ICC- Lone Wanders Chapter 2

OOC- Okay, sorry about not posting for about two days. I vaguely considered writing something but frankly, I’m afraid I’d fuck up the battle scene. But Rogue Hex seems to have it in control.

IC-

The crowd had gathered, a hodgepodge of different factions mustered together. Caleb was sitting at the foot of the stairs, away from the others. He watched them with fascinated eyes, like an anthropologist studying a foreign people from far away. The Blade wasn’t a “people-person”. He felt lost in large crowds.

Two men, brothers by their looks, were busily repairing the doorframe with loosened boards and wood from furniture. The cart had been pulled aside, reserved from being door fodder. They might have to make use of it eventually, especially in a hasty retreat. Caleb faintly considered lending an arm but two other men, Border Patrol guards, were already pitching in.

The Blade had left the room at the end of the hallway where Grim was currently being operated open, leaving behind Gabriel, Rogue, and Ibis. The sight of blood did not make Caleb squeamish. He left because he could not stand the helplessness, of just standing there while Grim fought for his life. So he had left, at least giving the bounty hunter some dignity.

Conversation mingled about and Caleb felt out of place. The deathclaws were mysteriously absent and that left a trace feeling of foreboding in the atmosphere. Either the pack had gone off to lick their wounds are rally more support. Either way, the deathclaws would be coming back. But the amassed hardly minded. They socialized, forgetting the horrors of the battlefield for just a moment. Caleb allowed them the luxury since they had already gone through enough. The Blade would do enough worrying for the lot of them.

Shrugging, Caleb walked over to the brahmin who had been unhitched from the cart and left wandering in the large hallway. No one was missing any tantalizing conversation from Caleb. The four men were busy patching up the doors, jovially conversing. They seemed to have overlooked the long and lanky gunslinger. Caleb did not mind. He preferred his own company than others. It was just a lifestyle he had adopted while wandering in the desert. Even among his own people, the Blades, he was aloof.

Caleb gently patted one of the two heads on the brahmin and it nuzzled his gloved hands. The door of Grim’s operating room was slightly open, just a bar slit, and Caleb could hear the preparations for surgery, namely the clatter or surgical tools. Caleb almost retched. Weakly, he walked away from the brahmin to find his own solace.

The Blade wandered over to the armory, amidst the tools of his trade. Gleaning metal stocks sparkled at him from their stands and stubby bullets gleaned from their clips. Caleb was not a violent man by nature. He was a killer but he never took any perverse pleasure or pride in it. It was just a course of life, just like breathing and shitting. There was just no way around it.

Caleb sat down upon a green ammo box. The two cops, Paul and Neil, had been pulled away to the armory to make room. The headless corpse of Neil regarded him with accusing eyes that did not exist. The two deathclaws, one that the cops had wasted and the other that Gabriel and he killed, had been stuffed into the hole in the stone floor, a rudimentary plug that would prevent any other deathclaws from making a surprise attack. Caleb shrugged off the strap of the Winchester and set the rifle across his knees. He took out an oily patch and rubbed down the steel bore, all the while ignoring the scrutiny of the two dead corpses.

The Blade stroked down the inner barrel, removing any grime and gunpowder residue left behind along the rifled grooving. He did the same with his revolvers, reloading them and cleaning them. He would not risk a misfire, especially around deathclaws and slavers.

Caleb had just finished cleaning his guns when gunfire crackled from far away, amidst the cries of deathclaw. He jumped upwards in surprise, almost dropping the rifle but not quite. The old man rushed out of the armory into the hallway, each footstep followed by more gunfire.

Gabriel was there to meet him. “What the hell’s going on?” bellowed the assassin. He had the Thompson ready.

“Looks like our slaver friends finally met up with the deathclaw,” Caleb said. The gunslinger turned towards the four other men who were still patching up the doors.

Gabriel slipped a thirty round clip into the Thompson’s breech. “It sounds like they’re getting closer to the fort. We better get ready to meet them.”

Caleb shook his head adamantly. “No. Stay with Grim. Protect the old man.”

“But-” Gabriel began protesting.

Caleb cut him off, leaving his mouth gaping. “Don’t argue with me on this one. Just trust me, okay?” The sounds of snarling deathclaws were coming closer.

Gabriel gritted his teeth before nodding. He reluctantly returned to the operating room, posting himself in front of the door with his submachine gun.

Caleb turned around to the other four men. “Get that door patched up!” he commanded. But the two brothers and the Border Patrol guards didn’t need any incentive. They were working nails into place at a rapid pace.

The gunfire was coming closer and the nape of Caleb’s neck bristled in intuition. He might need back up. “Which one of you guys knows how to handle a rifle?”

One of the Border Patrol guards set down his hammer and raised his hand. His side was covered with blood and he wasn’t looking good. “My name’s Ferris. I’m the best man at three hundred yards here.” The young Border Patrol guard limped over to the wall and picked up his rifle with a grimace.

Caleb considered. “I don’t know. You don’t look too good, son.”

Ferris shrugged, looking down at his wounded arm. “It just takes a finger to fire a rifle, right?”

“Alright, good enough. Let’s go.”

Caleb and Ferris ran up towards the stairs to the second level. The entire story was emptied out and each side of the building was open with a dozen windows. Caleb leaned his head out of one of these windows and saw a group of slavers dashing madly towards the fortress, followed by a pack of deathclaws.

Ferris joined him and exclaimed, “Damn!” at the sight. The deathclaws looked like they were gaining on the slavers. Soon, they would be overrun.

The Blade turned towards the younger man. “Can you get a clear shot at this distance?” he asked urgently.

Ferris set the stock of his rifle against the window ledge and fell to a crouching position. He stared down the 30x scope attachment and nodded. “Yeah, I can get them. Those slavers don’t stand a chance.”

Caleb took his own window next to Ferris, following the younger man’s example and sighting down the Winchester from a crouch. “We ain’t gunning for the slavers,” Caleb said as he aimed down at the closest deathclaw.

Ferris looked up from his scope and exclaimed, “What? Are you kidding me? Those buggers would’ve toasted us just minutes ago.”

But Caleb just shook his head. Turning to Ferris, he said, “I don’t give a shit about the slavers. The thing is, there’s more deathclaws than slavers right now. We can’t just waste shots on the weakened enemy. We have to go for the reckoning force. It’s called the Law of Equalization.”

As Caleb was saying this, one of the four slavers comprising the running vanguard went down, torn apart by the deathclaws. Another slaver also turned around, unloading his machine gun at the deathclaws who had taken out his brother. Soon, the slaver would share his brother’s grave.

Caleb fired upon the closest deathclaw who was gaining upon the slavers. It took the bullet on the head, dropping onto the ground with its brains blasted out. The lead slavers looked up at Caleb but did not open fire. They were too busy running and would not bite the hand that fed.

Of to his side, Ferris was unloading with his faster and more powerful Weatherbee rifle. The Border Patrol guard had several bricks of ammunition set onto the ground beside him. He made use of all of them. Each shot from Ferris’s rifle was a killing shot.

As the slavers made it to the last few yards towards the fortress, the deathclaw ranks were thinning out. Caleb had emptied out the eleven rounds in his magazine and he was busily reloading the rifle one bullet at a time. Ferris was still firing the massive hunting rifle, each pull of the trigger causing the rifle to dig painfully against his wounded shoulder. The Border Patrol guard took the pain as he dished out death.

The slavers had made it to the other perimeter of the fortress and the deathclaws had to breast one last hill to meet them. There were only six deathclaws left but they would easily demolish the remaining twelve raiders.

Caleb finished reloading the rifle and aimed for the lead deathclaw. He fired and his first shot merely imbedded into the deathclaw’s shoulder. It shrieked in pain but kept moving. Caleb snapped three more shots in the general direction of the wounded deathclaw, slamming relentlessly on the stirrup and immediately pounding the trigger once a bullet was ready. The deathclaw took the bullets in quick succession and went down. One deathclaw down, five to go.

The slavers had finally got the bright idea to unload upon the deathclaws. One slaver had an old M60 and another had a rare plasma rifle but mostly they carried useless small arms. They sprayed miserably, doing little concentrated damage, and the deathclaws came at them at a leisurely pace.

“We’ve got to finish this!” cried out Caleb. He didn’t care about the slavers. But once the slavers were killed, the deathclaws would have little trouble bursting through the door and killing his friends.

Ferris nodded and slipped a fresh magazine into the Weatherbee. The rifle roared three times, sounding out its dry report, and three deathclaws went down. The last deathclaw had slipped from out of Ferris’s line of sight. Cursing, Ferris hobbled over to another window where he could have a clear line of sight.

But Caleb could make out the last deathclaw. It was charging straight into the midst of slavers, ready to tear them apart. The Blade levered the stirrup and readied one shot. He would not have time for two.

The deathclaw leapt high, its fangs bared and its claws ready to shred slaver flesh. Caleb followed the descent of the creature, his rifle bore following the massive triangular head. Just as the deathclaw was about to meet the slavers, Caleb pulled the trigger and the bullet flew. It crashed into the deathclaw’s forehead and the massive body went limp, landing atop three slavers and crushing them in its death.

Ferris joined Caleb at his window. He pulled slipped another magazine into the Weatherbee and pulled the bolt. “Get ready,” whispered Caleb.

The remaining nine slavers stared blankly at deathclaw corpse. But not Jeeva. He had a job to do.

Turning up to the window, Jeeva raised his hand in salute. The plasma rifle was held in his other hand and he was ready to bring it up and unload a burst of energy at his savior. “Many thanks to you, Blade! I’ll have to repay your kindness.” The leader of the slavers readied the plasma rifle, charging it with a bright hum.

Jeeva would bring his remaining men to safety no matter what. Even if he had to fight his way past a Blade.

OOC- Sorry about killing your slavers, Rogue Hex.
 
Skik and Wally climbed up the latter into the fortress, Wally chargeing to the most wounded defenders, Skik snapping off shots. "Hey. Didja miss me?" Skik survays the scene. "Crap. Can I leave you guys for 5 minutes without you starting World War 4? Allow me to help." Grabbing Wally's grenade launcher in one hand and his microwave gun in the other, he took up position and started fireing at anything that look even remotely like a slaver.
 
Aye ya ya!

OOC- Thank God this is writing and not real life. Yes, Rogue, Gunslinger did a Bad thing.
Gunslinger, Please edit the post to fit the following.
By the way, note that while Neil and Paul might have found out more about the slavers, this info was never relayed, and thus is otherwise unknown.-


ICC-

Caleb leaned out the window with both six shooters ready. "You're welcome. Now get lost."

