The Rad Apple [Slow]

Hamilton listened intently to the Majors new information, not speaking or interrupting at all as he watched. There was a hint of disappointment in his posture, but he obviously comprehended what the Major was saying. "Ah, of course sir. Information is power, and it'd be best to keep as much of -our- information out of our enemies hands as possible, correct sir? I suppose I'm just itching to get out there, but you're right. If they hit us here, they wouldn't stop coming would they sir?" Hamilton blinked behind his helmet as the Major started walking, following him with his Avenger held at the ready. He was eager, but now somewhat sobered by the Majors words.

"I do have a question though sir..." Hamilton would start again, having been silent until they walked through the gate and out into the world again. "What happens if we encounter a Brotherhood of Steel chapter here? The other bonehead factions in the area would probably back down, but they won't stop until they completely eliminate us. They'd definitely make the job here a lot harder, wouldn't they sir?" He glanced over his shoulder and gave the Eyebots a look, behind his helmet he was grinning slightly in pride at the work he had done on the things, and knew they would do good work.

Hamilton however quickly front faced, keeping his eyes peeled so to speak for anything that might attempt to hamper their mission.

(Right, it's been a month. I think we can skip Gunn. So...that means it's Immortal and then Zel...or Zel and then Immortal, I can't remember.)

((Like I've said previously, countless number of times, feel free to skip me. David isn't in the room with the others, there isn't really anything for him to do right now. With our Enclave guys too, until the action starts, we really don't have much to do either. So please Skip me for this turn so we can get the ball rolling))

"Watch your Step, Agent!" Shadowski growled, his gnarled thumb suddenly rolling over the wheel of the ancient Zippo Lighter. Sure enough a thick orange flame sprang from around Shadowski's fingers, dancing dangerously close to the dynamite fuse. Should the Head Volunteer be attacked, the lighter and the fuse were sure to meet and carry out their inevitable conclusion. Shadowski's eyes darted from Straton to Sarah, his expression softening a little. "Sorry, Sarah." Shadowski grunted, struggling to meet her gaze. "You kids found me here. I loves ya. I don't say that enough." He wiped his nose. "But I knew you'd never leave this place willingly. Without the Mayor, De Santa's unstoppable now. That's the reality. But one of the things I likes about you Do Gooder guys, you never let reality stop ya from doin' what you're doin'.So I gotta...y'know..."

With a shaking hand, Shadowski lit the fuse. "I hopes ya make it some place safe..."

The room was charged. The next five seconds were all about that fuse. For everybody in it, that library felt like the quietest place in the world. But all the same, there was a rumbling. A roar from far and below.

The building shook. With a slight trembling of the support wall, the dynamite was dislodged and fell tumbling down underneath the foundations unseen. Before Shadowski could react, the dynamite exploded beneath them. A cloud of dust and mortar belched into the library, provoked by another fierce shaking of the foundations. Blindness all around. The only sound at all would be the fierce coughing of those in the room. And then, only then, did Kevin Logans' radio crackle to life.

“Greetings….Manhattan…this is….your…Mayor….speaking,” The static was heavy, but the voice was oddly crisp and clear, delivered in a whisper.“Reports…of my death…have been greatly…exaggerated….as they say…."

Suddenly the broadcast wasn't just on Kevin's radio. But every other broadcasting device in the room. Every radio, every Pipboy, every device capable of receiving the transmission did so, and the Mayor spoke in Stero.

“As you are…no doubt aware….Louis…is on his way here…leading the entire…precinct of District One…to arrest you…Take heart…my citizens…for this I shall not allow…”

“New York City…give us your tired…your poor…your sick…a fool’s dream…I see that now…the NYF were my design…I made them cruel…for out of hardship…flowers determination…like the New York of old… but there is too much…too much hurt… the De Santas and the Chambers of this town…will always triumph…not enough hope…my fault…all…my fault”

“You have grown…in this city…a rose amongst thorn…nurturing the people…exactly as I hoped… for what I must do…I am truly sorry…but you will not suffer…none of them will….”

"The Manhattan library... seems severely damaged...if I am any judge...I can only assume... the assault has already began...I shall do what I can...but it is no longer safe here...no longer safe...do not stay...and be consumed...Louis...and Lorriane...do not deserve such...ease"

“Stop De Santa. Do not…go quietly. Give yourselves…this one last fight….”

The transmission was spiking now, whining with static, and punctuating the Mayor's already breathless and labored speech.

“It is a far….far better thing… that I do… than I have ever done…it is a far…far better rest…that I go to… than I have ever known."

And the transmission was dead. There was another tremor in the library but far less severe this time. When the smoke cleared and the tremors has stopped, No Hustle Nicky, who had thrown himself over Danielle to protect her, pointed out the obvious.

"Hey! Uhh.... where'd Shadowski go to?"

The Head Volunteer was nowhere to be seen...

-------------------------------------------------------

"KILL HER! KIL HER! GET HER OFF OF MY PROPERTY! NOW!"

