.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif">In truth, he was just the fort’s chef.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif">Yeah, you read that right. The Super Mutant cooks the food around here. Not because all the other mercs are such terrible cooks that Stonewall was the best by default. He was surprisingly just a good cook.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif">Today, he sat next to his makeshift grill, which was a steel grate from the side of a shopping cart placed over a small charcoal fire. He sat in what used to be the fort kitchen, but had eroded and rusted to an unrecognizable state, and outside of that was the cafeteria, where a few Gunners were waiting for lunch.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif"> “What are you cookin’, Stone?” One of the gunners asked, who was named Bart, appearing in the doorway. He didn’t step through, however.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif">“Yao Guai,” Stonewall said. He grabbed his plastic spatula, which looked like a kid’s toy in his hands (Mainly because it was.), and flipped the meat.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif">“Cool…” Bart nodded. He stood there for a while, as if he wanted something. “You mind if I, uh… come in?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif">“No.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Bart stepped through. “You alright?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“I will be fine,” He said. Bart could hear the bitterness in his voice.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Look, man, none of us want you to go…” He said.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“And the only man who does, has the only say,” Stonewall said. “Is funny.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Yeah, it’s a bitch…” Bart sat next to him. “Me and a couple guys have been, and if you’re interested, we’ve got enough men to march up to Al’s door and-“

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“No,” Stonewall said. “No violence.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Bart sighed. He knew that would be the answer, but he really hoped that it hadn’t been the answer. “You sure?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“I do not like Al. But I respect Caretaker’s wisdom more,” Stonewall explained. “No uprisings. No infighting. Hurts group…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Bart nodded. “If that’s what you want,” He rose up and started going for the door. “Place won’t be the same without you, Stone.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“It will…” The Super Mutant said. “You will just have to find new cook.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Bart chuckled and said. “Stay alive out there,” and left.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">A few minutes passed and he heard a set of footsteps coming down into the cafeteria. Two of them were metallic, clanging loudly against the concrete floor. Stonewall soon heard Al’s voice cry out. “Alright, everybody outta here! We got some business to do, out! Out!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Stonewall grimaced. He hated the sound of Al’s voice. It was like screeching dog, but not a respectable and powerful dog. In fact, not a dog. A mole rat. A nasty, diseased, screeching mole rat. He rose up to his feet and grabbed one of the slabs of Guai Steak from the grill. Normally, that would burn, but after so many wasteland adventures and grilling mishaps, it didn’t hurt much anymore.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">He lumbered out of the kitchen, where he saw Al standing next to a group of people he didn’t recognize. Two of them were metallic and holding guns. The other was in a suit.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Well, Mr. Culver, here he is!” Al motioned to the mutant. “Now, let’s talk payment, I want-“

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">As Al wandered off into high demands, Terry cautiously approached the Super Mutant. He had never seen one of these things up close and personal, as most of them were braindead idiots that shot on sight, but now that he was…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“If you would allow me to say, you are… remarkable,” He said.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“I don’t like you,” Stonewall replied.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Terry frowned. This was not unexpected, of course, Helen had warned him the mutant would be afraid to leave home. “Well… perhaps we should, try to get on the same page then?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Stonewall simply took a bite out of his Yao Guai slab.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Right…” Terry sighed. “Al, could you leave me with Mr. Wall here for just a few moments?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Though he seemed reluctant, Al shook his head yes. “Don’t get any ideas. If you try to leave without payin’ I’m puttin’ a bullet in your head, got it?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“You have my word,” Terry said, and Al walked back upstairs.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“I don’t like him, either,” Stonewall said after Al had exited.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Then on that, we agree,” Terry sat down at one of the tables. “Pull up a seat.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“I will stand.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Oh, come now, I insist…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“I insist more,” Stonewall folded his arms. “What do you want with me?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Not I, Mr. Wall. I have been sent here by Ms. Castile of Salvator Industries.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Stonewall took another bite from his Yao Guai. The steam flowed out of his mouth like an open valve.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Doesn’t that hurt?” Terry asked.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“No,” Stonewall shook his head. “What does Sal-Vater want?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Muscle, Mr. Wall. A big body that can move minigun and mini-nuke, and run through an entire legion of raiders without breaking a sweat,” Terry said. “And that, she has decided, will be you.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Stonewall finished his meal and only shook his head at the proposition. “I am a cook.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“I’m well aware of your little expeditions in the kitchen, but-“