"You've got to let us in." Said Jeeva. He glanced from guns, and looked at his three comrades, exhausted and fatigued. They wouldn't last long.

"You've been trying to kill us all day, and did the courtesy of taking my brothers. Ttry your luck with the deathclaws." responded Caleb.

"That's business, and besides, you need us." Said Jeeva. The slaver was a cool one. He hadn't yet reached for his weapons, nor seemed inclined to make the move.

Caleb measured the words. Slavery was a business of the wastes and there were many who profitted at more irreputable tasks. It was also true that the defenders were badly undermanned.

Even so, Caleb said, "Try again. Maybe its you who do the needing."

"Maybe." Said Jeeva, "But I don't think you'll have much of a chance without our help. Look, we have our grievances too, but right now I think we have a more dangerous common enemy. "
He jerked a thumb back.

Beyond the gates of the park, a group of deathclaws were fighting with each other over the carcasses of the two slavers who Caleb had seen fall. But soon they would be finished but their hunger and bloodlust would be unquenched.

"How do we know you can trust you?" Caleb said, already knowing the answer.

"You can't. But I will tell you this, we have more than one common enemy, and perhaps we might join forces."

"And who is this other enemy?" Caleb asked, now curious.

"The one who sent us after you, and the one would arranged the slaughter of your brothers."

Caleb nodded, and ducked back behind the wall.

"Let them in." Said Caleb.

"They're slavers. Let'm die." Said Ferris.

"We need their guns if we are to survive this. Keep out an eye though." Indeed, thought Caleb, I would make a deal with the devil himself to get out of this fix.

Caleb went back to the first floor. "Alright we are going to let these Slavers in, but watch your back.

Yacob and Horus opened the door, and quickly the few surviving slavers rushed in, collapsing onto the floor or against the wall as soon as they cleared the door. They had barely entered when Horus and Yacob closed the door behind them.

Jeeva, the only slaver standing, locked eyes with Caleb, two tigers watching each other, each anticipating the others next move.

"Alright Slaver, tell us what you know." Said Caleb.
 
Inside the Fort.

"Well talk in private," Said Jeeva.

"Fine, but your men disarm first." Replied Gabriel, who had slipped into the coversation.

"I don't think so. What's to stop you from just forcing us back out there."

"What's to stop me from wasting you now, Slaver." Said Skik.

Skik had taken the ramparts of the second floor and had held his fire while Caleb had negotiated with the Slavers.

"I don't think either of us can afford more bloodshed, do you?"

Caleb was suprised to see Wally behind Skik, as well as a handful of other ghouls. Wally was moving among the men, both slavers and non-slavers, inspecting the wounds. The other ghouls had already moved upstairs to take positions around the fort.

"Alright Slaver. Let's talk." Caleb walked into another room.

Jeeva looked over his men. "You'll give them the medical care they need?"

Wally looked up from a wounded slaver, "Yea, I'll do what I can, humie, but you'll get yours in the end. "

Rogue had heard the commotion and had come out to investigate. The sight of the slavers alarmed her, but seeing Wally again brought a smile to her eyes.

"Wally, it's been a long time. We thought we lost you."

Wally gave what passed for a smile to Rogue, "Smoothskin, you know, its a scary world when you humies got to look to the ghouls for help. I hear the bounty hunter is down again."

"Yes, can you spare a hand?"

Wally nodded and when he had finished looking over the men, went into the room.

Ibis, who had been up since the morning of the previous day, was happy to let the ghoul take over. Unlike others of Tabis, Ibis had done business with the ghouls on more than a few occassions. Every once and awhile he would be brough to town to do clean up on a corpse that turned out to be just another ghoul in deep hibernation.

After the door had been replaced the others, both wounded and able bodies, moved about the fort doing what repairs they could. But eventually, having done what they could, even these men sought what rest they could.

The slavers, exhausted from the long collapse, took the respite to rest, with Gabriel and Skik watching.

Finally Gabriel could not help himself, "Why did you bring us to this place of all places?"

"Can you name a better place to hide a humie than in a nest of deathclaws?" replied Skik. The logic seemed obvious.

"But we barely made it."

"Well, we ghouls have never had much trouble with deathclaws. But I guess they don't like the way we taste. As for the Fort, well, it was pretty secure, and with a bit of reinforcing, the door should have held. " Skik said, and indeed the fort should have held. It had always had in the past. " Unless of course you went outside the fort, but what kind of fool would go outside into a nest of deathclaw, at night!"

Gabriel bit his tongue. While he had gone out looking for the Blade, it had been a foolish move on both their parts and a move that had only caused one of their own to fall to his wounds.

"I think the monsters smelled the wounded."

"That's possible. Never bothered us before. But maybe humies smell different. "

"Apparently" said Gabriel, showing a bit of sarcasm.

" Even so, deathclaws would have spent more time eating each other, and it shouldn't have been that hard to hold off."

"One came through the door and another came up through the floor." Explained Gabriel

"Only a wounded and pissed of Deathclaw would have taken the time to break down that door, least when there are so many other littler deathclaw to eat. "

"We shot a few of them." Said Gabriel.

"Well that's like the mouse that pinches a cat isn't it?" Said Skik.

Gabriel stopped speaking. The conversation with Skik was getting a bit depressing.

"As for the others, well I told Rogue to wait and meet me, but you humies always have your own minds." And Skik grew quiet. Three ghouls had been lost on this adventure already. He owed the humies for his hide. But it also seemed this was all becoming a bit too expensive.

Next to him, Gabriel was pensive. Had the ghoul shared his thought, Gabriel might have voiced his thoughts, that perhaps all this, all this struggle, and all human endeavor, was purely folly in the end

Outside a few deathclaw braved the light. Those that did feasted on the dead, deathclaw and man alike. On occassion they would fight each other over a body.

The men working on repairs would hear the beasts fight, and the sounds would interrupt their work or sleep. When they could the men rested, but they never felt at ease. There was too much death here.

But the deathclaw did not attack the fort again, that day nor did they make their presence felt until the sun went down again.


OOC-

Ok Slavers back from the dead. Caleb, time to talk with the Slavers. Try not to kill them this time!
My advice, is that this might be a time to lick wounds and begin thinking about escape. You have a few people who are wounded and everyone is pretty beat and exhausted. There are still plot lines to develop. Have fun. We need a break from all this violence, so rest, talk. And lets figure out how to get out.
 
OOC: Bloody Hell, I hadn't realised how long it had been since my last IC post. I better make time.

IC:

Backup’s here and it’s a ragged bunch of slavers and some crazy ghouls. Fantastic, thought Gabriel. Any help was welcome but he would have preferred a detachment of Slayer troops, hopefully with a spare suit or two. Gabriel didn’t like wearing power-armour, it was one reason he applied to become a Nightblade but right now, a suit of hardened metal between him the deathclaws would be welcome.

“You said only a pissed deathclaw would try to get in when there were plenty of corpses to go around outside?” asked Gabriel. Skik nodded,

“Yeah, they just want to feed. Kill, too, but feeding comes first unless they’re all riled up.”

To satisfy his curiosity, he made his way toward the armoury, noting the wary stares he got from the new arrivals. Caleb hadn’t had time to tell anyone who he was, so he pt it down to his threatening appearance. It wouldn’t be the first time. He almost smiled.

Stepping into the armoury he saw the bodies of the two cops. He regarded the bloody heaps without emotion and passed by them, focusing on the deathclaws. Now he laughed. The white splotchy flesh of the first deathclaw looked different in the light but Gabriel could see the stumps on its hand. Three fingers were missing.

“Nice to see you again.” He muttered under his breath. No wonder the thing wanted in. Gabriel recalled his desire to make sure the deathclaw would remember him. He was not going to be just another meal. Looked like the beast really remembered him.

“Something interesting?” Came a woman’s voice. Gabriel stayed perfectly still. His mind was trying to make sense of the fact that someone had caught him off guard. He was an assassin, one of the best. He snuck up on other people; they didn’t sneak up on him. Gabriel forced his expression to stay the same as he turned to face the girl. She would have been pretty if it weren’t for the grime and muck that had worked its way into her skin. Shame, thought Gabriel. Beauty was rare in the wastes and seeing some before he died wouldn’t have been unpleasant.

“I fought this one.” He indicated ‘stumpy’. “Out in the park, last night.” He sat on a crate, beside the headless Neil, barely registering the gruesome corpse next to him. Gabriel reached over and lifted the deathclaw's limp arm, showing the lack of digits to the girl. The arm was surprisingly heavy and Gabriel put it down quickly, trying not to let the slight strain show.

“You did that?” she asked, surprised and interested but reluctant to enter. At first Gabriel couldn’t imagine why, then he remembered how horrible the bodies surrounding him were. The girl didn’t seem like an innocent but the corpses were unpleasant. The assassin stood and moved toward the door, hoping to take the conversation out of the temporary morgue.

“I was trying to get back to the fort and it got in my way.” He said, replying to the girl once they were back in the main room. The big brothers were lounging near their recently finished handiwork, talking and laughing. Gabriel knew that some men came alive in battle and the fires burned long after the final gunshot.
“But you didn’t kill it.” The girl said, “Its head was blown off. You’re not carrying anything that could do that.” Gabriel looked at her again. Definitely not an innocent.
“How did you get away?” For a second Gabriel was reluctant to answer, not wanting to reply given that the answer would mention is particular weakness. Something he wanted as few people as possible to know about, especially these slavers and other new arrivals.

“Caleb sent up a flare. It scared the thing off before…” he trailed off, “before I could finish it.” He saw the girl’s face change slightly. Fuck, he thought. She knew he was lying. She knew it was the other way around. That flare had saved Gabriel’s life. The assassin was a good liar but in the face of death any skill can falter. Anyway, he told the truth to a certain extent. He was going to finish it, the fight at least. He was going to die but he was going to take the deathclaw with him. That was finishing it.

I’m turning into a whining pussy, he thought. I don’t need to justify myself. I went head to head with two deathclaws and I’m still here.

“What’s your name?” she asked, “I’m Rogue.”

Gabriel smiled,
“Your parents didn’t like you?”

Rogue’s face hardened and Gabriel thought he saw a tumbleweed roll by in the corner of his mind’s eye.

“You didn’t answer my question.” She said. Her voice was colder now.

