G
Guest
Guest
BEYOND THE GLOW by RUNE - PART 1
Jobe half sat, half lay at an old table in the Maltese Falcon, half asleep. He didn't even try to conceal his boredom. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and groaned. Still four hours to go before the caravans left.
He slowly turned his gaze right to the glass of brownish water on the table, and from there to the very alluring bar on the other side of the room. He thought for a second about ordering a real drink, but his self-discipline quickly got this thought away.
No beer before jobs, he repeated in his mind. Even if it's just some wimpy patrol work for the Fargos. Then he turned his head to face the blank wall and tried to rest. The last days of caravan guarding had been rough, and he slept like a rock before five minutes had passed.
He was awaken by a deep male voice next to him.
"Hey, you!"
Jobe turned his head. The person who had spoken was clad in heavy green combat armor, and Jobe immediately identified him as a Hub policeman.
"Yeah, officer?"
"Come with us. Now."
Us? The cop motioned for the door. Jobe started to get up, slightly disoriented. He looked around the bar and saw to his surprise that more green-clad officers, armed with shotguns and rifles of various kind, stood with their guns trained on the same spot - him.
"What the glow is this?" he said standing up, his voice expressing curiosity coupled with irritation, and maybe a tiny bit of fear. His hand involuntarily crept towards his gunholster.
Another detail made him even more alarmed. When he first put his head on the table, the bar was full of people and activity. Now, not a sound could be heard from the dim locale, save for the excited breath of these cops. Not even the ever-present female bartender was guarding the bar. Plus, it seemed a bit too dim. He wondered if it was night outside.
He looked up at the wall clock.
I've slept for ten goddamn hours, he thought.
What the hell do they want? he thought as the "cops" moved towards the town gate, two of them keeping Jobe guarded. He didn't have a clue what this was all about, but he had figured out they weren't really policemen by now. As they advanced, taking care to stay out of the streetlights, one of the men put his hand over Jobe's mouth and pushed his gun barrel into Jobe's back. Jobe figured it was best not to raise his voice, at least not until they were out of town.
Two other green-clads were guarding the town gate, watching out into the wastelands. Jobe guessed that these ones were real Hub guards. As the party snuck closer to the gate one of the fake policemen behind Jobe pulled up a pistol. Jobe couldn't see this, but his trained caravaner ears picked up the sound of a gun sliding out of the holster.
He was pulled sideways into a pitch black alley, only around twenty yards from their apparent target. The push on his back was released a little. His eyes were near fully accustomed to the darkness now. The man who had pulled the gun, he could clearly see his silhouette now, did something with the barrel of his pistol. It was like he extended the barrel with something.
The pistol man peeked out of the corner of the alley, his pistol pointing upwards. Then he lowered it.
What the fuck is he thinking? The gunshots will wake up the whole town! Jobe thought.
But only a small plop could be heard. And another one. Then, the sound of bodies dropping to the ground. The pistol man turned and grinned to his buddies.
These guys weren't kidding.
He kept on walking, knowing that resistance would be futile. The Hub was only a small, lit spot in the horizon behind them now.
He had used the last hour of walking to speculate on who these people could be. His first guess was some bandits who just wanted to rob him. But that thought fell on its own absurdity. Why the hell would they want to rob him, nothing but a poor caravan guard who could barely keep himself with jobs? And if they were raiders, they would simply have killed him and taken his money.
Next in the line was... were there really ANY feasible explanations? Well, they could be sent out by someone who wanted him dead. He really had pissed off that Brotherhood of Steel Paladin a week or so ago. Those puppy-killing Brotherhood loonies surely wouldn't let him go without revenge. They probably wore standard combat armor because their huge armor suit thingies would stand out like mechanical thumbs in the Hub.
But where were they taking him? So far as he knew the Brotherhood was to the west of the hub. But now, his built-in compass said to him that they were going south, towards the boneyard. Or maybe southwest? He wasn't sure. He was getting old too, then - when his most essential tool couldn't give him a straightforward direction.
Perhaps it was because he had never ventured this far this way before? According to his mind map, there was nothing down southwest but radiation and more radiation. Where the glow were they going?