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“I am not like my brothers,” Stonewall said. “I cook. I don’t fight. I don’t kill. I cook.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Oh, really?” Terry said, reaching into the pockets on the inside of his suit and flinging its contents across the table. They were pictures, all depicting a similar figure in black and white in battle.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Then, who is in these photos?” Terry motioned to all of them. In one, there was a super mutant dressed similarly to Stonewall, firing off a minigun at what looked like raiders. Another showed raiders climbing all over him as he attempted to swat them away with a sledgehammer. Others showed him swinging a shopping kart around and turning raiders into paste with it. “I mean, I know a lot of mutants look alike, but…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“I don’t like it.” Stonewall interrupted the man as he gazed at the photos. “This… fighting, and murdering… I don’t like it.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“But you’re good at it,” Terry pointed out, getting a little frustrated. “We’ve identified you as an exemplary talent in the field and want you to put those talents to good use, don’t you get that?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“I do…” Stonewall said. “But I not fight unless I must. I will not be your gun.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Well, you don’t really have a choice in the matter. We have ownership, and these guns here pointed at your head.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">The drones stepped up to the side of Terry. “I’m starting to get a little irritated, Mr. Wall. Please, let’s try to start seeing things my way instead of causing a bother, hm?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Stonewall looked at the two metal men, and then their guns. “You think a few bottlecaps give you ownership?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Well, I think you need to start seeing things my way. After all, Mr. Wall…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Stonewall suddenly extended his two massive paws forward and grabbed the guns out of the hands of the drones and flung them across the room. Terry gasped at the sudden move and scrambled out from the seat.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">The drones reacted quickly, but they were no match for the strength of Stonewall without their weapons. The super mutant grabbed one of them and threw him through the table, with the force shattering the robot in two. The second one leapt onto his back, but Stonewall ripped him off and threw it to the ground. He stomped and stomped and stomped away at its metallic head until it was but a pile of circuits.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Then, he slowly reared his head towards Terry.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Now, now, Mr. Wall,” Terry stuttered, gesturing his hands reassuringly. “There’s… there’s no need for-“

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Stonewall picked up one of the guns and fired it off into the air to shut him up. It worked quite well.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“It, is Stonewall! Not Mister Wall. Stone. Wall!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Terry cowered in fear as he felt the barrel of the gun press up against his skull. “You have no power now.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Stonewall held it there for a few more moments, contemplating what would happen if he pulled the trigger. He’d rid the world of one less arrogant man, sure, but… it’d be murder. Easily avoidable murder. Murder only out of rage, not out of necessity…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">He took a deep breath and removed the gun from Terry’s head. “You understand me?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Yes! Yes, I understand!” Terry groveled. Forget recruiting the bastard, he just wanted to live!

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Good. Then listen to me,” He said. “I go with you. You take me to person higher than you. I talk with them.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Miste- Stone, wall, Stonewall,” He corrected himself. “Sir, I can’t simply arrange a meeting between you and Ms. Castile.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Can you talk?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Yes, but-“

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Then you can arrange meeting. It will be done,” Stonewall decided. “And if I go, I want a kitchen there. I cook food.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Terry straightened his suit out and nodded his shaking head. “Okay… okay, I’ll see what I can do…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Good,” Stonewall said. “I will collect my things.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Stonewall made for the steps, just as Al was coming back down the steps. “Whats with all the shootin’?!” He hollered. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">“Negotiations,” Stonewall answered. “I am good at this.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">Stonewall stomped up the steps, as Terry checked his pant legs. There was a trail of piss currently staining them.

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

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"Helvetica",sans-serif">(NEXT PART: The Craftsman)