Good job, idiot, thought the assassin. Piss someone else off without meaning to.

“Gabriel.” He said, simply. He had a feeling this conversation was killed for now. The parents comment had ended it. Something to remember, he thought. “I have to attend to the defences.” He said and walked toward the stairs.

Gabriel climbed to the next floor and saw a young man with his eye to scope, placed atop a powerful rifle. “Anything happening out there?” The sniper looked round, startled by Gabriel’s silent approach. He eyed the assassin, obviously noting the blood, the black garb and the numerous weapons strapped to his body.

“They’re keeping to the shadows. The sun’s coming up and they won’t move much during daylight. There are plenty of dark hiding places in those trees.”

“Lucky them.” Muttered Gabriel.

“What?” asked the sniper.

“I said: that’s good.” It was good. Peering out at the lighting sky, Gabriel felt his pupils contract painfully. Before long, he’d have to take shelter in the shadows at the back of the fort to avoid the harsh sunlight. If only he had his coat. Why hadn’t that blasted ghoul let him lead them back to water treatment facility. None of this would have happened and he could have picked up his coat and then he would now have with him, his sunglasses or better yet, his vizored headgear. He couldn’t report to his superiors or call for back up without his Pipboy, which was of course, along with his eye-protection, nestled comfortably in his suede coat, which was folded neatly out of sight, fucking miles away!

“How was the ride in? I gather there were some problems.” The sniper spat before answering,

“Fucking slavers. They hounded our asses all the way.” Gabriel leaned against the wall, facing the stairs, avoiding the light beginning to stream in through the windows and listened as Ferris recounted the story of their rescue attempt.
 
OOC-

I've edited the post so that the slavers live. I recently watched the movie "Young Guns" with Charlie Sheen and Keifer Sutherland and I think the movie's influence shows in my last post. I sorta transformed Caleb into a Billy the Kid character. And Neil and Paul's last stand was familiar to the movie's ending. You guys should really watch it if you're into westerns.

Anywho, when I made the last post, I, too, was worried about my inactivity. And since I really don't see any feasible plot contributions, I had Caleb go into a fight scene. That's what he's good at. I suppose I get really blame it on the sickness or a violent movie's influence (I really like that movie, though) so I've acquiesced and edited my post so that Caleb just takes out the deathclaws.

If any of you are curious, I think the fight scene, minus the slavers getting whacked, was feasible. I already PMed Welsh with the details but I might as well tell you guys, also. I had a dozen deathclaws attack because 1) they had been idle, licking their wounds and gathering forces and 2) a roving bunch of slavers are a tempting treat. I wrote that Ferris backed up Caleb even though his hip was wounded because he was the best shot and he could still fire despite his wound. I even wrote a few lines where he limps and feels the pain. And Ferris did most of the killing because he had the Weatherby rifle which is one of the most powerful hunting rifles made. It was used in African safaris to take down elephants and with a .300 magnum caliber, yeah its going to hurt. Caleb took down a few but he had to expend his entire magazine just to do that.

So that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. "I am not a crook!" :wink:
 
OOC-

I think the fight was good. I am just realising now that having only two deathclaws after the slavers was a rather bad, actually is was just plain dumb. After all they were armed and could have taken two of the beasts easily.
 
Ghoul blood

Ibis was visibly relieved when Wally walked into the makeshift hospital ward. He had tried to clean the wound and had given his patient what blood and plasma he could, but Ibis was increasingly aware that he was either too tired or too inexpereinced for the doctoring that Grim needed.

"Wally, Thank God!" Ibis had muttered.

"Wally, Skik found you!" said Rogue, who had not seen the ghoul doctor since the retreat in the sewars.

"Yes, and not a moment too soon. What's the situation here?" Asked the doctor, moving next to the bounty hunter. "Him again? This humies, they so like to get into trouble."

Ibis stepped aside, glad to take a secondary position to the doctor. It was common in Ibis's business to socialize with ghouls. On not too rare an occassion, a dead body had been misidentified, and Ibis had found himself confronted with a ghoul rather than a corpse. On such occassions, Ibis had been in contact with ghouls and so had come to know Wally. The ghouls benefitted from the relationship with Ibis, who was a fringe dweller of Tabis. For his sake, Ibis enjoyed the occassional company that ghouls provided.

Ibis quickly gave what he knew. "He was apparently wounded last night and has lost a lot of blood. A stab wound to the abdomen, but I was reluctant to go in. The Blade and the assassin tried to bandage and gave what blood they could find. Oh and he shot himself up with psycho"

"Since last night. Skik told me that he got stabbed in the sewars late in the evening and had been dragged through. Skik said that the bounty hunter saved his life." That had been all it took for Wally to come to the bountyhunter's aid. "All that blood, infection and psycho. He should be dead."

The ghoul deftly removed the bandages and inspected the wound, then he inspected the blood. "What blood have you been using."

"We brought blood and plasma with us, but before that we used what was here. Why?" Said Ibis.

"This is ghoul plasma. Necrotized blood." Said Ibis, pointing to one of the used packets of blood.

"My God, I don' t think they knew." Said Ibis.

"Will it kill him?" Asked Rogue.

"His body seems to be accepting it, but we'll have to see. Never seen anyone with ghoul blood in 'em though. Maybe he'll be one of us."

"You're kidding." Said Rogue.

"Yes. But seriously, I am surprised that the ghoul blood took. And there is no telling what will come of it."

The ghoul worked quickly and Rogue stepped back to let them work, then found a place on the wall. When Ibis looked at her again, Rogue had fallen asleep. The two men continued to work on the wounded headhunter.

"She's a haunted one." He said.

Wally, familiar with Ibis's visions and strange ways, paid it little heed. He looked at the pretty human girl. "She's strong. Just tired."

"I know it."

"How you doing old man." Asked Wally, concerned about his hold friend.

"It's been a long night. But I have roads to travel, rivers to cross. Not yet my time."

"That's not what I meant." Said Wally, impatient.

"I know what you meant."

"Rest awhile. I can finish up."

Ibis was too tired to protest, but took a position next to the sleeping Rogue. He closed his eyes, just for a moment now, but instead fell fast asleep.
 
The brothers' plan with the deathclaw

Later that day-

Horus watched as his brother put a hand to his chest and tried to clear his throat. Ever so often the older brother would wince and clutch his chest. The blow from the deathclaw was still bothering Yacob, and Horus was worried. It had been a long time since either had been a badge, and while Horus didn’t like to admit it, they were probably getting too old for this foolishness.

The two were standing on the second floor, Yacob still waiting to see Wally. Nearby, Gabriel was trying to adjust his eyes to the sunlight, and was listening as the two badges talked about the battlefield around the house. Neither had mentioned a deathclaw. But both were worried about the slavers.

Yacob was looking in the direction from where they came, and muttering. “Damn, this wasn’t how I thought it would turn out. Damn.”

“Well you wanted a deathclaw.” Said the younger brother.

“I wanted a live deathclaw and I didn’t want to be the one to get it.” Retorted Yacob.

“You always wanted things to go your way. Even when we were kids. Remember, it was always you who got to kill the evil deathclaw. Always had to be the one with the big ideas. ” Horus let out an exaggerated sigh. Either to humor or upset his brother, Gabriel couldn’t figure out.

“Yeah, well Mom always liked you better.” Said Yacob. “Everyone like you better. Spoiled bastard.”

“That’s because I was the better looking one.” Horus responded.

“Bullshit.”

“ You know its true. You were always so damn ugly. That’s why most people thought you were adopted.”

“I wasn’t adopted.” Yacob had gotten this chide before.

“That’s why everyone called you Mutie.” Explained Horus.

“Hey at least I got married.”

“The charity of women never ceases to amaze me. But you got married to Marge because she’s the only one that would fuck you, and she fucked you for the money.”

“You’re lucky I feel like shit or I’d kick your hairy ass.”

“You and how many of your buddies. But you’ll still be ugly. Be, I’m too good looking to settle down.”
Gabriel closed his eyes listening to this and smiled. Listening to the two brothers made him think of family and suddenly he thought of his father. So he spoke because the thought bothered him.

“Why did you want a deathclaw.”

Both of the brothers stopped talking. The assassin bothered them both. Too quiet, they had forgotten the assassin was present.

Horus was impatient, “Well you going to tell him your big plans? Or shall I?”

“Alright, I have three reasons,” Explained Yacob. “The first is business. You ever taste deathclaw eggs?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“Delicious, and there are thousands of ways to serve ‘em. I have a cousin up in Grey Cliffs that has been serving them up and is making killer business. Keeps a couple of deathclaw in a cage out back. Damn things lays eggs all the time. Almost unlimited supply. But even so, the customers can’t get enough. I had deathclaw eggs last year when I was up on a buying trip. Here in Tabis, I’d be the first.” Yacob smiled at the thought of it. “I’d be a successful entreprenaur.”

Horus gave out a big sigh. “Yeah, well big success. There are god knows how many deathclaw out there, why not go catch one.”

“Another day, little brother, another day.”

“Ok, what about the second reason.” Asked Gabriel.

“Well that’s more public service. There’s a chemist in Tabis named Kowalski. He spends most of his time making flamer fuel and he says that Deathclaw hides exude an oil that, in the right proportions, can be used as a heating fuel. There’s fatty tissue under their skins.”

“That’s why they burn.” Said Gabriel. He also thought that the owner of such fuel secret would have tremendous power, and what other opportunities might there be.

“Bingo.” Said Horus. “Perhaps we could even use the fuel as an energy source.”

“Yeah well it’s all speculation really.” Said Yacob.

“Ok so that’s two.” Said Gabriel.

“The third is also a public service. As you no doubt notice, the deathclaw in this part of town are growing in population at remarkable rates. The problem is the eggs, the average deathclaw lays thousands of eggs, and while many young are eaten after hatching, more of them escape. And I mentioned about how many eggs they hatch. Well, this is Kowalski’s idea….” Explained Yacob.

“Well,” filled in Horus, tired of his brother’s delay. “If we can catch a deathclaw than we can get a blood sample. Kowalski thinks he can create an toxin gas based on the blood and then we could use the gas to clean out deathclaw.”

Gabriel listened carefully. “But delivering the gas wouldn’t be easy.”

Yacob picked up the conversation. “Actually it wouldn’t be so hard as you might think. One of the other merchants has a mortar and crates of pre-war shells that could be used to shell this part of town. We could gas the entire Wainright area in the space of a day, and the gas would sink into the ground, killing all the deathclaw that went under as well as the eggs.”
 
