The Pip-boy saved me again. I may have used more of my grenades than I had to, but I was able to kill a raving troop of trogs. I heard more coming, it was horrible; the steady whispering over the heavy human skittering. The only thing I could think to do was hide and try to observe their behavior better. I fucking hated these things. They walked like radroaches, which given their humanoid aesthetic, was unsettling. Then they were as mindlessly ravenous as a deathclaw. I crept around them taking note. I had to account that these horrible little monsters couldn’t be snuck up on; they roved in packs. I also assessed that running from them was not a viable option; they scaled the rusty warehouses and climbed all over the abandoned machinery with sickening ease. While sneaking around I came across a few corpses and some still had some weapons, nothing terribly useful. A poor soul named Wild Bill, which I learned from the letter in his pocket, lent me a humble gun, but I had no ammunition. I thought hope was lost until I came across what looked like a metal cutting tool. A massive metal cutting tool. I quietly modified the tool so that the four axe-like rotary blades were exposed. I then checked to see if it still had any juice. It did, and it was loud. I can be a real idiot sometimes. The trogs descended upon me. It was stressful and tiring, but so long as the tool was between me and a trog, there was nothing but red mist. It was fitting, considering my Capital Wasteland alter ego. Once I finally figured out how to deal with those monstrosities, I find myself avoiding gunfire from sickly looking raiders. They seemed only interested in killing me and the way I saw it, they were fair game. They were easier to sneak up on with the help of a stealth boy. I remained undetected by relying on a combat knife I found on a corpse. I was so caught up with staying alive, that I forgot I was given an assignment. I was resourceful enough to gather up fifty ingots, and I toted them all to the steel door I was pissed on in front of. A part of me was hoping they didn’t confiscate my metal cutting tool. I named it “The Man-opener.” I had gotten attached to it in the past few hours. The same raider that pissed on me answered the door with a strange compact automatic weapon, it looked like it had a silencer on it. I was going to enjoy, taking that off his body. “You got those ingots?” I dropped two sacks at his feet. “I can see you got creative in there scab.” He points to my man-opener. “If you let me hold on to it, I’ll get you more sacks like that.” “There’s no fucking way.” “But there is a way.” A voice came from behind the door. “Shut the fuck up Everett!” The raider said to the back of the door. “What’s wrong Reddup? Scared of a slave? You going to open the door or stand there pissing yourself?” Reddup swung the door open, revealing the Everett, a tall mohawked and bearded blond raider. “Don’t mind Reddup, he’s just a little intimidated, no one ever makes it back with more than four or five ingots. He’s just surprised with your success.” “Fuck off Everett, when have we ever let a slave keep what they find out there?” “When they’re going to the Hole.” “We give those scabs weapons to fight with it.” “And in this case, we don’t have to. So long as we take him right to Faydra.” “You’re not that smart. He’ll either die, or never have to grab ingots again.” “He’s clearly more useful than grabbing ingots. I’m taking him to Faydra.” I felt left out of the decision, but I guess that was par for the course as a slave. They led me through what I thought hell would look like. There was molten metal and sparks flying everywhere. I’ve read about steel mills in old books, but they never seemed so ominous. For the first time I was getting a look at people here. The slaves were covered in scabs, if it weren’t for the bright red blotches and irritation around their lesions, one could easily mistake them for ghouls. It was despicable, they weren’t even granted decency in their clothing. I saw a small woman sitting on the ground which must have been scathingly hot, but she seemed to prefer the discomfort, to more work. She just didn’t have it in her to go on. I masked my disgust and anger. I even masked my discomfort with the unrelenting heat of the mill. I needed to help these people. I was led down into a lower level. It was a modest locker room, with a giant sewer pipe. A foul blood and shit smell wafted from the pipe which was equipped with chain-link gate. I knew just by looking at it, that I knew I was going to have to get into that pipe. They didn’t talk to me much, before they said it was time. I was excited that the lady Raider shot me up with a med-x and some psycho first. I went through the reeking pipe and found myself in a makeshift arena. Above me was a chain-link dome where I could see a plethora of raiders, all of them spitting and pissing down into the Hole. Then my opponents came through a pipe opposite of me. They were slaves and I was dead inside. I had no choice, this was a matter of survival. I tried to reason that they would be avenged when I bring this system down, but it felt empty, as I used my Man-opener to reduce them to paste. I fantasized about using this on the raider that pissed on me. Here I was using an improvised power tool on innocent slaves. The difference was, in a way I chose to be here. I’m sure they didn’t. The crowd cheered me on, but I had a low pit in my stomach despite the chem combination I was buzzing on.
I hated this job, and Wernher would hear about it when I saw his one eyed ass. With the chems, the arena challenges flew by in a blur. A bloody mess and chem induced blur. I kept accepting the chems offered to me in between fights. I remember the name of the last man I killed was Gruber, and he was a fighter. They all were, I never thought I’d be in a position to kill someone so desperate to survive, it ate at me and I hated myself. If I ever was a regulator, I wasn’t one now. I left the dank festering arena masking my shame by shuffling out and nodding off intermittently, I developed a med-x problem from there out. It was the first time my chem resistance has been truly tested. I’ve never been one to turn down free chems, but now I felt a craving for med-x. I needed to be numb to what I just did it. I came out of the hole and the Raiders changed their tune about me, they were still a bunch of assholes and full of shit talk, but now they didn’t bat an eye, when I reached up my loin cloth for my stash, two stealth boys, my pip-boy and my chem pack were all I had left. I sat down in the locker room and shot up med-x right in front of them, I would’ve been ashamed treating an addiction right in front of them, but this low seemed to pale in comparison to butchering slaves. I guess that’s how it worked, no one could be one of them, if they didn’t have it in them to do something so horrible. So as one of them, I shot up to show them what I thought of them. It didn’t feel real as I was escorted through the Raider’s trashy homes. The same amount of chems and alcohol as Dukov’s place, but with a stomach curdling human butcher aesthetic. Through the thin chain-link fencing that made up the scaffolding, and the torn down walls, the Raider hub looked over a bleak sea of slaves, slaving below interspersed with raiders beating, harassing or just outright killing them. I kept sinking back into the med-x high and kept on a blank face. I was being escorted to Ashur at his complex which they referred to as Haven. I didn’t feel prepared for this moment, but at least the chems numbed my anxiety and fear.
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