Fallout: Remember the Alamo





"Christ..." The guard called Bones muttered as he pointed over at his partner, "Shut her the fuck up."

The second guard wasted little time cycling the action of a shotgun and aiming through the holes of the fence. It was an unceremonious act lacking bravado or flair. Just as quickly as the order was given, the guard pulled the trigger.

The mossberg erupted with an ear shattering boom as the initial pressure of the round blasted through the boards on the wall. A bean bag round, while not meant for lethal force would still break bones and spirits just as well as any club or hammer. Simple, crude, effective.

As the second guard fired the shot, Bones seemed to cackle all the while as he watched. "Patience whore, you'll be working fields soon enough."





 
"Wait! Please! I'm an expert at repairs!" Fae shouted after the gunshot even though her ears were ringing from the blast "I can fix almost anything mechanical or electrical!" she pleaded as she pushed herself up and staggered towards the guards "But I need my hands" she stumbled a bit and caught herself on the wall "I need medicine," she gasped at the pain shooting from her arm "I'm an asset."

Bargaining was never her strong suite to begin with and this outburst could just place her in the next fight with Shamu but she had to take the chance. Taking no chances could mean dying a painful sick death or being crushed by Shamu or maybe even medicine. Fae hoped it was the last option.
 
"You sure about that? I wouldn't mind helping, I mean we are all thrown into this meat-grinder together right?" The man laughed. "By the way, names Grimm, but people usually called me Reaper." He shrugged. "Till I got the name prisoner I guess eh?" He laughed again.

He knelt by the old man and looked at the "Vegas Reject". "She's gonna end up in a world of hurt if she keeps running her mouth off.." She had guts though, there was no doubt of that. She was tough, maybe not all that bright but tough nonetheless. He returned his gaze to the old man.
 
Oh, dear, she's landed herself in a bit of a mess. "Fucking," she began, wearing a straight face, as the guns were pointed at her. "Shit." she finished, as the shots went off. She braced herself, bringing up her leg to tighten her muscles, her shoulder, to guard her neck, and her arms to guard her head, while bending forward to tighten her abdomen.

BOSH!

"Ah, fuck, is that a beanbag? That shit stings like Hell, goddamn--" She winced at the stinging in her thigh, ribcage, and arm, sitting on the floor and nursing the stinging sensation. A lot of power behind a round, and though beanbags wouldn't hurt as much, they still hurt like fuuuuuuuuuuck. The impact knocked the breath out of her, not that it would shut her up. She was lucky she didn't break any bones.

"What the fuck are you thinking? And stop calling me that, you ass!" She didn't let up, but the verbal abuse (heheh) was letting up somewhat.
 
Bubba looked up towards the take gate as the guards brought in the old man. He looked as if he'd been around for a while. Bubba's gaze wandered around the slave pen. Captives were looking at him and the others that were just around him with icy glares and looks of hatred. Bubba eye'd the crowd back as if daring someone to do something to dampen his mood. He didn't much care for his fate. He had already lost his only family and friends to these slavers. What could a bunch of half-starved slaves possibly threaten him with?

The sound of a shotgun blast pierced the eerie silence. Bubba was annoyed at the guards' arrogance. He worked his way through the crowd to the the gate, stopping to help up the red haired girl from New Vegas. "Hey you!" It got the guard's attention. "Yeah you! Twinkletoes with the pea shooter. You like pickin' on girls and old men huh?" Bubba pressed his face to the wire. "Why don't you try messin' with someone a little more your speed." He grinned a toothy grin, or as toothy as could be considering Bubba's lack of dental hygene. "Unless yer too gecko-shit." Bubba's attempt to rile the guard was working. "If I had a cap fer every time I bumped uglies with yer momma... I'd be dirt poor. She made Shamu look like Miss New Vegas." Bubba let out a loud guffaw. "Heheh come on over here big man. I'll give ya somethin' to shoot at..." He scratched his beard and stroked the scars that ran up his forearms, hoping the guard would expose the barrel of the gun for him one more time.
 
Well, this man was rather kind. For no reason in particular. She didn't even ask. When the Hell does that happen? Not often, even, for this lucky broad. "Th-thank you," she said, stuttering in astonishment. She didn't even make a plea or anything, she just took it and rolled with it, and now this big, grimy man is coming to her aide. Shit, if she'd have to kill him later on, she'd definitely regret it. Not that she'd give it a moment's thought. She wasn't exactly the best contribution to the world herself, but she liked to think there were vestiges of good in the world. The kind she didn't want to take advantage of. The kind that, despite all this mayhem and idiocy in the world, would still help anybody - who didn't attack them, of course. Necessary evils and all that.

This burly gentleman seemed to come from one of those vestiges. She swore she saw this same guy screwing with some other bozos, picking on them and what not. Maybe he was just nice to women. "Quite the mouth, haven't you?" she said to herself in rhetoric.
 