Ferris meets the slavers, and Ibis tells a secret to Rogue

OOC- I am taking some time to develop characters and scene here. It’s a bit long but I hope it helps color our world and the people in it. Sorry if its long. I also thought it time to make the border patrol, the slavers, and some of the others a bit more complex.
________________________

After working on Grim, Wally had turned his attention to the other wounded. Like most ghouls, Wally read voraciously, and his knowledge of Ghoul physiology grew from his studies of human. Once treated he had the wounded rest in a nearby room, where the able bodied had cleared some space.

The wounded stretched out on old beddings and blankets across the floor. The men stepped carefully. In some parts the floor seemed solid, but over dirt and stone. Still a deathclaw had tunneled its way underneath. In other parts of the Fort, the first floor was rotten, gaping holes a danger to any who mis-stepped. Through the holes once could see the floor below, flooded with an inch of water which had leaked through the building, and with time caused the structural damage to the roof and flooring.

Next to Ferris, the caravan guard Tia, tried to sleep. Her arm now bandaged, the bullet removed and the wound cleaned. Wally had given her a bit of painkiller, and it had made her drowsy. She was turned away from Ferris, eyes locked close, and breathing deeply, trying to force herself asleep.

But Ferris wasn’t interested in sleep. Instead he was watching the two slavers. One, named Ox, was a huge man covered with tattoos, bald and with earrings. He spoke to the other in quiet, patient bass tones, that were strangely soothing for such an frightening visage. The woman, also a slaver, was much smaller. Her midsection was bandaged over a wound given her by a deathclaw’s talon. Wally had told her that it would leave a scare, and she had merely nodded. She was a tall woman, with her hair cut short. Save for the dirt and dried blood that spotted her skin and armor, she had an attractive if hard face. The man Ox called her Fury.

The two spoke in hushed tones.

Ferris glared at both with barely hidden contempt. The man Ox whispered something Ferris couldn’t hear and the woman gave a laugh.

“We should have just left you out there with the Deathclaw.” Ferris said, loudly, so that all could hear.

Wally heard the young man, and shook his head. These humies spent so much time fighting amongst themselves. It was their nature, self-destruction.

“If you did that, Borderman, then there would be fewer of us to sacrifice so you might live.” Said Ox, his tone patient and not without kindness, “There are too few of you hold this fort if the deathclaw come in force. We live to keep you alive.”

“We don’t need you, slaver.” Responded Ferris, his tone angry.

“You may think differently when the deathclaw break through and you see one rip your arm from your socket.” Said Fury, who did not even grant the borderman a look of scorn.

“She’s right, and you can’t move your wounded through the sewer, either.” Said Ox.

“Help is coming, slaver, and when it arrives they will leave your corpses hanging from the ramparts.” Said the Borderman.

“Then maybe we should kill you now and get it over with.” Said Fury, now looking at Ferris, her cold dark eyes boring into him.

“No, friend, there is no rescue coming. The gate behind us is closed. No one in, no one out.” Said Ox. “The police mowed down a half dozen of our men who were trying to bring wounded back. And I don’t think they cared if they were slavers or non-slavers.”

“It’s the slavers they want.” Responded Ferris.

“Perhaps, but I think you will be waiting a long time if you expect a rescue from Tabis.”
Said Ox. “This was intended to be a one way trip for all of us.”

“The police chief in Tabis is a friend of the Border Patrol.” Said Ferris. “He will not abandon us.” Insisted Ferris.

“So that must be the sound of their guns we here outside, fighting to save us?” Said Fury.
But there was no sound of violence from outside. And if the police were coming, their delay was unexplainable.

“Your friend the police chief is as crooked a snake as you’ll find in these parts.” Said Ox. “You’ve lost one crooked official for another. The game remains the same, just the players are different.” His voice still patient, but filled with a deeper sadness. “He’s been paid off to make sure that neither you nor us return.”

“You’ve been sacrificed Borderman, by the ones you trust. Get used to it.” Said Fury,

She spoke as if she were lecturing a youngster. But her tone was tough. This one will not die easy, thought Ferris.

“You’re a liar.” Said Ferris. He knew many of the policemen, and trusted them. They were good men, with homes, dedicated to their people. They would not desert the Patrol.

“And you’re naïve.” She retorted.

“It was when our wounded were slaughtered that we realized that this was a death sentence.” Explained Ox. “Borderman we have no personal quarrel with you. We have been paid to do a job, that’s all. But others thought us a liability, like they think you and your colleagues are a risk, so they thought it best to rid two problems at the same time.”

“You are slavers, nothing more than vermin.” Said Ferris.

“If we are vermin, than you live in a world of vermin, friend.” Said Ox. “For look around you and see how many feed off mankind. Are we worse than the mercenaries who sell their guns for money, who get a bounty for all those they kill. Or the raiders, who kill for a pocket full of coin and trinket? We live in a world were the strong prey on the weak, and everyone feasts on the dead, but all our bellies are half empty.”

Fury nodded in agreement. “Or what about the drug peddlers, who sell their poison to addicts? The bartenders who sell their own watered down narcotic? The gamblers who profit from the false hopes of their own addicts, living off their poverty?” Said Fury, “Or what about the pimps, who sell flesh to men like you, and the men who buy the whores, or haven’t you been with one yet.” Said Fury, her anger strangely making her visage more beautiful.

Ferris now turned away, his face red with embarrassment.

“Ah well perhaps you are not so innocent.” Said Fury, her voice mocking.

“YOU treat people like cattle. People are just money.” Ferris responded, his voice full of humiliation and anger.

“There are so many others who do worse then we.” Said Ox. “But so many benefit from our services. What about them? Would you kill all the slave owners?”

‘Then you might as well start with the Border Patrol itself.” Said Fury.

“The Border Patrol is a noble brotherhood.” Responded Ferris.

“The Border Patrol sells slaves.” Retorted Fury.

Tia turned around in her bedding, “Will you please shut the fuck up so I can sleep.” Such moral contests were not her concern. Living through tomorrow was her only priority.

Ferris ignored the caravan guard, his attention on Fury. “You lie.” The thought was unacceptable. “I have been with the Patrol for three years, and never have we sold a slave.”

“No, not in Tabis, but you profit from giving the slavers security when they travel with caravans, and those that employ you also keep slaves.” Said Ox, stating the fact. “There is not a town of any size that doesn’t use slaves. Every major farm lives by slaves.”

It was true. Slavery was widespread throughout the wastes. Many of the most wealthy and successful, including most caravan managers, had slaves. Ferris was silent.

“But there is more, borderman. For the border patrol also serves the frontier. Do you know why there are so many raiders on the border, and why they attack the patrol?” Asked Ox.

Ferris shook his head

“Because the frontier towns hire the patrol to clear out the local tribals. The farmers complain that the tribals steal from them, but it’s the land the farmers want. So they say the tribals are attacking them, the farmers, who have come to take the land away from the tribals. And then the border patrol comes, and with their weapons and armor, and wipes out the tribal warriors with their war hammers and spears. And when the town is empty of warriors, they send in the slavers who take the young and the women for sale elsewhere. For which the Patrol is paid a healthy bounty.”

Ferris did not speak for a long while. “I don’t believe it.”

“You have not been to the border.” Said Fury, her tone reflecting genuine curiousity.

“No” said Ferris, his voice a bare whisper.

“It’s a different world out there, Borderman. The definitions of right and wrong don’t work so clearly. You are heroes to some, but you are the scourge of others.” Said Ox.

“I serve and protect.” Said Ferris.

“Yes, to the profit of others. You serve the caravans and the border communities, and you survive as an organization because they pay you, so you serve them. How many policeman do you know are beyond shaking down a shopkeeper or a whore. Police are just mercenaries. Their guns give them license to do what others would call stealing, but the title of law makes it all legitimate. And they protect what, the crooked politician who uses the office to make himself rich. Was this not true here?” Said Ox.

“There are many who fight for the betterment of society.” Said Ferris.

“Why do we bother?” Asked Fury to Ox.

“There are some fraternities. The Blades and the Slayers, perhaps. The Slayers with their power armor and superior weapons could they not do more to make this a better world. They turn their back on all of us. And the Blades, are they not just another army that lives off the land, the sweat and labor of others?”

“I didn’t take this job to make my self rich but to protect and serve.” Said Ferris, “Not like you.”

“I didn’t choose this as a profession either borderman. You may not believe this but I was raised to be a farmer and a blacksmith.” Said Ox catching Ferris off guard. “Don’t be surprised. I had a wife and family, but my village warred with another, and each side took slaves. Once we went on a warpath against another town, and when we returned we found that another had ravaged our homes while we were gone. There was nothing left, my family and children gone, even the land. Our village was dead but we refused to die. So we took our slaves and sold them, and so this became my life.”

More quietly, Fury also spoke. “As for me, I was taken as a child, to a place East of here. A city built from one of the old vaults. They used us as slaves, to farm their land, to work their reactor, to fight for them. And to fuck them. I would not die in their fields or become radioactive, so I fought, and when they fucked me I fought them. And when I took enough heads, I was freed. But to what? I could have become a raider or a mercenary, or would you have preferred that I be some fuck toy, to horny young men like yourself. Was I to starve?” The scorn belaying a deeper pain.

Ferris, who had lived his entire life in Tabis, had been recruited for his superior marksmanship, but had never left the protection his hometown. Of the wider world he knew little, only that it was a harsh and unforgiving place, where hard choices made for harder people, and where the lines of good and evil where often blurred beyond distinction.

“You don’t have to do this. There is something better.” Said the borderman.

“Perhaps we will give it up, borderman, Perhaps.” Said Fury, “But to see a better tomorrow first we must live through tonight.”
________________

In the operating room-

Ibis woke up slowly, with a tickle to his nose. He had dreamed of a river of fire, and giant insects that spat fire, but was unsure if this was yet another vision. Unlike the others Ibis was calm. He had seen that he would live beyond this, and had learned to have faith in his visions. Of the others he could not say.

He breathed in the scent of flowers, a floral bouquet. And he became aware of the scent of clean skin.

He slowly opened his eyes. He was unsure of what time it was. The man named Grim was breathing regularly, on a worn out bed. He could not see Wally, the ghoul had moved elsewhere.