Lorraine was screaming with a hysteria the NYF Guards knew all too well. Every time a ghoul got too close to the building the dame was always the same. But what could they do? De Santa had ordered them to defend the hotel at all costs. Essentially they were an extension of Lorraine's staff. The drew their assault rifles and took aim. All save one.

He was a fresh faced rookie from Manhattan originally, and he was staring straight at Miriam.

"Don't you see? She's come back! It's Cohen!"

The guy was clearly having some kind of moment, but it wasn't one shared by his colleagues.

"Oh, Bullshit, Douglas! You think cos a broad's gotta minigun, she's Cohen? I've got a beard, that must make me fuckin' Santie Claus!"

"Yeah Douglas! How old are you? You still believe in Miriam fuckin' Cohen?"

Douglas threw his gun down. "I ain't firin' on no Miriam Cohen!"

"Jesus Christ!" said the bearded cop. "You think a little girl could fight her way out of New Jersey! And then come back sixty years later? There is no fuckin' Miriam Cohen asswipe!"

"Hey Beard Boy!" Miriam's toneless shout broke the silence. The bearded cop turned round to look. "You say my name again and I'm gonna give you the world's first long range shave." She cocked her minigun with a flourish.

For the first time the bearded cop had cause to doubt. Who speaks to an NYF officer like that? He stood pathetically still looking between Chambers, Douglas and Miriam. Then Chief De Santa came running out of the hotel.

"What the fuck is the holdup out here. Shoot this bitch for Miss Chambers already and let's..."

But Louis couldn't finish the sentence. Because staring back at him was his childhood history, someone he truly believed he'd never see again. Because they were dead. They had to be. Yet here she was, deadeyeing him across a soon-to-be battlefield, and saying one, single word.


"Lou"

De Santa said nothing. He merely -and instantly - took out his 10 mm and fired. He screamed at his men "SHOOT TO WOUND, DAMNIT! BRING HER IN!"

Miriam hauled Tucker, and tumbled them both down the stairwell of an old pre-war subway station...

[[Skip me, not much I can do currently]]

Danveris just stared and stared. Rooted to his spot as the crowd of slaves and slavers stirred to life.

He had seen the … the thing come from some distance off. It vaguely looked like the imaged etched onto the bent sign before them, but where the mon – car on the sign was sleek and whole – even if the metal it was painted on was pitted with age and rust. The actual thing was another story entirely. Windows with holes punched through – jagged glass formed as fangs in the jaws, the metal corroded to a sickly brown and gray, and the faded lettering on it's side (the odd symbols were, as always, indecipherable to the tribal) added together to a wince-worthy figure.

But it was nothing compared to the monstrosity that spoke up when the doors creaked open.

Danveris let out a yelp of surprise, feet stepping back as he stared at the half-metal-man imbedded into the monolith as if he had been melted into it. Instead of flesh and skin, only the bare bones could be seen, but made out of rusted metal. The tribal jumped again when a voice came, not from the metal man, but from the side of it. “Welcome aboard!” The cackling voice said, “Please present your bus pass, or pay the bus fare, and take your seat. Now departing for the Hart Research CenterCenterCenterCenterCenter.”

Danveris stood frozen to his spot. His hand twitched to his hip – where his blade once was.

“It's just the speakers,” Chuck hissed into his ear. “Get on the bus!”

Stepping as if every step would burn his feet, Danveris eased himself onto the bus. Moments later the rest followed suit. Danveris found himself sitting in the back, darting with wide eyes from one side of the bus to the other. In the front, one of Johnson's boys waved a flimsy square of paper in front of the metal man's face. Then he turned to where the Master of the slavers stood over the group, “Hey, Monty!” He called, getting the older man's attention, “It's not accepting the pass!”

“There should be a slot – just slide it through.”

By his side, Johnson spoke up, “Do we even know if this bucket – ”

With a casual air, the older man backhanded him.

Johnson whirled back, blood dripping from his nose. The slaver opened his mouth to speak, but the Master just clamped a hand on his jaw. Leaning over the man whispered into Johnson's ear – so softly that if Danveris had not been so perceptive he would have missed the exchange entirely. “The Driver's been known to drop off passengers that piss it off in the middle of irradiated hellholes. So help me, if you say anything, anything during this trip – I'll personally drag you back alive so Jones can skin your hide.”

Silence reigned for the rest of the trip.

As the car groaned into motion, Danveris found himself enraptured despite his fears. This machine known as a bus displayed what all those dead monoliths that littered the wastes were capable of during the Old Age. The sense of moving while being at complete rest was disconcerting in a certain sense, but also utterly fascinating to the youth. What was it like? Danveris wondered as the doors slid open before another stop. Back when the streets were alive and the buildings stood strong and tall? Can these ashes ever let us truly know?