Alex, for the most part, was trying to stay out of the many prisoner's business. Discretion and not asking questions was something that he picked up in his line of work. He had kept out of sigh and out of mind, huddling in a corner of the cage they kept them in. He idly, flipped a legion coin in between his fingers. He couldn't do anything with the legion coin, it had almost zero monetary value outside New Vegas, Nevada, and some Arizona. He, like most other wastelanders, preferred to use the ever-popular cap. It was still a nice oddity to have especially since it's all the way out in Texas. It didn't circulate well in the wasteland.

It was very silent for the time he was in there, a girl cheating at cards with a couple of suckers, a big bulky man, scaring the shit out of some newbies, and a ghoul who had attracted more attention than he probably would have liked. For now that seemed to all that went on. Upon, further inspection he spotted a young girl, huddling in a corner. She was in the corner opposite to his and it was hard to make out what she was doing. She had done a good job of concealing herself and becoming unnoticed. If he looked closely, she tried to wrap some cloth from her clothes around her wrists, which was only good for a temporary fix, and by the looks of it, it had been around there for a long time. That was no way to treat those wounds; he knew first hand. He'd been in more run-ins with some very angry shop owners than he'd like to have.

He was just about to go and help her, but he couldn't do anything to help and the sound of Shamu had distracted him. The screams of terror and bone crunching sounds seemed to intensify and slowly trickle down to a stop. He wished those poor souls could have died with a bit more dignity than being paraded around and killed for the slavers' entertainment. It couldn't be helped. It was the wasteland after the all.

The ghoul seemed to know what he was doing, perhaps even more than him. He told the gambler to get the attention of the guards and to get some medical supplies. He knew that it was a bad move. The loud mouth of hers was bound to get her into some deep shit. Sure enough, it did. A bean bag flew from the guard's gun straight to her. He grimaced as it made contact. He heard the shot bite into her. When he looked she seemed to be better off than he thought, which was good... or bad, depending on if you liked loud mouthed gamblers.

Just then, a new prisoner, an old geezer by the looks of it, was just thrown into the cage with them. He heard some of the chatter. The old man fought off a couple of them before being taken in. Must be more of a stubborn bitch than he looks.

In any case, tried to stay out of their business. He knew that if he got involved it wouldn't help at all, even serve to harm them further.
 


"Gomez, hit her again." The guard called Bones grinning like a madman all the while, "If she keeps it up, move to buckshot."

As commanded, the shotgun toting slaver cycled the action of the weapon and depressed the trigger. The weapon exploded once more with a concussive boom, rattling the dust from the wall that encased the cell block. Immediately following the first shot came the sound of the action as the weapon cycled once more. Again an explosion of sound rang from the rifle sending a second round at the woman. For whatever reason, these slavers didn't seem too particular about the opinions of their residents.

The sound of the second shotgun blast faded and very different tone chimed out in the evening air. A bell of a small intercom buzzed annoyingly as the guard called bones picked up the receiver. Even from the tank you could make out the voice through the prewar system. "Cell block 13 what the hell, over?" the metallic voice inquired through the voices of the inmates, "We're hearing gunshots from your tank."

Bones cackled as he cued the mic on the receiver. "Don't worry about it, just some fuck heads too stubborn for their own good."

"Want me to call over a crew to move em down to the stadium? Place is still pretty packed and it wouldn't be too much trouble to set up an exhibition match. Shamu's ain't picky."

Bones paused a moment and glanced back at the small group of inmates too burnt out apparently to weigh the gravity of their predicament. He considered a moment and answered back, "Let me get back to you on that, Was gonna torch the lot and write it off on the next ledger meeting but that's a better idea. Ring the warden and see if there's an opening will ya?"



The petrified members of the tank were no longer content to sit back and glare as the loud lot of inmates egged on the guards. Maybe they'd been there for too long, but these new bloods were threatening their already battered existence. The more attention they brought onto the tank, the less chance of survival the entire lot had. Because of the nature of the imprisonment, it was far more manageable on the hands of the staff to torch the entire tank rather than deal with the headache of pulling individual members. These inmates, especially the ones who had been here for a while, knew this fact all too well. Yelling chants and curses filled the tank towards the lot.

"Shut up! Do you want to get us all killed?"

"There's more here than just you!"

"Don't be an idiot! Realize where you are!"

"I don't want to die!"

This and a dozen more cries chimed from the prisoners of the tank, all very aware of their own mortality.


 
Fae let out a loud plead "Don't do this to us please!" She said pushing away from the wall to the riflemen "O-only a few were misbehaving..." she let out a shaky breath "No need to kill th-the rest right?" the Asian sunk down to her knees looking pitiful "Spare the rest... I-I'll do whatever you want" she bargained looking down as tears burned her eyes. If it weren't for Cabel noticing her the gambling girl wouldn't have gotten shot like that and it wasn't something Fae wanted repeated for the third time. Her torso shook with a suppressed sob as she attempted to bargain for the lives of the tank. Crawling forward to be closer to the guards she looked up "E-easy right? I w-won't fight, I promise."

She was terrified for her cell-mates and what could become of her if they accepted. "I can fix any weapons in need, any electrical fences anything just don't hurt the innocents." Fae continued "'m willing to do anything just please don't hurt them" her mantra repeated over and over again hoping it would work.
 