The tickle was from a lock of Rogue’s hair. Somehow she had gotten up and cleaned up, and found some soap and had bathed. How she had managed this in a room filled with tired slavers, Ibis didn’t know. But she had gotten up, bathed, and returned, and was now curled up next to the old man, and this stirred up a feeling of warmth and tenderness for the girl. There was a vacancy in the old man’s heart, open since the day his daughter had left for Red Waters, or perhaps it was earlier than that. Since the girl had grown up to the point where she no longer cared to old the one the kids called Father Death.

Ibis had forgotten what felt like to be a father, and the memory was both sweet but melancholy.

He moved, just a little, intentionally, and enough to awaken Rogue.

Her eyes opened up and suddenly she was embarrassed to be so close to the old man, of having imposed upon him as she had. “Oh I’m sorry,” She said, embarrassed.

“You reminded me of my daughter.” Ibis smiled. “ I have not seen her in many years.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Said Rogue.

“I was difficult to have for a father.” Ibis shrugged, and left it at that.

“You couldn’t have been that bad.” Rogue gave him a smile, warm and kind. Ibis wondered how often the girl let down her guard. “I remember my father bringing me home flowers.”

“You have many memories.” Asked Ibis.

“Many, yes. But not enough.”

“Life is that way, there is never enough of it, is there. You look quest begins and ends where you left off.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” Said Rogue.

Ibis was careful, and tried to be gentle.

“Do you believe your parents are still alive?” He asked.

Rogue didn’t answer for a long time. “I don’t know, I hope.”

“You know.” Ibis said, his voice a bit firmer.

“No… They are gone.”

“No, they are not gone. You have them in your memories, and those memories are always yours. Your parents have always been with you. But you look as a way to escape your grief. Only when you free your grief will you be free to live as you should.”

“I don’t want that.”

“To not live your life is to squander their greatest gift.”

“But my brother…”

“Is like you, a ghost in some ways. He haunts you in many ways.”


OOC-Ok Rogue, this is a chance for you to play Ibis and perhaps developed the Ibis-Rogue relationship as well as Ibis to let Rogue get a hint about her quest.
 
OOC- My good god Welsh, don't you sleep man?

IC-

Rogue fell silent once again at Ibis’s words.

“No, my brother can’t be alive, he wouldn’t have left me.”

“Do you really believe that?” Ibis whispered. “You know in yourself that isn’t the truth.”

“But how?” Rogue questioned, not willing to believe that some reminisce of her family was still alive.

“He would have come looking for me.” Rogue whispered as though to her self.

Ibis stopped and pondered on the words. He wasn’t entirely certain that her brother hadn’t come looking for her or in fact actually found the girl.

“Rogue, do you remember what happened to your brother. You said he was taken away. Why did they take him?” Ibis was looking for answers or maybe more pieces to the answers he already had, pieces to fill an incomplete puzzle.

“I don’t know, they just took him.” Rogue answered. “They said he would do and then they took him.” Rogue seemed calmer about answering the question than she had in their previous conversation. The girl seemed more relaxed, as though in deep thought.

Silence was imposed on the two of them, neither sure what to say. Rogue seemed shocked and at the same time confused at the thought her brother could be still alive. After so many years in searching where she had found near to no trace of her past and family. She had nearly given up. The search had seemed so near to the impossible.

“If you can see things, then why can you not tell me weather they are alive?” Rogue asked staring down Ibis.

“I don’t choose to see what I see my deer child, I only see what comes to me.”

“Then how can you think that my brother is still alive.”

“Because I did see what lies in wait for you and your friends here, something in your path leads you to be reunited with a person of old. But that is all I know. Who this person is has not of yet been revealed to me.” Answered Ibis.

Rogue stared blankly at the old man, Intrigued by the words he spoke.
Could this person be in fact someone from her past?
Would they be friend or foe or possibly some one who could reunite her with lost family if they truly were still alive? Curiosity was raging through Rogues blood. The day Ibis had just described seemed only to far away for the young girl.

Rogue rubbed the sleep from her wiery eyes and shook off any ideas about finding her family. This was nor the time or place for her personnel matters. Besides, she wouldn’t get her hopes to high for the future to come.

This could all have meant nothing, in which case the disappointment would be crushing. Rogue, had on more than one occasion seen her hopes crushed after false and inaccurate information about her family. She had sworn that it wouldn’t happen again but it always seemed to.

“We should be doing something to help.” Said Rogue rising to her feet and changing the subject.

Ibis seeing the look on the young girls face, “There should always be hope Rogue, no matter what happens, never give up hope.”

Rogue smiled slightly before taking a stand next to Grim’s side. The bounty hunter was sleeping peacefully. The new dressing’s that covered the fighter’s wounds were clean. The loss of blood had finally stopped thanks to Ibis’s and Wally’s help.
His breathing seemed normal as the effects of the pain killers would be starting to ware off shortly. It wouldn’t belong before Grim awoke, however if he could walk or even stand would be another matter.

Rogue thought of what Ibis had spoken. There was something about him, something about his words. The things he knew. Maybe he could be trusted. Maybe he would be right about her family or at least her brother being still alive. This, only time could tell.

Rogue turned to meet Ibis’s stares. The old man simply smiled in return as he stood and took his place next to Rogue by Grim’s side.

“You know, I never thanked you for helping him.” Said Rogue softly.

“You don’t have too; I merely helped him find his way back. He is a strong person and will have many paths to follow in the future.” Ibis laughed slightly, “Even if he did get a dose of ghoul blood, I just hope there are no side effects.”

“That, we will have to wait and see.” Said Wally entering the room.

“How is our friend here?” Wally asked.

“The bleeding has stopped and his breathing has returned to a regular rate.” Ibis replied.

“Does that mean he will be ok?” Rogue implied. She didn’t have much knowledge in doctoring or medicine. The little knowledge Rogue did have been mainly in the area of field dressing’s and quick medical action.
Grim's operation had been a totally new experience for her and a very complicated one at that.

“Aye, looks like he will be ok, just as long as that ghoul blood doesn’t do anything to him in the next couple of hours.” Wally replied with a smile.

“So, how long will it be before we can get out of this hell hole?”

“Well, the gravity of the words and the seriousness of the operation preformed, I would like to keep em from moving for near enough a week. But I very much doubt that possible. If we transport em by stretcher, I would say he could be ready to move in maybe 12 hours.” Wally replied, slightly scratching his chin in thought.

“I wouldn’t move em before that or we could risk opening up the wounds again and maybe worse.”

Rogue sighed, there was till some time to spend in this place but they couldn’t risk moving the injured bounty hunter.

Turning to face Ibis’s she asked a long awaited question.

“Ibis, do you know where I meat this stranger?” She asked, her curiosity at the old mans earlier words was already getting the better of her judgement.

“That, only you will know. You and you alone can shape what happens in the future. I can merely tell you what I have seen.” Ibis said casually.

“I do know that you will not walk along in the future.” Rogue smiled at the thought of someone being there. She had long been a lone person and the strange feeling of having other people to rely on was comforting after so much time.

Maybe the future would bring good things.

Rogue turned and headed to the door,leaving Ibis and Wally chatting and tending to Grim.
From a room towards the entrance of the fort, raised voices could be heard and Rogue was curios to see what was happening.
 
OOC: Sorry guy's but i'm gonna have to drop out. I'm apparantly not able to keep up with my current level of free time. I might come back in a few weeks once the semester is over.
 
understand

OOC-
I know awhat you mean. I have a feeling that we are coming up to a difficult time with a lot of us caught in school chores. I am in the middle of my end of the semester stress too, but will try to post regularly. Those of us not buried in work, I hope you will be able to carry through.

As for the postings, I think we are near the end of Chapter 2, and there will be a break before we start chapter 3. We'll endeavor to keep Skik alive for the next few weeks until you can rejoin.

Cheers!

Welsh
 
Gabriel listened to the mysterious mortician talk with the girl. It was curious. The assassin thought he now understood why the mention of her parents had spooked her during his earlier encounter. Her brother had been taken and Gabriel assumed the Rogue’s parents had been taken with him. That explained her reluctance to discuss the subject.

Watch, listen, learn. Nightblades weren’t just killers, though they had to excel at that particular skill. Information kept the Slayers strong and without intelligence gatherers, their strength would be lost, reducing them to merely heavily armed raiders.

He listened to the rest of Ibis’ words and considered them. He could tell the girl was barely able to control her curiosity and that Ibis’ silence about details was infuriating her. Gabriel decided to chew over the information.

“I expressed my fears that the plasma we used might be designed for ghouls but Caleb and I had no choice. Grim was going critical and we needed to stabilise him without surgery.” Said the assassin, entering silently, surprising the room’s occupants. “Caleb knows only simple field medicine and my medical knowledge is…” he faltered, feeling the doctor ghoul’s cold, knowing, stare upon him, “not suited to prolonging life.”

Wally shook his head. Humans were so good at hurting each other, they didn’t need to specialise or try to improve on that unpalatable skill. The ghoul often tried to remember what he had been like, so long ago. When he was a rash, impulsive smooth-skin. The idea seemed ridiculous. He was so calm, and determined to save lives. All he saw in the wastes were dangerous men preying on the weak. Breaking every code Wally held dear.

“He should make it. I’ve plugged his holes and stopped any internal stuff I detected. That psycho jolt should have killed him. Grim’s either one of the stubbornest men I’ve met, or the Grim Reaper really ain’t to keen to meet him yet.”

Rogue smiled. She was so glad the big bounty hunter was going to live. Too much had been fought for, risked, for Grim to die now. She knew he didn’t deserve that.

“He’s a strong man. It would take a lot more than slavers, deathclaws and heart failure to kill Grim. He’s got the constitution of a Brahmin.” She smiled and Gabriel noticed how radiant her smile was. With the grime and dirt washed away, the warrior woman had become a beautiful girl. Had the assassin not been dulled to normal human emotion, his breath might have caught. Instead he looked at her, and his face lightened slightly.

Rogue noticed the scary young man was staring at her. She was surprised at her feelings because she had seen bigger, more brutal looking men before but the quiet menace, the suggestion of harnessed and barely contained violence in his every movement chilled her spine whenever she looked at him. Then she noticed the faint change in his expression. He seemed younger, and more handsome. The cold, emotionless mask slipped and she saw…appreciation. Not the lustful stare of barflies and horny losers, just the look of a man appreciating a savoured experience, like he was staring out over a beautiful mountain range, or glossy lake. Rogue felt herself begin to blush, realising the effect her recently cleaned appearance was having, but Gabriel turned back to Wally and addressed him,

“There has been no sign of adverse side-effects from the dead plasma?”