On the left hand side, one of the slavers had been in contact with another (the scouts from before, Danveris imagined) through a odd looking device. It seemed to transmit voices across distances, and a single glance over at Chuck made the man explain with a simple “Radio” before glancing back out the window. Most of the slaves seemed equally dejected, staring out through the gaps of the windows. Danveris had been caught too off guard with all the wonders encountered so far that he spent very little thought on the fate awaiting them. But before he could ask Chuck what these “Umbridge&Hinderman” were, a sudden voice filled the air.

“Greetings….Manhattan…this is….your…Mayor….speaking,”

Pandemonium broke loose. Hushed whispers issued among the slavers, while the slaves stirred from their reveries. Monty, the Master of the slavers, stood up and glared at one of his followers, “I thought you said he died?”But before the man could make his excuses, this “Mayor” went on.

“Reports…of my death…have been greatly…exaggerated….as they say…." That quieted them down, as the rest of the speech washed over them. While a good deal of the speaking was eloquent, matching the skills of the TaleTellers of the Pa Kua tribe, no doubt. Danveris noticed that few, if any, of the slavers or slaves were moved by the words. Instead, once the voice faded, more pragmatical concerns were raised.

“I don't quite get it,” Johnson said, “The District is going to war, right? Against who? What's this about a library?”

“The Do-Gooders,” Monty said, leaning back, “They're volunteers and provide medical assistance to the city. We don't do business with them. Hell, we only come into the city every once in a while since it's so far from the Capital Wasteland. Like I would know what problem De Santa and Chambers have with them. This is just a stroke of good luck for us. If the District is being emptied out we can make our way to the Hart Research Center and back without interruption.”

One of the other slavers spoke up, “Hey, isn't the Regency the next stop?”

In answer to that, the bus did indeed stop – opening up it's doors to a line of men with guns drawn.

“Shit!” Monty exclaimed, jumping to his feet and drawing his own gun – a long, narrow thing. Following him all the other slavers jumped up as well, guns pulled out and aiming through the windows. Danveris still sat, confused, but, at the same time, feeling the heavy tension in the air – thick and heavy. More than at any other moment he wished he had his blades and bow, to stop being a observer lost within the chaos that he was drowning in but actually do something now that danger hung in the air. With nothing else to do, he took stock of the situation.

There, in front of a large, pre-war building (the Hotel?) stood the line of men with guns. There were two groups. One, the more dangerous of the two Danveris sensed, were decked in some sort of metal clothing – thick and layered with spikes protruding from the shoulders. The whole thing was painted blue, and Danveris suspected it had some sort of significance – like the uniforms that the tribe held sacred. The other group also wore uniforms but they were of plain cloth – soft where the tribe's leather had been hardened into armor. Lastly, there were two others, a overweight man shouting to shoot to wound (How is that possible? Danveris wondered. He had only seen the monsters-that-spit-metal kill – never only wound.) while another, a blond haired woman he believed though he could not make her out well, was shouting to shoot to kill. At least they had been before the bus arrived.

So, their targets are not the slavers. Danveris decided. The slavers had merely pulled out their guns when they found themselves caught flatfotted with a force trained on them. So then, who? Glancing over his shoulder, Danveris spotted a woman with the largest monster – uh – gun he had ever seen dragging a man with her down a flight of steps.

The bus had literally driven between the two.
….................................................................................................................................................................

Note: I tried my best to describe the scene, but I could only find the pictures of the NYF from the guide on PostApocalyptia and SteelPlate's profile for Chambers. If there were any details I got wrong on any of the people there (characters or NPCs) let me know and I'll do some editing.

Enigma hadn't been finished with his conspiracy theory for very long when his pip-boy speaker started playing voice. He frowned under his helmet and moved to shut off the blasted thing when it occurred to him what was playing. Instead, he turned the volume up as loud as it would go. It wasn't the longest speech, but it was enough to at least provide some believability to the Mayor's case. Enough that they couldn't worry about repercussions right now. There was enough regret coming through that radio that even Enigma was beginning to doubt his own distrust. But there were more important things then that to.

But if the NYF were on their way to destroy the Library, the Do-Gooders were going to need al the help they could get. It was almost fitting that the Queen of the mutants had just gotten her army back.

"We have to get there." Miranda said to Enigma, and he reluctantly nodded. He wasn't going to much enjoy running their with the wound in his side, but the stimpacks he'd used had almost done their work. The trick was going to be to get her to keep her head down.

"Steelmen! I need you to fight for me against the NYF at the New York Public Library!"

While she gave her orders and the Steelmen began running for the Library, Enigma put a hand on Neil's shoulder and pulled him to the side, whispering to him. “Neil, look. That stunt with Murphy. . .It worked,” Enigma said, giving the man credit where it was due. “...but it isn't always going to work. If Miranda goes running off to save the day and get's her brains blown out... The mutants won't have anyone they're willing to follow, and the rest of New York – the thing she's decided to fight for – will be fucked to hell. Now I know you care about her,” Enigma jogged along side him as they moved, trying to keep up with the super mutants. “...but you need to draw her in a little. Keep her out of the line of fire. A commander can't give orders if she's dead. Can you manage that for me?”