[size=+1]“Some fantastic fucking social skills you got there, Vegas Reject,” Cabel growls sardonically, “Way to keep your cool and not piss off the nasty men with the firearms. Good job.”

They are in the shit now, that's for definite; the word 'Shamu' has been uttered by the guards, and his fellow prisoners are taking it about as well as one would expect a herd of terrified prisoners to take it. Fae, the girl with the injured hands, seems to be doing her best to plead with the guards, whereas Good Ol' Boy or Bubba or whatever the fuck he called himself is busy trying to square up to them.

It occurs to him at this point that he's trapped in a tank full of fucktards who are liable to get him killed.

And ghoul or not, Cabel is rather a fan of not being killed.

“Shut the hell up, you inbred wasteland fuck!” the ghoul snarls at the hulking man, “You're about to get everyone in this tank thrown in the stadium!” The crowd around them is getting angrier; these people are scared shitless, and staring down a potential angry mob is also not a situation Cabel finds overly appealing.

Time to assert some more authority, let these smoothskin fucks know he is not to be messed with.

He scans the crowd, picking out a man with a shirt that looks reasonably clean by the standards of the tank. With a snarl he strides towards him, seemingly undeterred by the herd of angry prisoners. Show no fear, don't back down, and they'll get the fucking message. “I need this,” he growls, grabbing hold of the man's sleeve and tearing it away with a sudden grab. Ignoring any protests, he strides back towards Fae.

“Cool it, smoothskin,” he grumbles over her protests, “they don't give a fuck, and all you're doing right now is making yourself a target. Now the good news,” he holds up the sleeve he's just acquired from one of the prisoners, “is that these should make for bandages than the grubby things you were trying to use. There's some water in the trough over there, too.” He motions with his head to one of the edges of the tank, were a crude trough filled with grubby-looking water sits. “Looks a tad irradiated, that being said. So your call; we can just wrap the wounds, or I clean them with the water first and you take a chance with the rads.”

No sense in dressing it all up, he figures. It's her arm, so how she wants it dealt with is up to her.[/size]
 
"Sons o' bitches," Burns whispered to herself, recoiling from the second blow. It seemed plenty were angry with her, and for good enough reason. She supposed. "Fine, I'll keep myself quiet, but I ain't shuttin' up." She whispered this to herself as well, so as the others wouldn't hear. Were they to take a chance and make direct contact, she'd take hers and pull her stiletto, if she had it. Those perverts stripped her of it when they flipped their gaskets. Not to mention, they seemed content not getting ravaged by an angry mob. Never had she seen a day where her honeyed words could get her into shit. Just her gambling.
 


Sue's eyes traced the brim of the tank as the embers of a mob took hold around him. The entire setting felt as if one had to choose sides between a frying pan and a fire. Neither option was terribly appealing but one would later lead to a higher percentage of survival. In matters of escape and evasion, you attempted to solidify which options yielded the higher percentage and executed them. Nothing was ever cast in stone.

Sue at first eyed the man lofting a shotgun into the tank. He couldn't make out the model of the rifle from his placement but the cycling of the action indicated a pump style of some sort. Three rounds had been fired and the man had seemed to make no attempt to reload since. While it wasn't safe to assume the slaver's entire tube consisted of less than lethal rounds, most shotguns ran a payload of five and one. Five rounds in the tube and an optional round in the chamber. Some models designed for hunting ran less than this and the occasional tactical design sported a second tube. Usually however, such was the norm. Given this, it was likely to assume a rush would lead to the one guard having to reload mid attack. At that point, the only thing the lot would have to worry about would be the second guard... and the possibility of side arms.

Sue glanced to the other guard considering the prospect. An assault rifle sat in the hands of the guard called Bones, Chinese model looked like. Piece of shit, inaccurate as hell over 100 meters. If Sue recalled, the weapon ran a box magazine of 30 rounds assuming it was full. The grey man had read once that when applied to a moving target, the average chance at hitting a mark dropped to ten percent. That said, adding a full automatic rifle into that equation likely botched those numbers. The wastelander narrowed his eyes as he came to a verdict. The option's chance of survival was minimal. Even if everything went according to plan, he'd have to rally the entire tank to work as a unit, something that wasn't likely given the circumstance. Even that didn't begin to cover what would happen once they cleared the cell block.

There were too many variables in question. The most painful of which was still his arm.

"Sue." he replied to the tattooed Reaper without taking his eyes from the guards, "Pardon if I don't shake your hand."

With his good arm the bearded wastelander removed the belt from his waste and wrapped it along his wrist and forearm. He let the leather strip dangle against the ground,before stepping upon it with a booted heel. His eyes closed once more before the man stood up abruptly. A resounding pop resonated from his shoulder and the clear sound of a moan echoed from his throat. His face distorted from the pain but the deed had been done. Slowly the older man closed his once dislocated arm into a fist, breathing heavily from the sidelines of the fuming mob. One less problem to burden down the load. Sue slowly regained his focus as the pain began to ebb.