“Not so far. It is early, but considering your friend’s staggering physical endurance, I wouldn’t be surprised if he made it through this without a scar, let alone ghoul mutations.” The doctor laughed and Gabriel nodded, relieved.

The assassin looked at Grim and he felt that strange feeling he had been experiencing recently. A mixture of guilt and gratefulness. He was the reason Grim had drugged up and charged out into the park; he was the reason the bounty hunter ended up in critical condition. Gabriel knew he owed the man his life and he really didn’t like it. Still the odd background feeling he had not experienced since going solo as a lone Nightblade operative, the feeling of camaraderie, was a vaguely welcome reminder of the old days. He didn’t know these people, but they had risked their lives for him. Gabriel knew that was because he had risked his life for them, but they hadn’t asked him to do that. Anyway, fair payback wasn’t a regular occurrence in the wasteland so the assassin felt that uncomfortable feeling of being tied to these wandering adventurers. He was a loner. Always had been. Still, people could be okay, he supposed. He glanced at the girl, again taking in her youthful good looks. She caught him and he cursed inwardly.

Goddamnit! I’m a man and I feel like a child.

The thought of calling his childhood sheltered almost made him laugh. He had been brought up, taught to believe that violence was a necessary evil he had to master to protect both himself and those who also pursued the ‘greater good’, as the Slayers called it. He had been a warrior since he could hold weapon. Death, they were taught, was just something that happened to people. Some people had to be ushered further forward in the queue and unpleasant tasks like that, the Slayer instructors had told him, fell to those strong enough to fight the 'good fight' and get up every morning ready to do it again. They had no time for moral philosophers in the Slayers. Still, this upbringing was not conducive to social relationships or dealing with emotion, except for remorse, pity, sorrow. All these were quickly trained out of young Slayer recruits. Soldiers had to be cold, efficient and able to act without hesitation. Great in theory, but the human brain had ways to screw up anything it chose. Emotion was one of its favourite tools.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Said the assassin, leaving the room. With the doors repaired and the stairway not allowing direct sunlight to reach the main floor, Gabriel eyes functioned satisfactorily. He was used to unnaturally good vision but at least he would not be impaired within the fort. He looked at the slavers relaxing in the main room. He saw the tension, still present in the tow sides. The Border guards, the big brothers and the rescue crew all eyed the slavers suspiciously and the people-merchants gave as good as they got. An uneasy truce to say the least.

Gabriel moved quietly among them, picking up bits and pieces of the conversations. Most of them revolved around how the other faction in the room was going to try something and they’d best be ready to defend themselves. Most of them hardly noticed him. It was his gift, to move unnoticed. He was more than light-footed or agile and deft in his movement, he was a like a human shadow. Most of the time he was merely stealthy but the even stealthiest of creatures is spotted if caught off guard. Gabriel had the gift, though. If he wanted to be invisible, he was. Few people, the most alert or those blessed with incredible senses, could maybe see him but no one saw him.

An isolated island of self-confidence and calm in the ocean of tense fear, Gabriel allowed himself a smile.
 
In the Fort-

OOC- While we wait for Caleb and Jeeva's conversation and since we need these slavers to be doing something, here goes.

ICC-

Occassionally the men on the ramparts of the Fort could see "the Elevated" rise up above the buildings of Wainright and then descend into the outskirts of Tabis. It seemed so far away. Smoke from the fire would rise up and blow over the elevated highway, hiding the destroyed cars and people from the eyes of the desperate men of the Fort. The other side of the elevated was obscure.

The fire, begun by the would-be rescuers and the slavers, and spread past the made stretch of road leading into the park. The abandoned, skeletal old buildings on either side, once single and double family residences, were swept up in the flame. Winds picked up sparks which danced across the road and roofs, igniting old boards and other flammables. From the ramparts the men could hear the rumbles and crashes as ancient buildings collapsed inwardly, or fell across the streets. With nothing to contain it, the fire was a reckless force consuming all that fell to its touch, leaving nothing but charred and empty corpses in its wake.

Occassionally the wind would shift, and the men could smell the burning smoke.

Horus watched the fire from the ramparts. Of their tiny group, only He, Yacob (who was in the makeshift medical ward) , Ibis and Rogue, the guard Tia and Ferris the borderman remained. Their force had been reinforced by Gabriel, the quiet assassin, and Caleb, who had vanished to palaver with the leader of the Slavers, a hard man named Jeeva. Grim, an badge they had known from their days as lawmen, was recooperating although apparently not without complications. It was only the presence of the Ghouls that kept the slavers numerically inferior.

But Horus was familiar with slavers. it was hard to avoid them if you worked as bouncer in a tavern. It was a despicable profession, but then there were many loathsome professions these days. At least they paid for their drinks.

Still Horus knew were his loyalties lay.

"Looks like the fire is going to just sweep this town away." Said a Slaver named Knox, a big black man with a bald head and a deep scare running across his head and down his neck. "Hope the winds won't bring it this way."

"Yea, then the deathclaw will only find their dinner's been cooked first, and they like it raw." Said his companion, Finn, a tall slaver, with long corded muscles and a long blond ponytail.

"Let the fire take 'em. If I don't see another deathclaw till I'm dead, it'll be too soon." replied Knox.

"Funny thing, with the fire you'd think they would make for this direction. But I ain't seen a singe one. Maybe they think the fire is going this way."

"It isn't" interrupted Horus, "The wind is blowing to the South and East. We should be ok. Even if the wind were to turn, we'd just get the smoke. Unlikely that the Fort would catch fire."

"I reckon." Said Knox, "But even so, I think we better have some water just in case."

"There's a pump in the basement, maybe its still working." Said Finn.

"Alright, let me help you boys out." Said Horus, glad to be doing something. The three men left, leaving the ghouls to maintain lookout.

Inside the fort, Topaz was watching other slavers tinkering with the generator. He was tired, and feeling the wait of responsibility. Since Jeeva had begun speaking with the Blade, he had not seen him. And he didn't quite trust their new allies.

One of the more technically proficient, and older slaver named Oxby would be a tecnhician before becoming a slaver, had traced electrical currents that should run through the razor wire. "See here." Pointed Knox. "This here line connects to the fuse, but so do these lines, to the door and I reckon this line going to the wire outside."

"So if you can get the generator working we can electrify the fence."

"As I figure it. looks like the generator was made to run on some kind of fuel, but see here." Ozby pointed to a black box wired into the generator. "This here looks like they set up an alternative power source. I reckon Power Cells."

"Use the extra power cells that Jeeva brought in." Said Topaz. The plasma rifle was their best weapon, but there were extra powercells and for now, the cells were better used for the electric fence. Besides, Jeeva had been pushing Topaz to take more initiative.

"I'm on it." Said Ozby.

It took almost an hour, and Ozby had to rewire the circuit a few times. Topaz had stopped him from going outside the walls to check the wires on the fence outside. It was too dangerous. Even with sentries present, the deathclaw were fast enough that Ozby could be taken with little alarm. Even so, the older man seemed content.

"Got to test it now." Said Ozby.

"Get on with it." Said Topaz.

Ozby through the generator switch, and after a painful moment, the old machine began to whistle and whirl, but the whirl became regular and soon began to cycle.

A lightbulb came on in the medical ward. Elsewhere another lightbulb burst. And somewhere in the house an old recording came on. A male voice crooning melancholy on an old scratchy record, picked up from where it had left off so many years before.


"Ya know when that shark bites with his teeth, babe
Scarlet billows start to spread
Fancy gloves, oh, wears old MacHeath, babe
So there’s never, never a trace of red"

The music shook the men, many having never heard such sounds before, none expecting it.

And the scratchy old record played on.
"
Now on the sidewalk, huh, huh, whoo sunny morning, un huh
Lies a body just oozin' life, eek
And someone’s sneakin' ‘round the corner..."

ANd then the record began to skip.

A ghoul, tapping and humming at the beat picked up the refrain. "Could that someone be Mack the Knife?"

Ozby tested a live wire against the current with a pair or rubber handled tweezers. "Yep, got a good current."

But for how long could they count on such a rickety machine, thought Topaz. But it was better than nothing.
"Alright, cut it. We'll save the juice for tonight. Maybe it will keep those nasty motherfuckers off us for a little while."
_____

Else where Skik had found out Gabriel.

"Humie, time we got to rap." Said the ghoul.

"So speak." Said the Assassin. Like most humans, Gabriel was not immune from a prejudice against ghouls. For most people ghouls were the untouchables, scavengers and low skilled labor, that lived on the fringes and which you couldn't trust. It was a misconception that the ghouls had to learn to profit from.

"Say time we blow this joint for take out."

"You want to leave."

"What, leave the roach motel? Humies check in but they don't check out. Only a fool wouldn't want to leave this deathtrap. No what I'm saying is that we need to get us some grub from out there and bring it in here."

"You want to try the sewars."

"Shit, you can try the deathclaws, but I figure them dogs bite the mailman when he comes around."

Sometimes ghouls made little sense.

"Just the two of us?" Asked Gabriel.

"Look, we need to pick up more than food. The word is that you can't go home anymore. ANd it ain't just your less reputable brothers, but all you. And if them slavers are right, then you got the Man on your ass. You need to get the dirt on this situation."

"Fair enough. At least it will keep me busy."

"There's more. Some one is getting fat, and someone else is greasing palms to get his way. If them slavers are right, then the Chief Hog is dirty. And If the Man wants your ass, he kill all you if you go back to town. But maybe if the chief pig gets greased?"

"You're suggesting a recon and maybe a termination of a highly placed, high value target with extreme prejudice." Said the Assassin.

"Whatever you say, Batman. It's just a suggestion." Said Skik.

"These people don't trust me. I'll need to tell the others before, or they'll think I bugged out."

"Whatever, just tell old Skik when your ready and I lead you through the dark places."
 
Caleb sat alone in the dark at the top of the stairs, his face covered by dry, wrinkled hands. The dim sounds of arguing between the slavers and Ferris drifted up the stairs but the passionate quarrel had long tapered off, replaced with woes and “why-mes?”

Caleb knew what was happening. When you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, you had to get to know your fellows, even if they are slavers. And as you begin to remorse about your own fate, you find that your former enemy’s is almost the same. And soon, you become brothers in arms. But the Blade would not stoop low. The slavers were scum and the younger kids downstairs might not be able to see it, but Caleb could. He would be watching his friends’ backs, waiting for knives out sprout from them.