Jobe half sat, half lay at an old table in the Maltese Falcon, half asleep. He didn't even try to conceal his boredom. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and groaned. Still four hours to go before the caravans left.
He slowly turned his gaze right to the glass of brownish water on the table, and from there to the very alluring bar on the other side of the room. He thought for a second about ordering a real drink, but his self-discipline quickly got this thought away.
No beer before jobs, he repeated in his mind. Even if it's just some wimpy patrol work for the Fargos. Then he turned his head to face the blank wall and tried to rest. The last days of caravan guarding had been rough, and he slept like a rock before five minutes had passed.
He was awaken by a deep male voice next to him.
"Hey, you!"
Jobe turned his head. The person who had spoken was clad in heavy green combat armor, and Jobe immediately identified him as a Hub policeman.
"Yeah, officer?"
"Come with us. Now."
Us? The cop motioned for the door. Jobe started to get up, slightly disoriented. He looked around the bar and saw to his surprise that more green-clad officers, armed with shotguns and rifles of various kind, stood with their guns trained on the same spot - him.
"What the glow is this?" he said standing up, his voice expressing curiosity coupled with irritation, and maybe a tiny bit of fear. His hand involuntarily crept towards his gunholster.
Another detail made him even more alarmed. When he first put his head on the table, the bar was full of people and activity. Now, not a sound could be heard from the dim locale, save for the excited breath of these cops. Not even the ever-present female bartender was guarding the bar. Plus, it seemed a bit too dim. He wondered if it was night outside.
He looked up at the wall clock.
I've slept for ten goddamn hours, he thought.
What the hell do they want? he thought as the "cops" moved towards the town gate, two of them keeping Jobe guarded. He didn't have a clue what this was all about, but he had figured out they weren't really policemen by now. As they advanced, taking care to stay out of the streetlights, one of the men put his hand over Jobe's mouth and pushed his gun barrel into Jobe's back. Jobe figured it was best not to raise his voice, at least not until they were out of town.
Two other green-clads were guarding the town gate, watching out into the wastelands. Jobe guessed that these ones were real Hub guards. As the party snuck closer to the gate one of the fake policemen behind Jobe pulled up a pistol. Jobe couldn't see this, but his trained caravaner ears picked up the sound of a gun sliding out of the holster.
He was pulled sideways into a pitch black alley, only around twenty yards from their apparent target. The push on his back was released a little. His eyes were near fully accustomed to the darkness now. The man who had pulled the gun, he could clearly see his silhouette now, did something with the barrel of his pistol. It was like he extended the barrel with something.
The pistol man peeked out of the corner of the alley, his pistol pointing upwards. Then he lowered it.
What the fuck is he thinking? The gunshots will wake up the whole town! Jobe thought.
But only a small plop could be heard. And another one. Then, the sound of bodies dropping to the ground. The pistol man turned and grinned to his buddies.
These guys weren't kidding.
He kept on walking, knowing that resistance would be futile. The Hub was only a small, lit spot in the horizon behind them now.
He had used the last hour of walking to speculate on who these people could be. His first guess was some bandits who just wanted to rob him. But that thought fell on its own absurdity. Why the hell would they want to rob him, nothing but a poor caravan guard who could barely keep himself with jobs? And if they were raiders, they would simply have killed him and taken his money.
Next in the line was... were there really ANY feasible explanations? Well, they could be sent out by someone who wanted him dead. He really had pissed off that Brotherhood of Steel Paladin a week or so ago. Those puppy-killing Brotherhood loonies surely wouldn't let him go without revenge. They probably wore standard combat armor because their huge armor suit thingies would stand out like mechanical thumbs in the Hub.
But where were they taking him? So far as he knew the Brotherhood was to the west of the hub. But now, his built-in compass said to him that they were going south, towards the boneyard. Or maybe southwest? He wasn't sure. He was getting old too, then - when his most essential tool couldn't give him a straightforward direction.
Perhaps it was because he had never ventured this far this way before? According to his mind map, there was nothing down southwest but radiation and more radiation. Where the glow were they going?