*******************


The bone cracking sounds of the behemoth rang throughout the bloodied arena. The crowd cheered on. Shamu had finished the last of the warriors sent against her and feasted contently on the armless torso of a challenger. The chants of the crowd began to settle and the evening would soon fade out to the camps everyday expectations. The caps earned tonight would carve a decent chunk out of the compound's staffing problems, make no mistake. All the same, the event felt lacking. The warden had assumed twenty able bodied soldiers pitted against the 3 ton beast could hold out long enough to make decent entertainment. While it had held the crowd's attention they'd seen more before. Events had taken place in the past that sent armed slaves against the massive mutant. Blades, firearms, even small gas powered vehicles in order to survive the chaos. Prep was a logistical nightmare and it wasn't out of the question for a piece of livestock to attempt a break after becoming armed. All the same, it was great for the show. The drama inspired by a vagrant field hand turning a weapon on his keepers was gold among spectators. Any collateral that occurred was almost made up for on the spot by the publicity it earned. In a place like Sea World the only true enemy the Warden would ever have to worry about was the prospect of Boredom. Bored fans would become potential threats to the compound. If the people that showed here had no reason to keep the place around, they would know its ins and outs. Having an open location every month, all it would take would be a perceptive pair of eyes to pick out cracks in the armor.

The warden feared nothing save for the ire of the crowd.

As he stood upon the stand overlooking the drop off into the pit, the familiar buzz of the post's radio chimed near his feet. Slightly annoyed at the prospect that he would be disturbed at such a moment, he held back his anger. Giving a final look over of the carnage that raged bellow, the Warden reached down to lift up the receiver. "What is it?" He replied with a hushed voice, aggravation clear as could be in his tone, "This better be important."

"Boss" chimed the voice of the operator with a metallic hue, "I just got word from tank 13 says that a handful of blokes are making up a big ol fuss. Doesn't sound too major from what they's was sayin' but they wondered if you wanted to send in another round for them guests."

The warden opened his mouth to slap down the idea and reprimand the operator. As he did however, he paused a moment and glanced about the crowd. They had calmed significantly from before and the time had only ticked past the first hour. Even the cheap events run would at least push two hours with some banter. The more he thought about it, the more an exhibition round began to show its appeal. The compound was already understaffed and overcrowded, so the loss of another tank would be of little consequence. It'd take about a month to restock and in that time more resources could be hired on to better staff the premise. The idea didn't have anything to lose. "Get whoever's not immediately occupied over to tank 13 to cover any possible leaks." The Warden ditched his hushed voice and spoke very punctually as if he wanted to drill each word into the operator's mind. "No bag rounds you hear me? If any of those fucks try to break for it you make a quick example of them and get those sheep here ASAP. Am I clear?"

"Crystal boss!" The metallic voice rang from the other end of the receiver.

The warden paused for a moment before adding one final thing to the response, "Who had the bright idea to send em down?"

The question seemed to catch the operator off guard as his stammering response rattled through the speaker. "B-Bones I think boss. He sent up the report, though it was kinda my idea."



"Course it was..." The warden dismissed the mention in a half interested tone of voice before hanging up the receiver. Slowly he picked back up the jury rigged megaphone and called out to the crowd once more. "San Antonio! I've just been informed that you picked an opportune evening to visit us tonight. You came to us expecting a round of carnage at the hand of the insatiable Shamu and we have delivered! But because of your continuing business, we have a special treat for you. Tonight and tonight only we've decided to double your entertainment with an Exhibition round!"

The crowd was on its feet throughout the stands, roaring at the top of every member's lungs. Sure enough, the idea was gold. "Tonight's Exhibition is brought to you by the Cat's Paw!"



************************



A worried gaze crossed Sue's expression as his eyes caught view of additional guards. He had been watching the initial two intently since his admission, looking for any potential to exploit. A break in shift, one of the goons falling asleep, freak weather, anything at all. Every plan he could muster fell the rocks of abysmal probability. So far the only redeeming quality was that in spite of everything, the two guards were all that seemed to cover the group. Looking now, the grey wastelander could spot the silhouettes of no less than eight along the boards of the fence. Something was going on.

From what Sue could make out at his angle, the lot seemed to form outside the tank in a manner giving wide birth from the main gate. Almost as soon as they arrived words were spoken briefly before spreading out of sight. A bead of sweat dripped down Sue's brow as he considered possibilities. Were they planning on separating the members from before? That might explain the additional guards but it wouldn't change the problems that go hand in hand with carrying out such a tasking. There were too many inmates in the tank, you couldn't just wade in and grab someone. You'd start a mob.

As Sue continued to turn over thoughts in his head, his breath froze in his throat. The guard called Bones moved over to the main gate... and opened it. "Alright, the lot of you. Come out slowly. Anyone try anything stupid and you get a face full of lead."

They were being moved.



The lot of inmates from before exploded into a wave of protest. Curses and pleads were cast in union that sounded into a symphony of fear. It didn't take a genius to understand that being moved at such an odd period of the evening was bad news. Compounded by the stress from before, the group still remained a proverbial powder keg waiting to blow. Various members of the bunch zig zagged between shoulders, attempting to put as much distance as they could between the gate and themselves. Seeing the motion, other inmates followed suit erupting in a panicked mass of motion along the surface of the tank. This kept on until the ear deafening blast of a rifle split the staggered cries into silence. "Shut the fuck up!" Bones followed the silence with his own graveled voice. "Ya'll have ten seconds to start a productive line out of that hole before we start dropping bodies. Ten. Nine. Eight."