The Blade removed his hands from his weary face and saw that they were involuntarily shaking. Shell shock. Every soldier experiences it to a certain degree. The unfortunate few dwell too long over the horrors of war and never come out of it sane. But Caleb was not like that; he was steel. But even steel could bend at just the right temperatures. His hands pained him, the arthritis becoming too much of a bitch to handle. He clenched his fists and winced, feeling his hands crackle as if glass shards had filled them.

Caleb sat back on the stairs, the small of his back pressed against the top stair. He lowered the Blade mask off his face and let it hang around his neck. The darkness was his mask now. With an almost holy reverence, Caleb took out his poke and began the ritual of rolling a cigarette. The earthy smells of tobacco alleviated the pain and the patient task of rolling paper over tobacco took his mind off fighting. Caleb stuck the cigarette between his teeth and lit it with a wooden match, striking it with his thumb. The sudden ignition of flame lit up Caleb’s face, throwing dark silhouettes and harsh lines across his unmasked face. He shook out the match quickly after lighting the cigarette.

Smoke drifted lazily down the stairs, as if it was seeking better company than a stoic Blade. Caleb laughed, coughing up a puff of smoke at the thought. The brief bought of laughter felt foreign to his ears, as if joviality had never reared its head in Caleb’s life. The Blade shrugged, not lamenting too hard on that loss. Hell, everybody lost something when they grew up. Their virginity, their innocence, their joy.

So the Blade sat there, high up the stairs, looking down upon the slavers like a gargoyle atop a church. He smoked his tobacco and killed a little bit more of his soul just to stay alive. He was a trader and his premium was Death. Yeah, he might as well ditch the cowboy garb and find himself a black, hooded robe and a scythe.

Conversation wafted up to him but he ignored it. He could just tell what was happening by the sheer ambience of the crowd below him. Empathy, that’s what you had to have. Put yourself in another’s shoes and see how they feel. Not to help them, hell no, but to exploit them. Caleb could sense fear and anxiety coming from the slavers, a melting reluctance from the Border Patrol, and a general relief from the operating room. He waited for Wally or someone to pop out dramatically, proclaiming that Grim would live. No one wanted to play.

Caleb rolled the lit ember of his cigarette cleverly between his knuckles, letting the burning brand pop up and down between them. With every exhale, his hands stopped shaking. Smoking was medicine. The Blades looked down on substance dependency but no one would regard Caleb from their high horse. If he made it back to the Blade fatherland, he would be hero, worshipped in history. Yeah, Caleb the Gunslinger, whose dual revolvers laid low uncountable numbers of slavers and raiders. The Savior who emancipated forty Blades from the clutches of the slavers. Well, all he still had to bust his brothers free, then he would be a hero. That’s all.

Caleb laughed again, bitterly and harshly.

Then he stopped abruptly. Someone was coming towards him. At first, Caleb’s first reaction had been to reach for his rifle but he restrained himself. He was among friends, or at least allies, and the need to be the first to shoot was not required here. He sat down, relaxing with his cigarette rolled towards the corner of his mouth.

Heavy footsteps were coming up and the figure was shadowed. Caleb knew it was not Gabriel. The boy could blend into shadows but a conscious mind could follow the assassin if it concentrated hard enough. He knew when the Nightblade was near but his eyes still hurt when Gabriel appeared from out of nowhere.

The shadows gave away to the dim light of Caleb’s cigarette as the figure stopped two steps away from the Blade. It was Jeeva, the slaver leader. Greasy locks of grimy hair clung to his sallow forehead. A deadpan expression on his slack, pale face.

Caleb’s lips curled back in disgust. He realized that he was sitting before someone, a slaver no less, unmasked. The thought sickened him. He violently blew a wisp of smoke at Jeeva. “Looking for something?” he asked offhandedly. “Maybe some more warm bodies to sell?”

Jeeva took a step closer to him but Caleb did not stand up. He leisurely folded his lanky long legs and blew smoke. The slaver’s face was unfazed, even after the insult. It was a mere blank expression.

Smoke and darkness surrounded Caleb, making a stern mask. Jeeva, who was a tall man, squatted down to his ankles and extended a long, apelike arm towards the Blade. “I just came to thank you,” Jeeva said in a bland, simple voice.

Caleb regarded the extended peace offering contemptuously. He spat off to the side, a wad of phlegm landing at the foot of the slaver’s footsteps. “I’d as soon cut off that arm than take it. You butcher,” he spat, shaking his head slowly, “there’s little love lost between our people. My brothers have gunned down your people.” Caleb idly played with the image of killing off Jeeva and his slaver buddies back outside of the fort in his mind. It was oddly tantalizing.

Jeeva shrugged slowly and noncommittingly. Nothing seemed to faze him. The slaver stood up and made as if to go away. As he turned around, he remarked, “And my brothers have enslaved your people.”

Caleb sat up this time, his hands clasping his rifle. But Jeeva was quicker; just as Caleb sat up, the slaver had turned around and had a handgun pointed at him. The Blade’s rifle was pointed at the slaver’s feet and seemed miles away from a killshot. The Winchester rattled limply out of Caleb’s hands.

Jeeva still had his handgun pointed at Caleb. His blank eyes locked onto Caleb’s and he waited there for an eternity. Finally, he stuck the handgun back into the waistband of his pants.

“I could have killed you, Blade,” Jeeva said, not gloating but merely stating it matter-of-factly. “I could have killed you.”

Caleb did not reply. He sat back down on the stairs and smoked. Idly, he snaked his right hand over to his revolver. It would just take a tilt of the holster and Caleb could make a killing shot without even drawing.

“We’re not so different,” began Jeeva. The simple words did not seem coaxing or suspicious. Only that dead tone, that passive and stating voice. The slaver did not suggest anything, only speaking it clearly. He left little for the imagination.

Caleb barked out laughter. With a grin, he lowered the cigarette from his mouth. “We’re as different as night and day, swine.”

Jeeva shrugged and then shook his head. “Not so. We both kill and we both wander the wastes. We’re nomads, Caleb.”

Caleb wondered how the slaver had gotten his name but didn’t wonder too long. What Jeeva had just said fringed upon an insult. “I kill but I don’t kill for money. And I wander the wastes to fight off scum like you.” The slaver would not sway Caleb that easily. He was sure of his own convictions. His heart was pure.

“It doesn’t matter what you do, Caleb.” Caleb was getting annoyed at the familiar way Jeeva was using his name “We all have to survive. And isn’t that the purest goal? There’s no good or bad left in this world; it got nuked out when the bombs fell. Its just survival now, and the way people interpret it.”

Caleb shook his head. “I don’t believe that. If I wanted to just survive, I would’ve just ditched this backwater town ages ago and lived out the rest of my life with my brothers. But I’m rebuilding the world, slaver, just by staying here and lending a helping hand.”

Now it was Jeeva’s turn to scoff. “Rebuilding the world, hmm? That’s quite a declaration. But it’s a misconceived ideal. You take it upon yourself to regulate and rebuild the world, you Blades and the Slayers. But its not up to you, you fraternities who hide in the wastes while leaving humanity etch a living. It’s a course of human nature to repair itself, just like the earth.”

“You’re hardly helping the cause,” spat out Caleb. This argument would end in blood if Jeeva kept swinging his jive. “And it is not human nature to repair itself. Its human nature to overwhelm and drive headlong into self-extinction. Its up to the enlightened to guide the path.”

“And you, Caleb? You proclaim yourself to be Illuminati—”

“I did not!” protested Caleb.

But Jeeva shook his head earnestly. “But you did! When you proclaim yourself to be enlightened and suggest your motives to be purely helping humanity. But are you truly enlightened? Riding out in the wastes with your six-shooters, blasting down the human lives that you so wish to save? Makes you kind of think, doesn’t it?”

It did not make Caleb think. It only made him angry. “Sometimes,” he said slowly and threateningly, “sometimes, you have to weed out the impure to save the garden.”

Jeeva chuckled amiably. “Oh, ho. I like that, Blade. Is that Zen or Taoism? Either way, its bull crap. How are you going to rebuild the world when it’s lain broken for lifetimes? With your quaint philosophies?”

“Sometimes,” Caleb said, “the longest journey starts with but a simple step.” He smiled enigmatically.

The slaver shook his head. “There’s no reasoning with you Blade. I might as well be talking to a tree.”

Caleb shrugged. He had been called worse things in his life. “Why does it concern you so much, slaver? Why are you so interested in my cause?”

“Because I am joining this cause,” Jeeva responded bitterly. The slaver finally showed an expression. His face wrinkled in disgust. “I’m falling back upon the laws of ancient Mesopotamia. Are you also familiar with Hammurabi’s Code, Caleb? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Well, this time, it’s a life for a life. You saved my life, Caleb, and now I must return the favor.”

Caleb’s face was impassive. “You’re scum, Jeeva. You’re the antistasis of what I stand for. What makes you think I’ll have you for my cause?”

Jeeva shrugged once more. “You’ve no choice, Caleb. You’ve earned yourself a life debt. I said I would return the favor and I keep my word.” Jeeva grinned widely. “Even slavers can keep their word, Caleb.”

Caleb stormed down the stairs in disgust. His conversation with the slaver left him angry and filled with self-doubt.

Standing alone at the top of the stairs, Jeeva laughed deeply and slowly.
 
Planning

Jeeva followed Caleb back down the stairs to the main landing. A glance at the sky indicated that it was afternoon. Soon they would have to ride out the night.

The Blade was not what Jeeva had expected. That slavers were universally despised was no surprise. Jeeva did not blind himself to the immoralities of his profession, but had made peace with it long ago.

Yet he was surprised that the Blade could be an arrogant moralist, even at this time. It would make working with the Blade more difficult, but so be it. No one promised an easy life, and why would any man want one? It would only make you fat, then settled down with a woman whose ass would only grow with age.

But perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised. Past experience had taught him that Blades and Slayers were often two dimensional thinkers. Jeeva had wanted to tell the Blade more, about the other Blades and about what became of the encampment. Perhaps another time.

Topaz looked up from a conversation with Ozby as his superior came in and glanced at the Blade. “We got the generator going, but its costs some power cells.”

“Power cells from the Plasma rifle. Ok, how does the generator help us?” The other slavers were coming alive, waiting for instruction, looking to Jeeva.