The guard managed to get to six before the first few stepped up to the edge. Tears could be seen on the faces of several prisoners as the climb up the tank resembled the decent into hell.

Sue rolled his bum shoulder in its socket to make sure it seated decent. The limb ached but it was stable enough to function. Good, he had enough to worry about. The grey wastelander calmed his mind to the best of his ability with the understanding of what he had to do. If he allowed himself to pick up on the hysteria of the crowd, he was as good as dead. "Stay focused." He told himself audibly more for his own sanity than anything.

The wastelander lied to himself, forcing himself to see the benefits of the situation. In order to leave this hell, he'd have to know what was outside the tank. He'd have to have a map in his head to refer back to, or else all was for nought. If any semblance of opportunity presented itself to escape, there would only be one chance made available. He could not waste that chance on a dead end.

Sue immediately regretted the choice of saying. With eyes wide open, the graying man climbed out of the tank and continued to scan his surroundings.



 
Reaper laughed at Sue's remark. "That's alright, I wouldn't ask for it." The old man was tough, tougher than he looked that's for sure. And he looked pretty damn tough. He thought as he heard the pop of Sue's arm coming back into place. He cringed at the sound of the old man's moan of pain. Reaper noticed the focused face of the old man and knelt down beside him. He spoke in a hushed tone so that only the old man could hear, "That's the look one gets when forming plans. Whatever you're thinking Old Man, I've got your back." Reaper gave the old man a thumbs up.

As the gate opened Reaper just looked at the man holding it open, "Guess we're next for Shamu" he said to himself. He slowly looked at Bones after the gunshot. "A count down? That's a little sad, what are we? Children?" He said aloud. He stood up and got in line behind Sue. He made circle motions with his shoulders, loosening up to take on some of these slavers.... or Shamu.
 
"Goddamn fucking Hell, what the fuck, now they're going to throw us into a live fucking meat grinder?" A steady chain of protesting swears left her mouth as she reluctantly obeyed the orders of the guards. She found herself resenting them more and more as her time extended in this situation. She wasn't sure if she was being treated like cattle, or a slave gladiator.

History. Good stuff to know.

"We're gonna be sent in like Normandy, I can feel it, some pre-war blitz war shit or something, sumbitch..." She avoided directly insulting the guards, and instead making obscure implications, but other than that, she was just ranting to vent out a little. She wouldn't let this bullshit turn her into a domesticated bighorner. She was a human, and she didn't like the taste of slavery. For her, or anyone else. She was hoping she wouldn't get pulled to the side for some reason or another, likely the sort of situation she'd have to put up with normally, if she traveled alone. A woman in a provocative outfit like herself tends to have to put up with these attempts.
 
Fae wiped her tears off her face with grubby hands and stood up shakily grabbing onto the ghoul for a short second to regain her balance. " Wouldn't be the first time I got rad poisoning," she said with a shrug and a false bravado. Everything could crumble beneath her and they could be sent to Shamu and that would be the end of everything. Fae made her way to the trough of water slowly as she kept an eye on the guards praying nothing will happen to them. Obviously luck wasn't on her side this time as guards came in droves to escort the tank to the arena. They were being fed to Shamu.
"Second thought it'd be better just to leave them be" Fae informed Cabel after she heard six shots ringing through the area. "Bandage them up and we'll go"
 
[size=+1]“Well, shit...” is all Cabel growls as the guards begin to surround the tank and the sound of gunshots ring out in the air. Screams emanate from the crowd of terrified prisoners as they start to get herded out of the holding area and on towards god alone knows what.

For decades he's been walking the wastes, surviving everything from the forces of the Master to bandit attacks, and now it appears he might well meet his end at the hands of some shitpoke slavers in the ass-end of what's left of the United States.

Fate, he pontificates bitterly, is a complete bitch.

The girl with the infected wounds, Fae, staggers slightly and leans on him before asking him to wrap the cuts. With a grunt of acknowledgement, Cabel turns to face her and grabs one of her arms, wrapping the makeshift bandages around the wounds with the speed and precision of someone who's done this more times than he can remember.
“Stay close,” he mutters, barely audible over the din of the crowd and the shouting of the guards, “Y'know, just on the off-chance that we manage to survive this or something.”

The movement of the crowd forces them forwards, towards the exit from the tank. Suddenly the prospect of staying in the tank doesn't seem quite as bad as it did ten minutes ago, he notes. Yet here he is, in a herd of unwashed, terrified and sobbing faces, being driven towards the possibility of a meeting with Shamu. He can hear one of the mouthy survivors, the one with the reaper tattoo, making some dry observation, and Vegas Reject is swearing her be-suited ass off.

Cabel notes the new arrival, however, his eyes glancing around at his surroundings and taking them in. Getting his bearings. Planning.

Smart man; Cabel makes a mental note to keep an eye on him as he follows his example and starts gazing around at the area outside of the tank.