“The generator will electrify the wire on top of the walls and the wire strands around the fort, as well as the door. It’s not perfect, but it might keep the Deathclaw from coming over the wall or trying to bring down the door. It might also keep some away from the Fort, but there are holes in the wire outside. They might be able to either dig under or dig through the walls.” Topaz reported.

“Good, then we should think about fixing it before night falls. How are the others, the wounded?”

“Knox, Ozby, Finn, Ox, you and I are ok. The others have been cared for by their ghoul. Nothing critical. They should be able to stand tonight.” Said Topaz.

Jeeva looked over at Wally who was cleaning the blood from his hands, and had stepped out to watch the Slavers. “Thank you Ghoul. We’re in your debt.”

“Pay it by staying out of the sewers, Slaver,” Said Wally, scornfully. He had little faith in the promises of slavers.

Jeeva glanced at Caleb, but the gunslinger was leaning against a wall, smoking his cigarette and seemed otherwise uninvolved. Leadership sometimes had to be taken, and sometimes had to be earned. Whether right or wrong, Jeeva knew his men counted on him to take the initiative. The others looked to Caleb, but the gunslinger didn’t seem interested.

“Provisions?” Jeeva asked Topaz.

“Well we got a pump for water, and with the help of the big fella over there, called Horus, we got water spread around the Fort if the fire moves our way. But food? No we don’t have any. Ammo, plenty. We got enough for the M-60 and the Light Assault Weapon. Still have plenty of power for the plasma. They brought in Flamers with plenty of fuel, flechette rounds and slugs for shotguns. If the death claw come we can probably burn them off the wire.”

“But without food we can’t hold.” Muttered Jeeva. “Well maybe we can eat a few deathclaw.”

“We can slaughter the Brahma if we have to.” Said Finn.

“You will not slaughter my bulls.” Said Ibis, who had come in behind Wally. Ibis looked over at the Caleb, and paused, a long look of recognition. Then a faint, if sad smile. “No, these Brahma are needed elsewhere. They need to carry some folks away from here. Besides the wounded won’t be able to get out without them.”

“Alright, but that doesn’t answer our problem.” Jeeva said, now mindful of the importance of bringing everyone together. “What other options do we have.”

Skik watched the slaver carefully, and with distrust. His first instinct was not to speak, but the awful truth was that it was his sniping at Slavers that had brought much of this trouble down around the small group. At the fact that they were here in this predicament was the result of his choices, and the costs of that choice weighed heavy on his conscience. “We can bring in food through the sewers.” He said.

The slavers began to mutter amongst themselves. The sewers held bad memories. Jeeva spoke sharply, hoping to quiet them. “If you can bring food back, can you also take all of us out.”

“If you do that,” Said Wally, “You risk losing the wounded. They won’t make it down there. It’s too hard.”

“And the rest of us? Sacrifice some so the wounded might live?” Asked Nox.

“That’s right.” Said Caleb, speaking for the first time.

Jeeva eyed the gunslinger. Moral choices often cost lives. “We stay until the wounded can move.” Then Jeeva turned to Skik. “How many go with you.”

Skik looked over at Gabriel. “Two, me and him. The other ghouls will help you hold till we get back.”

Jeeva’s gaze swept from Skik to Gabriel. For the first time he noticed the Nightblade. “Assassin? Can we trust you.”

“Yes.” Spoke Caleb, before Gabriel could answer. The young assassin looked to Caleb, but the old Blade’s eyes were elsewhere.

Jeeva kept his smile hidden. The Blade was not yet willing to give up leadership. Turning back to the ghoul. “How?”

“There’s a tunnel in the basement. And I know the sewers like the back of my rotting hand.” Said Skik. Tough now. The other ghouls nodded agreement.

“What about when you get there?”

“We bring back supplies, and see if we can contact people on the other side.” Said Gabriel, ‘See if we can expect rescue.”

“The Border Patrol will probably be organizing some kind of relief. You should contact them.” Said Ferris, who had come into the conversation, supported by a crutch.

“Maybe, but I don’t know if we can trust him.” Said Jeeva. "What do you know of the police chief?"

Jeeva weighed his words. It was time to tell them about the dark man.
 
Caleb talks to Grim, Jeeva introduces the "Dark Man&quo

OOC-
Altight I am going to move this on a bit as I think we have gotten to a rather "dead" moment in this thread. We need to muscle through this.
____
ICC-


Caleb listened to Jeeva, the slaver, taking command but remained silent. But underneath the calm exterior, he seethed, but could not really explain it. And the inability to explain it bothered him. Caleb was a member of an elite military organization, its rituals a secret, but which he had sworn allegiance to since youth. Had risen in the ranks, fought many battles, and slain many more deserving enemies.

But in his heart, Caleb was a loner. Even among his brothers, Caleb was known for being pensive and distant, and the sound of his laughter was rarely heard.

And yet here was this slaver, giving orders.

The situation was desperate, leadership was needed. Jeeva had the loyalty of his men, and those that were not his men were looking for leadership, where desperate for the leadership they needed.

But it was not Caleb’s way.

Through the door into the bloody surgery room, Caleb saw a stirring. The sheets moved and a hand reached for a scratch. The head moved and turned into his direction, the eyes sleepy and dreamy.

Caleb left the others and walked to Grim, who struggled out to free himself from his unconsciousness.

Grim reached, and Caleb found his hand.

“I live?” Asked Grim, his voice a pained whisper.

“Yes, although we almost lost you a few times, and had to make certain improvisations. How do you feel?” Asked Caleb.

“Like shit.” Grim cursed, his voice low, “Flying Rats were eating my eyes.”

“Can you see through both eye?.” Maybe it was the blood causing strange delusions, or maybe the after effects of psycho.

“Yes, but damn I feel strange.” There was something different, he listened to his heart and could barely hear its slow beat. “I feel numb all over. Improvisations?”

“We didn’t have enough blood to put back inside of you.” Explained Caleb.

“So I am a few pints short?” That would explain the light headedness and maybe the numbness.

“No, not exactly.” Might as well get it over with, thought Caleb.”We had to use ghoul blood.”

“Ghoul blood… “

“We didn’t have any other plasma. “

“We?”

“Gabriel and I.”

“So the kid made it afterall…. Good… A bit young and cocky, ain’t it…. That little shit… Slayers… so full of themselves… Blades too…. Ghoul blood… I’m going to live right?” Asked Grim.

“That’s what Wally says.” Said Caleb.

“Oh Wally’s here too…. Lovely… finally a real doctor. I’m going to kick your ass when I get up… you and that Slayer youngster..” Grim promised. 'For giving me ghoul blood."

“You can try, when you get up.

”You’re not so tough.… so how are we doing?” Asked Grim, who coughed.

“We’re stuck in a house surrounded by deathclaw and there doesn’t seem to be anyone trying to rescue us. In fact they may want to kill us all."

"Sounds bad."

"Oh and we have a temporary alliance with the slavers.”

“I thought we were trying to kill the slavers?” said Grim

“No, actually they were trying to kill us. Anyway, they are run by a bastard named Jeeva and it seems he’s now sworn to me because I saved his life.”

“Fancy that. That must be a story.”

“It was a sudden inspiration. Well anyway, there are more of us. And apparently a lot less deathclaws. “

“Strange bedfellows, but it makes sense. I’ve known a few slavers in my time. Ruthless and sneaky people. Watch your back.” Said Grim, nodding. “Bad people, slavers, but there are worse. And there are worse things to which to ally.”

“We have Wally and Skik, Rogue too. She was worried about you. And there are some others. The deathclaw have left us alone for the day but they might come back at night.” Continued Caleb.

“So why not leave?” Asked Grim.

“Because we can’t move you.”

“So leave me.”

“We won’t.”

Grim closed his eyes and for a moment Caleb thought he had drifted off again. But Grim spoke again, with his eyes still closed. “Have you seen the old one. The bird man.”

“No, he came in with Yacob and Horus, Rogue and some others. I have not spoken with him.” Said Caleb, not sure what the bird man was in reference too.

“He walks the space in between. He sees things. You need to speak with him. He has come from you. They call him Grandfather Death, and will take you to were you need to go.”

Caleb listened to Grim’s mutterings. Perhaps he was suffering delusions. But he did not speak.

“I have seen the sea of fire.” Grim said, dreamlike. “And have spoken to the raven. But this moment is yet uncertain.” Caleb felt Grim’s hand tighten.

“Caleb. You are a Blade, and you are old and you are alone and away from your brothers. But you are the one they will look too.” Grim's voice was now stronger and purposeful.

“They should not.” Caleb spoke, his voice harsher.

“Probably not. But they will. You must be the pillar they trust.”

“I do not wish it.”

“Wishing it doesn’t make it so. Come on, Caleb. You have been in the wastes too long to know that life isn’t what you wish, but takes and demands and sometimes it curses you and pains you. And you take what you can, and you struggle and you strive. And sometimes you fail, but if you do not try, then you die anyway. And then what?”

Caleb was quiet for awhile.

“It doesn’t matter if you wish for leadership, or if you wanted it,” Said Grim. “It has come and found you out. It has fallen on your lap. And if you do not take it, they will die and you will have failed. Not just those around us now, but your brothers as well.”

And still Caleb did not speak.

But he felt Grim’s hand begin to lose its strength. “Besides, who really wants to be eaten by a deathclaw anyway.” And Grim lost consciousness.
________

Jeeva had watched Caleb go into the hospital, had paused.

“I have reason to believe that the police chief is against both of us.” He finally said. “Do not trust him.”

Ferris spoke. “Why not? We have trusted you slaver. And you came to kill us.”

“But you don’t trust me, nor I you. But we share a common enemy that prefers to see us both dead. And I think he is using the chief to achieve his ends.”

“Who is this enemy?” Asked Gabriel.

"He is the one who forced us to come for you. A black man, tall and thin. He wants to get rid of us because we know about the Blades. He wants to get rid of you because you suspect too much. ANd he wants us to kill each other to make the job easier."

"Why?" Asked Rogue.

"Because you have upset their plans here and because they don't know what you represent."

"So who are they?" Asked Rogue.

Jeeva shrugged. But it was Ibis who spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper, but carried by the wind. "The one's who unleashed the four. The ones who will enslave us, who will manipulate us. And will destroy us all. The true enemy. The darkman has tried to kill me already once tonight. He serves them. "

The others looked at Ibis, but the old man merely turned away to tend to his bulls, and said not a word more.

"Supplies?" Asked Skik.

"Food. Flamer fuel, power cells, and ammo."


OOC- ok someone take this up or I will try to post something tomorrow.
 
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