If ever they are to escape, now would be an excellent time to do so.[/size]
 
Sue rolled his eyes at the tattooed man as he spoke aloud. A sane person might find issues with audibly inferring that a prison break was being considered, especially while cornered and surrounded by no less than twelve armed guard. Between this, verbally assaulting a man with a gun in your face, and managing to get an entire prison block tossed into an execution cycle, it seemed that sanity was a thing best not served. Fortunately the words seemed to be lost on the guards, who were too busy keeping their eyes behind their rifle sights. Truth be told, Sue had no plan. There was no ace up his sleeve that he could magically conjure at the end of this poker session to turn the tide. As it looked, he would likely die here among a sea of faces he'd never seen before.

"No."

The grey wastelander shook the thought from his head and ground his teeth. The word was spoken audibly but was not directed to anyone in particular. Hearing his own voice tore his mind from its degrading path and forced him on the task at hand. He could not give up, not yet. He'd come too far and overcame too many obstacles to lose it here. As the man walked along he found himself scanning his surroundings much as he had done before.



Looking back at the tanks, several ruined signs depicting a long fish of some manner decorated various sections of the walkway. Sue wasn't familiar with the creature but noted the long nose in the back of his mind. Overly unimportant, but it sat in the man's brain all the same. It was possible that at some point in the past, the tanks had been used to hold such creatures. Try as the man could however, he couldn't imagine anyone ever wanting to visit such a place willingly.

A handful of other tanks dotted the stone landscape, surrounded by an erected fence of junk and debris. In each of the other tanks, the vague image of staring eyes seemed to watch the mass as they passed by. Eyes most thankful that for whatever reason, they weren't being marched to their death. Hushed whispers of the holed prisoners followed as the livestock cleared last of the cells. As the lot crossed out of the walled in area, an arch way left over from a time long past sat over its exit. Four words hung awkwardly from a single remaining strand of steel chord.

"Now Leaving Dolphin Habitat."



It was here that the first straggler attempted to make a break from the mass. A long haired tribal who seemed to still have enough meat on his bones to put up resistance. He rushed abruptly, not giving much mind to where he would go or what he would do if he got there. In the end it hardly mattered. A hail of rifle fire exploded in the evening air, sheering the man's torso clear from his body. Sue watched as the remains bled out against the cobblestones beneath, setting a clear example for all. Whimpered cries sounded in the face of the event, lost to the ears of an uncaring audience. If there was any question left, running was out of the picture.

Stepping through the threshold revealed a much more open view of the grounds as opposed to the constricting borders from before. In the distance, lines of above ground planters dotted the landscape. While too far to really make out, the vegetation within looked like some manner of mutated potato plant. Getting anything to grow this far south was a task reserved for only the most focused of botanists. With enough time, a long term sabotage of the food supply might give means to a way out, but current standing made the thought irrelevant. It had already been made clear that the prisoners gathered weren’t being taken to dinner. Or perhaps they were, and that was the problem.

The path that the prisoners followed traced the winding remains of an ancient wall reinforced from rebar and plywood. Unlike the cages used to hole off livestock, these walls bore a quality that made them too old to have been erected recently. Sitting higher than any of the fences from before, a series of makeshift watch towers had been crafted into the surface facing outward. Sue counted the watch towers in his mind and held it to memory. It was likely to assume that following the gate would lead to some manner of exit eventually. If the watch towers could be avoided, tracing them might lead to a way out of the compound. Then again, it could just as easily trail further within it.



Cresting over the field, the looming silhouette of the Stadium grew in size as they neared it. The sounds of the roaring crowd bled over the rafters as the warden egged them on. Peaking beneath the shadow of the looming structure, Sue found himself trembling. He understood all too well that the closer he got to those cheers, the slimmer his chances of survival became. Looking to the faces of the prisoners around him, he was not the only one with such a thought.

The livestock was marched to an opening along the side of the structure that sat independent from its main entrance. A tunnel of sorts carved from cement that dipped below the massive steel ring. In its time, the path was likely used as a means to transport equipment on and off the field in a quick manner. Considering the state of the current predicament, not much had changed. As the collective was corralled into the depths of the cement tunnel, the bellows of the crowd took on a very different tone. The cheers of the audience seemed to rattle the very air, surrounding one’s senses in an audible vice.

The dim light from the evening sky vanished beneath the dugout which added to the terror that gripped each of the slaves. As Sue’s gaze wandered, he caught sight of a man’s boot as a puddle gathered around its sole. Glancing up revealed the terrified husk of an elder, who in the face of the chaos could no longer hold his bladder. Undignified, but McLean could not blame the man trembling as he was. Sue wanted to bolt. Every nerve in his body screamed out to drop his senses and take off running. The only thing that kept him from such was cement walls and the promise that any defiance would be answered with bullets.


Looking on, he wastelander could make out light at the end of the path. The rusted frame of an ancient Winnebago blocked off the entrance to the field. A makeshift gate, forged from the remains of an RV. The prewar wreck was decorated with countless protrusions of sharpened rebar which over time had been welded to the frame. Two additional guards stood by the heap and undoubtedly served as its doorkeepers. As Sue looked upon the wreck his mind raced. Was that the way they would enter the stadium? If it was they’d have to open it. Could the wheels be jammed?

McLean’s eyes scanned the tunnel frantically, looking for anything that could be used to turn the tide of the situation. Panic began to take root in his mind and distort his thoughts. His heart beat against his chest and sweat trailed off from his brow. The tunnel was empty save for the people in it. His eyes trailed back to old man who had soiled himself from before. Desperation took hold and entertained a darker train of thought. The mechanics of using a body to jam the door came to mind.

“No.” Sue shook the thought from his head, speaking audibly to himself to get hold of his fleeting mind. The premise was ridiculous. Even if he wasn’t shot on sight for such a blatantly obvious act, he’d be literally chucking the body of man beneath a bus. A misguided means to save his own skin. The hysteria of his company had begun to define his train of thought. He was running out of time. They all were.



It was here that a second soul attempted to break from the group, overwhelmed by the fate of looming death. She fell to her knees in the midst of the lot. The sobbing cries of an overwhelmed woman echoed along the walls of the tunnel. “P-please… Please don’t…. Please….” She repeated again and again through a veil of tears. Sue averted his eyes and prepared his ears for the deafening ring of gunfire. Despite this, no such sound came.

A handful of guards gathered in a practiced motion and set themselves into formation. With backs facing one another the squad raised their weapons and pushed into the mass, jabbing at anyone in proximity with the barrels of their rifles. The hushed tones of curses sounded from the formation, calling to the slaves to move from the crying woman. Perhaps it was out of lingering fear or just how quickly the act was executed, but the mob seemed to comply. Closing in on the crying woman, one of the guards slung the butt of his rifle across her face. Closing around, the squad dragged the woman by her hair away from the livestock. Reaching a safe enough distance, they beat her until she stopped making sounds.

Sue watched as the display left him lost for words. Since his introduction to the compound, the slavers bore no concept to the conservation of ammunition. Their weapons served as the extension of their authority and not once had they been shy to gun down a potential headache. Order maintained through the ready display of superior firepower. The fact that this display was so different made no sense. Moving a group this large was inherently dangerous. Wandering straight into that same group to pull out a single woman was outright stupid.

As Sue’s mind wandered his eyes caught hold of the same man that had torn open his cheek earlier that evening. The slaver called Bones, rather than sporting his sickening grin from before, wore a very somber expression. Rather than watching the carnage beneath him, his eyes remained locked on the gate. A look of concern forming along his face. Glancing to the other guards revealed similar expressions. Bones pointed ahead to the keepers of the makeshift gate and slowly retreated back. Watching the gate guards whisper among themselves, Sue was stricken by an epiphany.

The hushed voices.

The neglect of firearms.

The looks of concern.

The Barred Gate.

The slavers here were focused on remaining as quiet as possible…​

Sue glanced ahead to the makeshift gate as his panic ebbed. Its two keepers whispered among themselves as they took hold of the door, rolling it slowly. Light from the stadium peered between the concrete walls and the old Winnebago. Pushing his way through the crowd, McLean wove between people in order to reach the front line. “Excuse me… Sorry… ‘Scuse me.” Where the rest of the livestock seemed intent on remaining as far from the gate as possible, the Grey Wastelander seemed eager to meet his end.

Shuffling his way to the still opening door, Sue stepped past the threshold and into the lights of the stadium. In the distance, he could make out the large green back of Sea World’s Champion as it fed contently on a challenger. The wastelander briefly glanced back to the gate as it began to slow its motion. It would not be long before the prisoners would be corralled into this space and the gate closed behind them. If something wasn’t done, they would all die here.

Sue had to force air into his lungs for what he planned to do next. This was insane…

“HEY!!!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound as much as possible, “HEY!!!”

The second cry was cut short as the sound of a charging bolt chimed against his ears. "You son of a bitch!" a voice sounded to his back. He turned to the sound and found himself staring firmly down the barrel of a machine pistol. McLean fall back onto his haunches and raised his hands defensively. Expecting his end at the point of a bullet, he was surprised to find the guard’s focus shift quickly as a wave of fear gripped his expression.

Super_Mutant_Behemoth_by_Kaidus.png

The hulking frame of Shamu lunged forward from his edge of the stadium after hearing the potential of food. Having his feeding cycle ignored for the past week, the massive creature was all too willing to feed. As the beast rushed ahead, his focus shifted as a hail of pistol fire rattled against his frame. The green behemoth bellowed a roar that shook the stadium and lunged past the Grey Wastelander. With a sweep of a massive forearm, the creature pitched the armored gate to one side. The screams of the first guard cried out in terror as Shamu's massive fist flattened him into the ground.

From the shadows of the tunnel, a wave of gunfire erupted into the body of the angered beast. Shamu roared once more as some of the larger calibers broke the surface of his skin. The slaver named Bones could be heard barking orders from one end of the tunnel, but any semblance of order was lost as the great behemoth charged the gunmen.



From the stands, the warden was screaming into the receiver of his radio for anyone manning the access tunnel. The words were lost to empty airways. As the carnage filtered onto the Warden's men, the crowd along the stands erupted into near riot. Every body was on their feet, cheering like madman to the chaos below. It only took a moment before the warden's priorities took hold and his attention turned to his Megaphone. "What an act eh... folks? Don't mind your safety, this is all according to... plan! Tonight's... exhibition is uh... brought to you by... oh fuck it."

A resounding clatter rang out as the warden dropped the megaphone against the stand. Lifting up the receiver once more the man screamed into it again as veins protruded along his bald forehead. "I want Bones on the line right the fuck now! I don't care if you have to go down there your God Damned self! Someone will answer for this Shit storm!"

 
Holy shit that old man was batshit insane and damn what a sense of perception. She wasn't the smartest lass in the wastes, but she knew enough to stay out of the water and pick up on things quickly. She thought she could use this utter chaos to make a disappearance, at the least, if she couldn't escape. She might not be able to run, but if she sticks to the shadows, she could certainly hide. A few muscular gruffs shoved her down in the chaos as they tried to dodge shrapnel during the occurrence.

She didn't have to stand back up. She got on her feet, but didn't rise, instead, hobbling her way through legs and feet, keeping her head down and looking forward. HOLY FUCK! A gasp escaped her as she noticed shrapnel rush around her. Damn, that was lucky. She continued on to the edge of the crowd, in the sanctified absence of light known as shadow. As she left the blundered line, she found herself crouched in front of a burly looking man holding a combat shotgun, firing shell after shell into the behemoth. Jesus fuck, this would be a bad time for her luck to run out.

This all shifts on the roll of a die.
 
[size=+1]Oh. So that'll be Shamu, then.

The fear stemming from the possibility of having one's life ended by a hulking behemoth doesn't register in Cabel's head for another second, and until that point he simply watches on as the vast mutant lumbers out of the gate it's just smashed through. Gunfire lights up the gloomy tunnel, makeshift strobe lighting in the dark that illuminates the panicking guards and fleeing prisoners in stark focus.

Then the fear finally registers with him. And just in time, too.

“Fuck!” the ghoul snarls, hurling himself to the side and hauling Fae down with him. Prisoners are being cut to pieces by the indiscriminate gunfire, and Shamu let's out a roar that leaves his ears ringing. Cabel realises that they're now trapped between a rock and a hard place, or to put it more accurately a bunch of heavily-armed slavers and a pissed-off giant of a mutant. Nearby to the pair of them is the old, grey-faced wastelander who had just a few seconds ago managed to create the distraction of the century.

“We need to get the hell out of this tunnel!” he snarls at both the old wastelander and Fae, “Any more bright fucking ideas?”[/size]
 
"So... remind me again why you think we should let you see the boss?" The guard asked with a skeptical amusement, with a grin that said he was enjoying making this crazy out-of-towner keep repeating himself.

Benjamin didn't sign or groan, but instead stood up straighter, adjusted his tie with one hand, and started the explanation again, his voice slightly fuzzy through the gas mask. "I'm an aspiring businessman from out west with a healthy supply of caps looking to find a suitable venture to invest my money in. I've heard about the kind of business you people do here so I want to see your boss and find out if we can't work out an arrangement."

"Right, right, investing your caps..." He trailed off, looking Benjamin up and down with a look that showed his real question to be, "What caps?"

"I don't have them on me," Benjamin quickly clarified. "They would weigh too much to travel. And be incredibly bulky and inconvenient. Plus I also like to keep my caps diversified into a healthy spread of physical assets like ammo, food, animals, the like. And yes, investing. I give you some of my caps with a contract agreement for a repayment down the road. If I give you fifty caps to sell iguana-on-a-stick, that's an investment. When you make a hundred caps and pay me back seventy, that's the repayment. It's simple business practice. Businesses don't run on good will."

He was leaving some stuff out, of course. And mentally he was scrambling to figure out who he could con, deal, beg, or sell to in order to get the kind of caps he'd been considering investing. But they didn't need to know that, and their boss didn't need to know that. The only one who needed to know that was Benjamin. The guards didn't seem to be buying it still (Which, is sort of expected if they're only guards and not higher-up in the organization), so Benjamin prepared to launch into another explanation when the gunfire started.

The guards looked in the direction of the screams and gunshots, looked at each other, and ran towards the noise. Benjamin waiting a half second and then followed out of curiosity. Major safety hazards would severely limit the amount he'd invest in this place. And their pet giant Super Mutant about to be running loose qualified as a major safety hazard. Did they really have no back up plan beyond annoy the beast with small arms fire? "See, this is the kind of thing that you think about when you need to pay someone back so stuff like this doesn't happen," He mused as one hand dropped to his waist and pawed at his belt before he remembered that his gun was being held at the entrance of Seaworld. The entrance that was on the other side of the Arena. The entrance that he'd after to get around Shamu's rampage to reach.

He was about to join the visitors in running like madman, but first he crossed his arms over his chest, watching the chaos, letting out a huff through the gas mask and saying to himself, "Well they won't be getting much of my investment money if this is how they run things."